CHAPTER 4

Lia’s POV

The words hit me like a physical blow. Like he'd reached across the space between us and punched me in the stomach.

Better than I ever did.

I thought about all the times I'd tried to please him. All the times I'd gotten on my knees for him, wanting to make him feel good, wanting him to want me. How I'd tried to learn what he liked, asked him to tell me how to do it better. How he'd just lie there silent and bored, never giving me any feedback, never showing any enthusiasm.

I'd thought it was me. That I wasn't good enough. That I didn't know how to do it right.

But he'd never wanted me to do it right. He just didn't want me.

More tears spilled down my face. My whole body was shaking now, trembling with hurt and anger and humiliation.

"How could you?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "How could you do this to me?"

Rob sighed heavily, like I was exhausting him. Like I was the problem here.

"Jesus, you're so dramatic," he muttered, pulling out his phone again. "It didn't mean anything. It was just a blowjob."

Just a blowjob. Like my feelings didn't matter. Like our relationship didn't matter. Like I didn't matter.

"We're together," I said, my voice getting louder, more desperate. "We've been together for a year. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, and you're still here, aren't you?" he shot back, not even looking up from his phone. "So stop whining about it."

His words were so casual, so cruel. Like he knew I wouldn't leave. Like he knew I'd just take it, take whatever he gave me, because I had nowhere else to go.

And the worst part was, he was right.

I was still here. Still sitting on this plane. Still going to Italy with him. Still pretending we had a relationship when clearly we didn't.

I turned away from him, back toward the window, and wrapped my arms around myself. My body curled inward, trying to make myself smaller, trying to disappear.

The tears wouldn't stop. They just kept coming, silent and endless.

I pressed my forehead against the window again, feeling the coolness of the glass against my hot, tear-stained skin. My chest ached with every breath. My throat felt raw and tight. Everything hurt.

I didn't speak to him till the plane landed. Not a single word. I couldn't. Every time I thought about opening my mouth, I remembered what I'd seen. Her on her knees. His hand in her hair. That smile on his face. His cruel words.

And Rob didn't even care. He didn't try to apologize or explain or comfort me. He just sat there on his phone for the rest of the flight, occasionally smirking at whatever he was looking at.

When the plane finally touched down, I felt numb. Empty. Like someone had scooped out everything inside me and left just a hollow shell.

We got out of the plane and there was a helicopter waiting for us on the pavement. Of course there was. Because this was how Rob's family traveled—private jets and helicopters and God knows what else.

The helicopter was sleek and black, the blades already spinning slowly, creating a breeze that whipped my hair around my face. A pilot stood nearby, waiting for us with the same professional, detached expression the plane crew had.

Rob walked toward it without hesitation, not looking back to see if I was following. Not reaching for my hand or my suitcase or offering any kind of help or support.

We climbed into the helicopter and strapped in. The noise was deafening once we were inside, the blades whopping overhead, the engine roaring. Rob put on a headset. I fumbled with mine, my hands still shaking, and finally got it on.

Then we lifted off the ground, rising up into the sky.

And despite everything, the beautiful sights helped me forget my heartache for a little while.

Italy looked beautiful from up here. Absolutely breathtaking.

Below us, the landscape spread out like a painting. Rolling green hills dotted with cypress trees and old stone buildings.

And then we reached the coast, and the land gave way to the most incredible blue water I'd ever seen. The Mediterranean stretched out forever, sparkling in the afternoon sun like it was covered in diamonds. The water was so clear I could see the darker blue patches where it got deeper, the lighter turquoise near the shore.

Islands dotted the water. Small ones, big ones, some covered in trees and some just bare rock.

And then I saw it—Rob's family's private island.

It sat in the middle of the blue water like a jewel. The island was bigger than I'd expected, maybe a mile across, covered in lush green vegetation and tall trees. White cliffs dropped down to the water on one side.

And on the highest point of the island sat the mansion.

It was massive. Three stories tall, made of pale stone that glowed golden in the sunlight. It looked like something out of a movie. Like a palace.

The helicopter began to descend, heading toward a helipad near the mansion. My stomach flipped as we got closer and closer to the ground.

The helicopter touched down with a gentle bump. The blades began to slow. Rob unbuckled immediately and jumped out, still not waiting for me, still not helping me.

I unbuckled with trembling fingers and climbed out carefully. The wind from the slowing blades whipped around me.

I followed Rob as he walked toward the mansion, my broken suitcase left behind with the staff. He didn't even hold my hand. He walked several steps ahead of me, his shoulders straight and confident, like he owned the place. Which, I guess, he kind of did. His family did.

I trailed behind him feeling small and out of place and utterly alone.

We reached the front entrance of the mansion—huge wooden doors that looked like they weighed a ton, carved with intricate designs. They were already open, waiting for us.

When we got inside, a butler came to meet us. He was an older man, maybe in his sixties, with silver hair and a kind face. He wore a formal suit and stood with perfect posture.

"Welcome home, Master Robert," he said with a slight bow. His accent was Italian but his English was perfect. Then he turned to me with a polite smile. "And welcome, miss."

"Thank you," I mumbled quietly, my voice still rough from crying.

"Your father will be with you shortly," the butler said to Rob. "He's just finishing up a call. Can I get you anything while you wait? Refreshments?"

"We're fine," Rob said dismissively, pulling out his phone again.

The butler nodded and disappeared through one of the many doors leading off the entrance hall.

I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with myself. I looked around at the expensive art, the fresh flowers in huge vases, the gleaming marble, the antique furniture

Moments later, I heard footsteps. Confident footsteps on the marble floor, getting closer.

I turned toward the sound.

And then I saw him.

A man I could only describe as a silver fox walked toward us from one of the hallways.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was... stunning. There was no other word for it.

His dark hair was greying at the sides, that distinguished salt-and-pepper look that made him look sophisticated and powerful. He looked to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he was incredibly fit. Not soft or out of shape like some older men. No—he looked like he took care of himself. Like he worked out. Like he was strong.

His white shirt did nothing to hide his physique. It was tailored perfectly to his body, hugging broad shoulders and a muscular chest. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing tanned, strong forearms. The top few buttons were undone, revealing a glimpse of his throat and upper chest.

He wore dark slacks that fit him perfectly, and expensive leather shoes that clicked softly on the marble.

But it was his eyes that really got me.

They were bright blue. Piercing blue. The kind of blue that seemed to see right through you, right into your soul. So intense it was almost uncomfortable to meet his gaze.

Rob had brown eyes. Ordinary, dull brown eyes that rarely showed much emotion.

But this man—Victor—had eyes that burned with intelligence and intensity and something else I couldn't quite name.

To say the least, Victor was hot. Incredibly, undeniably, devastatingly hot.

This was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. A man who was in control. A man who didn't take no for an answer.

My heart started beating faster for entirely different reasons than it had been all day.

He approached us with a slight smile on his face—a smile that didn't quite reach those intense blue eyes. It was polite, measured, controlled.

"Robert," he said, his voice deep and smooth with just a hint of an Italian accent. "Welcome home."

"Dad," Rob said, finally putting his phone away. He stepped forward and they shook hands. Not a hug. Just a formal, business-like handshake.

Then Victor turned those blue eyes on me.

And I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.