Chapter 3

The party went smoothly.

After cutting the cake, I ditched the polite smiles and made a beeline for the dance floor. Met a cute guy—messy curls, a cocky smile, hands that lingered too long on my waist.

He gave me his number.

And now I’m staring at it. Still lying on my bed in my very little PJs—believe me when I say little.

No one’s allowed in my room after 10 PM, so I was safe. Even though Enzo said he'd come back... he left.

With her.

She was drunk. Couldn't get home.

So he took her.

Of course.

I may or may not wore this for him.

But now it was all useless.

As me.

I looked down at my phone.

If I can’t text the one I want, why not settle for some distraction?

Rolling over on my bed, my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror above. And just like that, I was yanked into a memory—one that never leaves.

FLASHBACK

“You good?” he asked, that usual furrow between his brows.

“Yes.”

A lie.

The cramps were killing me. I hadn’t even managed to shower—I felt heavy, sore, useless.

It happened sometimes, but today was worse than usual. I curled tighter into the couch, trying to hide it.

He reached for my hand. “Come here.”

“No.”

But of course, he didn’t listen. He never did when I was in pain. I always ended up in his lap. This shouldn’t have felt different. But I was on my period. It felt… humiliating.

What if I left a stain on his expensive suit pants?

Not that he was wearing a suit now—just a shirt, sleeves rolled up, forearms on display like a cruel temptation.

“What are you doing?”

He guided his hand under my red sweatshirt, his palm warm as it moved gently over my aching stomach.

“It’ll help,” he said softly.

And God—it did. I melted into his touch.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face close to his. He focused on my cramps.

I focused on the moles on his face.

1, 2, 3… 4… um… 5… 6… oh, and there's one more…

“Stop,” he murmured suddenly.

“Huh?”

He was staring at me now. That unreadable expression in his eyes.

“How many times are you going to count them?”

I blinked. Caught.

“Oh, that? As many times as I get to be this close to you.”

He chuckled. Deep and amused. It made my chest ache.

“So I have to put up with this forever?”

“I mean… yeah. I guess.”

We were staring at each other. His hand slowly slid a little higher.

My breath hitched. I knew what was coming—

Instead, he started tickling me.

“NOOO!! ENZOOO!! NOO!!”

“No what, princess?” he teased, voice thick with laughter.

I was laughing too hard to feel the pain anymore.

“Please—please, Enzooo!” I begged between gasps.

Finally, he stopped. Lay beside me like the tickling drained all his energy.

We stared up at the mirror above.

“I can’t breathe,” I whispered, smiling.

“Cramps gone?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Or do you want my magical fingers again?”

I blushed. Hard.

I knew he meant tickling.

But my mind had other plans.

FLASHBACK END

“What are you thinking, princess?”

I jolted.

He came.

He was standing at the door in black sweatpants and a t-shirt. Casual. Unbothered.

His hair completely disheveled yet looked effortless.

But his eyes… they didn’t leave my face.

No expression on his face.

Blank.

He didn’t look down—but I knew he saw. I was barely wearing anything. Tiny shorts that threatened to reveal everything with the wrong move. A red bralette.

His favorite color.

I wore it more after he told me.

But not once I had the courage to wear this in front of him.

And here he was.

“About you,” I said softly. Replying to his question.

He tilted his head, confused.maybe?

“Me?”

I sat up, pulling my legs closed. Suddenly shy and very much aware of his stare.

“Yes… how you… proposed,” I mumbled, heading toward the dresser, grabbing the first shirt I found and throwing it on.

In the past I always wanted him to see me in this but now, I don't want to.

He left me on my birthday night.

I thought he'll come to me first but NO!

“I didn’t,” he said, voice sharp.

He hadn’t moved from the doorway. Hands in pockets. Leaning like he owned the air between us.

“You didn’t?”

My back was to him. My heart cracked again.

I turned, walked straight to him, pulled his hand out of his pocket and said with a smile that felt like swallowing glass:

“Then congratulations anyway, Mr. Vitalio. I hope you have a happy life.”

His jaw clenched.

He gripped my hand tightly.

“Don’t play with me, bella,” he whispered.

His voice was soft but on edge.

It was a warning.

“I’m not,” I said sweetly. “But if you want to play…”

I let the silence stretch.

“Then why not?”

His eyes darkened. The room thickened with tension. I could feel the rage in him. If I pushed more, he might just strangle me.

(Not that I’d mind. Not entirely.)

So I did the unthinkable.

I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. Slowly. Lingering.

“I hope you enjoy your married life in the future… Mr. Vitalio.”

That was it.

His hand snapped up into my hair.

Firm, not painful. But dominant and Controlling.

I gasped softly, forced to look up at him, neck stretched, heart racing.

“I. Said. I. Didn’t. Propose. To. Her.”

He growled the words like they burned his tongue.

I rolled my eyes.

He tightened his grip.

I smirked.

“I didn’t ask.”

"Is it too hard for you to understand simple phrase?" He asked.

His patience cracked.

“You’re acting like a brat.”

“I am a brat,” I hissed. “But only towards people who no longer matter to me.”

His eyes widened—just a flicker—but the fire in them roared.

“What’s disturbing you, bella?” he asked, suddenly quiet again.

How do I say it?

That loving him is slowly killing me?

That every part of me screams for him and still, he won’t choose me?

My eyes closed.

I couldn’t look at him anymore.

His grip softened, not letting go. Not entirely.

“Why?” I whispered.

“Huh?”

“I… was your family,” I choked.

The words tasted like betrayal.

His expression softened. He kissed my forehead.

“You are. Forever my family, bella.”

Then why does it hurt so much?

“Then… what changed?” I breathed.

That question made him freeze.

He didn’t have an answer.

And maybe that silence was my answer.