Chapter 5

Nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

It’s been a goddamn week since I hired someone to dig into her. One week of waiting, obsessing, stalking every second of her scripted, pathetic little life. And what did I get?

Nothing. Zilch. No dirty secrets, no lovers in the dark, not even a goddamn parking ticket.

She’s so plain it makes me want to scream.

Who the hell goes shopping for five hours every single day? And what is she even buying—souls? New personalities?

God, my blood pressure is going to give up before she does.

Her schedule was clockwork stupid:

Wake up at 11.

Dress up like a discount magazine model.

Go shopping.

Sip overpriced tea with plastic-faced friends.

Then go clubbing like she’s auditioning for a mid-life crisis.

And, of course, visits Enzo’s place now and then. Like a good little fiancée.

But guess what?

They have separate fucking bedrooms.

And not once—not even once—in seven days did she go to his room.

I could’ve screamed. I did scream. Into my pillow, into the walls, into the cold tiles of my bathroom floor. Because that? That was a win. A small, pathetic, spark-of-hope kind of win, but a win nonetheless.

Maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t love her the way he should.

So no. Not a total failure.

Next plan:

Make her cheat.

And oh, you’re going to love this one.

Drum rolls, please—

It was a bizarre disaster.

I hired someone—just to get some scandalous pics, some sweet little proof. Nothing criminal. Just a soft nudge into heartbreak.

And what did she do?

She called security.

Screamed like someone had tried to stab her. Made a goddamn scene.

But here’s where it gets twisted.

When I made the call to set it up… it wasn’t her first time hiring an escort.

Yes.

Let that sink in.

Not. Her. First. Time.

So why act all shocked and scared and offended?

Why act like you’ve never seen a stranger in your room before, Carol?

Hmm?

Maybe it’s just me.

Maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t flinch at Lorenzo Vitalio’s name. Maybe I’m the only one who isn’t scared of his temper. Of his rules. Of him.

And God, what a thrill that is.

I smirked.

Then laughed. That kind of manic, echoing laugh you hear in horror films. The kind that means something in you just cracked open.

I won’t let you go, Carol.

But… let’s be honest. You’re boring. Your taste is garbage. Your perfume smells like anxiety.

There’s only one good thing about you.

Him.

FLASHBACK

“Listen to me, my love. It’s not what you think—”

“What I think is none of your business anymore.”

I remember it too vividly. The way he barged in late at night—eyes bloodshot, face pale, a storm bottled behind his ribcage.

I was on the couch, watching a movie I wasn’t even following. He looked… exhausted. Torn.

No. No, Evelyn. Don’t soften. You’re angry.

He sat down in front of me like he had a right. Like he could just show up and be forgiven.

“Leave,” I snapped. “I’m not interested in your excuses.”

But he didn’t move.

So I did.

In my haste, my foot caught the corner of the rug. I stumbled. A vase crashed behind me, shattered into a thousand slivers. I barely noticed the pain until the glass tore through my skin.

I was falling. Into the mess. Into the sharp edge of my own mistake—

His arm wrapped around me.

We both fell. Hard. My hand scraped through the shards. His body crashed into the floor with a sickening thud.

“Ahh—”

“Let me see,” he said, reaching for my bleeding hand.

But I yanked it back like he’d burned me.

And I walked away.

He came after me. Fast. Like he couldn’t help himself.

“Princess! Wait! Bela! I’m sorry!”

I reached my door. Just as I was about to slam it shut, he blocked it with his body.

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

“At least listen! It’s not what you think!”

“Oh, please,” I shouted. “I thought you were family. But you’re just like the rest of them—just another liar who plays with emotions and walks away when it’s convenient!”

I was yelling, crying, shaking.

He reached for me again.

“Don’t touch me, Lorenzo!”

And I did the unthinkable.

I pushed him.

Hard.

He hit the door. His face twisted in pain.

I didn’t understand until I saw it.

Blood.

So much blood.

Dripping down his coat. Soaking through his shirt.

Glass shards. Bullet wounds.

“Oh God.”

I dropped to my knees.

“No. No no no. What did I do?! Nina! Lucas! Please—someone—HELP!!”

It was too late.

He lost consciousness in my arms.

He hadn’t even healed yet. He wasn’t supposed to be standing.

But he came for me. Even half-alive. Even with pain gnawing at his bones.

FLASHBACK END 

Even then.

It’s been almost a month since that night.

Antonio had to send him to New York. Something dangerous. Something messy.

And we… we barely spoke.

Two syllables, maybe three, in passing. No glances. No warmth. Just silence. Bitter, unbearable silence.

He came back this Wednesday.

I didn’t visit. Not for two days.

But today—I had to.

He stayed at his private house in the city sometimes, but mostly at the villa.

Because I always made sure he did.

I smiled, remembering all the childish games I made him play just to keep him near.

That smile shattered when I heard the door open.

It was 1:30 in the morning.

I ran. Stupid, hopeful, reckless.

And then I froze.

He wasn’t alone.

She was with him.

Kissing him—no, devouring him. Like the parasite she is. A leech with expensive lipstick.

He hadn’t seen me yet.

But she had.

Her eyes met mine. And she smirked.

Mocking. Territorial. Vile.

He started unbuttoning his shirt. His bare back still carried the scars. The ones I gave him.

Guilt clawed its way up my throat like poison.

The image blurred behind tears.

And still, I couldn't look away.