Chapter Eighty Two

Luca

I didn’t see her again for two days.

Not even in passing.

She stayed in the guest suite at the far end of the hall, the one with the door that never used to lock.

It locked now.

Every time I passed it on my way to my study, to the library, to anywhere that wasn’t her I felt the weight of it pressing against my ribs.

I told myself she needed space.

I told myself she deserved time to grieve, to recover.

But none of that made it easier to breathe when I thought about how she’d looked when she stepped out of that car like she was already gone.

And I’d never hated myself more.

By the second night, the silence had grown so loud I couldn’t stand it.

I wheeled myself down the hall after midnight, every rotation of the rims loud in the hush of the house.

When I reached her door, I didn’t knock.

I just rested my palm against the wood.

For a moment, I thought about leaving.

Letting her keep this distance.

But if I did, I knew it would calcify into something worse something neither of us woul