Chapter 27

Sarah's POV

The champagne clung to my scalp like insult dressed in perfume, cold and sticky, soaking through my dress until every inch of me felt as violated as my pride in that moment.

I didn’t wait for reactions, explanations, apologies just turned on my heel and walked, heels clacking over marble like a war drum, chest tight, breath sharp, fury burning hotter than shame ever could.

They didn’t follow.

Not immediately.

And that stung more than it should have.

Not one hand reached for mine, not one voice called my name like I mattered more than what just happened in that room.

I reached the hallway and leaned against the cold wall, trying to breathe through the adrenaline, the confusion, the weight of being pulled into a world I never asked to belong to.

“Daughter-in-law,” I whispered aloud, the word tasting foreign on my tongue, like a lie someone else had wrapped around me without consent, expectation masquerading as a title I never earned.

He didn’t correct it.

Matteo.

He stood there and let his grandfather name me like a pawn at a press conference no glance, no denial, no explanation just silence that screamed through my heart like thunder.

I fumbled for my phone, fingers trembling, vision still blurred from humiliation, and did the only thing that made sense I called Mia, the one voice that always made the chaos quieter.

She answered on the second ring, voice already tight with concern. “Sarah? What the hell happened? I just got three messages about champagne, a slap, and a marriage announcement in the same breath.”

My voice cracked when I tried to speak, tears finally sliding down my cheeks as I whispered, “Mia… he let it happen. He stood there. He didn’t say a damn thing.”

Mia didn’t gasp.

Didn’t judge.

She exhaled sharply like she wanted to break something for me. “Do you love him, Sarah? Because if you do, you need to ask if this pain is worth it.”

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Not because I didn’t know.

But because deep down I already did.

And that answer was the reason it hurt this much to stand in that hallway alone.

When we hung up, I wiped my face, took a shaky breath, and scanned the room because one person had vanished before it all exploded, and that absence was now louder than the music.

Ryan.

He wasn’t there when the champagne hit.

I wasn’t there when Alessandro made his announcement.

Wasn’t there when Matteo stood still and said nothing while the world humiliated me in designer shoes and polished smiles.

I called him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Voicemail.

Each ring was louder than the last, each silence more painful, as if fate itself had decided to let every man walk away from me at the worst possible time.

I had just ended the third call when I heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching the kind of footsteps you recognize not by sound, but by the shift in air.

I didn’t turn.

Not immediately.

Just stared ahead at the white wall, still dripping champagne from my hair, chest tight, my spine braced like armor that wasn’t nearly strong enough to hold everything in.

“Sarah,” he said my name softly, voice low, careful, like it could soften the way my heart was breaking behind the walls I’d tried so hard to rebuild these past few weeks.

I turned slowly.

Stared at him.

At the man who stood quietly while his grandfather handed me a title I never asked for, while his ex humiliated me, while the whole office watched me drown.

He took one step closer.

I took one step back.

Not dramatic.

Not cruel.

Just enough to say, “No, not this time,” without opening my mouth, because the words would come out ugly and raw if I tried to speak too soon.

“I didn’t know he’d say that,” Matteo said, hands open at his sides, his voice holding more emotion than I’d ever heard from him not anger, not sarcasm, just something uncertain and slow.

“But you let him,” I said, voice shaking now, like it had been hiding behind my breath this whole time, waiting for the right moment to rupture all over the silence between us.

He flinched.

Subtle.

Real.

And I hated that it made me feel anything.

Because my hands still smelled like champagne, my hair still stuck to my cheeks, and everything inside me was screaming, You don’t get to comfort me now.

“You stood there,” I whispered, eyes burning again. “You didn’t say no. You didn’t stop him. You just watched while I stood there like some accessory being gifted to a room.”

He looked at me.

Looked at me.

And said the thing I wasn’t ready to hear not because it hurt, but because it was everything I wanted and still couldn’t trust anymore.

“I wanted it to be true,” he said.

Just like that.

Simple.

Shattering.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Because how dare he say it now?

How dare he want something he’d spent weeks pretending he never needed?

How dare he want me only after someone else made it real?

His words settled between us like thunder after lightning, too loud to ignore, too late to comfort, and yet still soft enough to make my chest ache with the betrayal of almost believing them.

He stepped forward slowly, not like a man chasing, but like someone walking through fire carefully, knowing one wrong move would turn everything to ash before he got the chance to say more.

“Let me” he started, voice nearly breaking, as he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a monogrammed white handkerchief like that would be enough to clean off everything that had happened.

I didn’t speak.

Not as his fingers moved gently to my temple, brushing soaked hair away from my face, wiping champagne from my forehead like it was forgiveness and not humiliation.

It felt… soft.

Too soft.

Like something stolen from a memory I wasn’t ready to revisit yet of the man who kissed me once like he wanted to burn, not just own.

His thumb hovered just below my cheekbone, tracing where the champagne had trickled down like it mattered like I mattered and for one stupid moment, I wanted to let him keep touching me.

But I couldn’t.

Not now.

Not like this.

So I reached up and removed his hand carefully, firmly, fingers trembling from restraint, heart splintering from the weight of everything he hadn’t said when I needed him most.

“Don’t,” I whispered, stepping back, voice a ghost of who I’d been just an hour ago, before champagne and titles and silence had wrapped themselves around my throat like invisible chains.

He stood there frozen.

Hand still half-lifted.

Like he didn’t understand how wiping away champagne could hurt worse than throwing it.

Like he still didn’t realize silence wounds deeper than cruelty ever could.

And then I turned around.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t wait.

Just walked, every step echoing down the hallway like a countdown to a decision neither of us were ready for but both of us knew was coming.

**

I stepped outside into the sharp wind, letting the cold slap my skin where his fingers had been just moments ago, letting it remind me that I was still mine.

The city blurred around me, lights bleeding together like a painting left out in the rain beautiful, chaotic, and nothing like the world I thought I had stepped into this morning.

I walked.

Nowhere in particular.

Just far enough that the echoes of his voice, his handkerchief, his silence couldn’t follow me not without breaking through every wall I had left standing.

Ryan still hadn’t called.

Still hadn’t texted.

Still gone.

And the silence between us was now a second storm I didn’t have the strength to name, but felt burning just beneath the skin of my chest.

I sat on a bench across from a quiet florist’s window, the glass fogged, the petals behind it soft and whole everything I wasn’t, everything I couldn’t be for anyone anymore.

And then my phone vibrated.

Not a call.

Just a message.

One line.

From a number I’d ignored for days but never deleted, a name I still hadn’t decided whether to fear or fall into.

Damian.

His message read:

“He had a chance to choose you in front of everyone. I wouldn’t have hesitated. The door’s still open, Sarah. But not for long.”

**

By the time I reached Mia’s building, the air had gone colder, and the message from Damian still burned in my hand like a lit match I didn’t dare extinguish yet.

Mia opened the door before I even knocked, eyes widening the second she saw my wet hair, swollen eyes, and the way my heels looked like they’d survived a battlefield instead of a party.

She didn’t speak.

Just stepped aside.

Let me walk in like a ghost dragging all her shame behind her, one soaked memory at a time, mascara running down my cheeks like war paint after surrender.

The warm apartment smelled like vanilla and spiced tea, but even comfort couldn’t touch the numbness crawling up my spine as I slipped off my heels near the welcome mat.

“Tell me what happened,” Mia said softly, her voice wrapped in restraint, like she wanted to scream but knew I wouldn’t survive the noise so she made space for silence instead.

I didn’t answer.

Not at first.

Just moved past her and toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last, my bag sliding from my shoulder like even it couldn’t bear this day anymore.

“You’re scaring me, Sarah,” Mia said again, following slowly behind me, voice trembling, arms crossed tightly over her hoodie like she was bracing for something worse than what she’d already imagined.

I stopped halfway up the stairs, glanced back at her, and said, “Please… not tonight, Mia,” my voice thin, brittle, as if words had become too expensive to waste on explanations.

She blinked.

Then nodded.

Not because she understood, but because she knew grief when she saw it knew the kind of storm that didn’t need questions, just a place to fall apart in peace.

“I made your favorite,” she said anyway, a soft attempt at comfort. “Pineapple cake. Still warm. You don’t have to talk you can just eat and feel something that doesn’t hurt.”

I wanted to.

God, I wanted to say yes.

To sit at her table with a fork in my hand and sugar on my tongue and pretend that something sweet could overwrite the bitterness flooding my chest.

But I couldn’t.

Not tonight.

Not when my soul felt splintered and my body still reeked of champagne and insult, and my thoughts were split between two men I didn’t know how to trust anymore.

I shook my head gently, offering her a cracked whisper of gratitude, then turned and climbed the rest of the stairs without a word, needing distance more than frosting and kindness.

The bedroom was dim and quiet, the bedsheets still rumpled from this morning, when I’d left with too much hope and not enough armor for the war I’d unknowingly walked into.

I dropped onto the bed fully dressed, barely managing to peel off my jacket, not caring about the damp fabric or the sticky feeling clinging to my skin like yesterday’s sins.

And then I curled in.

Small.

Silent.

Alone.

Letting the dark wrap around me like something sacred, something still mine, something untouched by Russo boardrooms or heirloom legacies or glasses of champagne turned into grenades.