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Chapter 14
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His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 22
On the morning of the seventh day, I found him in the sunroom, staring out at the mist on the lake. I carried Caleb’s journal in my hand, a tangible weight.“My time is up,” I said. My voice was calm, rinsed clean by the night’s tears. “I’m leaving.”He turned. The desperation on his face had hardened into a kind of fatalistic resolve. He didn’t plead. Instead, he walked to a polished walnut cabinet, unlocked it, and drew out a single object: a sleek, nickel-plated revolver.My breath hitched, but I didn’t move.He opened the cylinder, showed me the six empty chambers. From his pocket, he produced a single, golden bullet. He slid it into a chamber, spun the cylinder with a smooth, practiced flick of his wrist, and snapped it shut. The final, metallic click echoed in the silent room.He placed the gun on the low table between us.“A final gamble,” he said, his voice eerily flat. “My life against your mercy. One chance in six. If the chamber is empty when I pull, you stay another day. We
His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 21
The grand gestures began on the fifth day. They felt less like romance and more like a frantic, expensive exorcism.First, it was a helicopter ride at dusk to a private observatory perched on a mountain peak, a glass dome under the sprawl of the Milky Way. A somber astronomer pointed out constellations, but Nicholas’s eyes were fixed on me, not the stars. “The Cassiopeia diamond suite,” he said, his voice rough from disuse. “It reminded me of you. Cold, distant, untouchable. I bought it for her at the auction to… to tarnish something beautiful I associated with you.” He spoke the confession like an offering. I sipped the champagne, its bubbles sharp on my tongue. “You succeeded,” I said flatly. “Next.”The next evening, a world-renowned chef was flown in, turning the safe house’s kitchen into a stage for a twelve-course tasting menu. Each plate was a masterpiece, a burst of color and scent. Nicholas watched me take a bite of a truffle-infused raviolo. “Do you remember,” he began, “that
His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 20
The private doctor came and went, his expression grim. The wounds were cleaned, stitched, bandaged. The scar on his chest, the doctor warned, would be savage. Nicholas slept for sixteen hours, pumped full of painkillers and fluids. I stayed in the adjoining room, staring at the velvet pouch Mrs. Moretti had given me, its weight a comforting secret.On the second day, he was awake, moving like an old man. The crude ‘Vicki’ was a raised, angry brand beneath the white gauze. He tried to resume his silent, penitent routine, but a new kind of frantic energy crackled under his skin. He watched me constantly, as if waiting for some sign the bloody ledger had been balanced.The sign never came. I was polite. I was cold. I was a ghost in his gilded cage.The crack came on the third evening. He’d brought tea to the sunroom—my mother’s favorite blend. I was on the secured satellite line with Caleb, the one concession Nicholas had allowed, monitored but unbroken. Caleb’s voice was a calm, steady a
His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 19
The silence in the replicated sunroom had a different quality now, thick and waiting. Nicholas stood before me, his face pale but resolute. On the glass table between us, he placed two items: the familiar, heavy leather cinta, and a slim, official-looking document.“This,” he said, his voice rough, “is a last will and testament. Notarized and binding. Everything I have, everything I will inherit, transfers to you, Victoria Castellano, upon my death. It is effective immediately.” He tapped the document. “And this,” his fingers brushed the braided whip, “is the instrument. I owe you a debt. Ninety-nine.”I didn’t touch either object. I leaned back in the wicker chair that was a hollow copy of my mother’s, the cushions too new, the scent wrong. “You think this settles accounts?” My voice was flat. “You think your empire is a currency that can purchase absolution?”“No.” The word was stark. “It’s a guarantee. A proof. I am placing my entire future, my family’s legacy, in your hands. Litera
His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 18
The safe house was not what I expected. Nestled deep in the Adirondacks, it was a modern fortress of glass and steel, but the room he led me to was a precise, chilling replica. My mother’s sunroom. Every detail was there: the pattern of the Riviera-inspired tiles, the specific shape of the wrought-iron furniture, the exact pale yellow of the curtains filtering the afternoon light. Even the potted olive tree in the corner was a perfect copy. It was a beautiful, grotesque violation.“Do you like it?” Nicholas asked, his voice tentative. He stood by the doorway, looking oddly vulnerable in the familiar-yet-alien space. “I had it built from the blueprints. I wanted you to have a piece of home.”“This was never my home,” I said, my voice echoing in the spacious room. I walked to the large window overlooking a dense pine forest. “My home was a gilded cage where my father traded me and my bodyguard betrayed me. Replicating a room from it is not a comfort. It’s a diagnosis.”I heard him take a
His Savior Was Never My Sister Chapter 17
Silence followed my words, thick and heavy as the incense hanging in the chapel air. Nicholas stared at me, his confession hanging between us like a shattered chandelier. I saw the moment his desperation mutated into something darker, more unhinged. The raw plea in his eyes hardened into a terrible resolve.“You think this is a negotiation, Caleb?” Nicholas’s voice was low, but it carried, a venomous thread in the holy quiet. He didn’t look at the man beside me. His gaze was a brand on my skin. “You think your honor and your family’s backing is enough to keep her?”Caleb’s posture remained deceptively relaxed, but I felt the subtle shift in his arm linked with mine. A readiness. “This is her home now, Rossi. You’ve said your piece. Now leave.”A slow, ghastly smile touched Nicholas’s lips. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were twin pools of stormy madness. “I brought a wedding gift.” His hand slid inside his tailored jacket. My breath hitched, a primal fear lancing through me. A gun? Wa
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