LOGIN(A week later)Ciara’s POV“Dress up, Ciara!”Jasper’s snarl cut through the room as he hurled the gown at me, a black silk, low-cut, expensive, the kind of dress that screamed “look at me” while whispering “you’re nothing.”I kicked it back hard. The fabric skidded across the marble like a dead thing.“I’m not going anywhere with you again!” I snapped, voice raw from days of silence and nights of screaming inside my own head. “I’m done with that fake appearance shit. Take your childhood sweetheart and go. Leave me the fuck alone!”He let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound of a man who’d already won and was just enjoying the last act of the play.“You’ve grown guts, huh?” he said, stepping closer, eyes glittering with something cold and amused. “I let you be for a while and now you’re running your bitchy mouth. Think I can’t hurt you?”I stared at him, my chest tight, and pulse hammering.He’d changed completely. Or maybe he’d always been this, hidden behind “wifey” and soft smiles u
Ciara’s POVI stared at the woman who’d just introduced herself as my husband’s childhood sweetheart and let out a long, slow sigh.Vivienne.Even her name sounded expensive, like something you’d find engraved on a bottle of poison disguised as perfume. She stood there in the middle of the grand foyer like she owned the place, dark hair cascading in perfect waves, red lipstick sharp enough to cut glass, eyes gleaming with the kind of confidence only women who’ve never been told “no” possess.Jasper had been doing shit these past few days, parading women through the house like trophies, leaving lipstick stains on collars for me to see, filling the air with different perfumes just to remind me I wasn’t the only one he could touch. Not that I cared. Truly. My focus had narrowed to three things... stabilizing this pregnancy, eating enough to keep the pup’s restless energy from turning violent, and plotting every possible way to get the fuck out of here after I gave birth.So what the he
Ciara’s pov I don’t know how long I stayed on the floor. Long enough for the tears to dry into salty tracks on my cheeks, long enough for the pup’s energy to settle into something quieter, and almost mournful. Long enough for the cold marble to seep into my bones and remind me I was still alive, still breathing, and still trapped.Eventually I forced myself up, legs shaky, world tilting for a second and made my way to the bathroom. The mirror showed a woman I barely recognized.. eyes swollen and red, cheeks pale, bruises around my throat fading to ugly yellow-green shadows. I looked like a ghost wearing my own skin.I turned on the tap, cupped cold water in my hands, and splashed it over my face until my cheeks stung. The shock of it helped, it grounded me. I stared at my reflection again and really stared and forced a small, sad smile.“There you are,” I whispered to the woman in the glass. “Still breathing. Still fighting. Even if no one else sees it.”The past week had been hell
Ciara’s POVI stood at the window, one hand splayed flat against the cold glass, the other resting gently on my still-flat stomach, feeling the faint, restless energy of the pup humming beneath my palm.Outside, the world was a perfect white blanket of snow, it was soft, silent, and untouched. It looked peaceful from up here. Almost kind. But I knew better. Peace in this world was always an illusion, a pretty lie painted over blood and broken bones.Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, silent at first, then faster, carving warm paths that cooled almost instantly in the chill of the room. I didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? No one was here to see. No one was here to care.My life… I didn’t know where it was heading anymore.It didn’t belong to me.It never really had.Sometimes I wondered how wonderful it would be to be born ordinary. No dangerous bloodline hanging over my head like a guillotine blade. No mafia empires built on the broken backs of women like me. No arra
Ciara’s POV“What… how dare you,” she snarled, half-rising from her chair, cheeks flushing ugly red.Before she could lunge, my mother-in-law stood fast and elegant, hand clamping down on her daughter’s arm like a vice wrapped in silk.“Ciara,” she said, voice smooth but edged with warning, “don’t you think you’re getting bolder in here?”I sighed, long, and theatrical, the kind of sigh that said bitch, please.“Bold?” I repeated, tilting my head. “I don’t think so, Mother-in-law. If your darling daughter hadn’t opened her mouth to attack me, I’d have just grabbed my plate and disappeared upstairs like a good little pregnant trophy. But she couldn’t respect herself...or me...so here we are.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry for disrupting breakfast.”I turned to leave, already mentally mapping the quickest route back to my room when footsteps echoed behind me.I turned in time to see Jasper.And clinging to his arm like a fucking barnacle was a woman.Tall. Blonde. Red dress so tight i
Ciara’s POVMy whole body was aching as I staggered out of bed to the bathroom.I hadn’t slept worth a damn last night. Every time I closed my eyes, the same reel played... Jasper’s fingers squeezing my throat, his voice spitting shit like it tasted sweet, the way the man who used to call me “wifey” had looked at me like I was property he hadn’t finished breaking in yet.Then Dax... gold eyes flashing crimson, knot locked deep inside me while I begged, only to disappear before the sun came up like a ghost who’d never been real.I knew marrying Jasper wasn’t going to be some fairytale.I’d never been stupid enough to believe in those.In this world, mafia blood, power carved out with bullets and betrayal, alliances sealed with rings and corpses... love is a luxury nobody can afford.I’d expected distance. Cold sheets. Polite nods across dinner tables. Maybe the occasional forced smile while someone sharpened a knife behind my back. A quiet life. A gilded cage. Die old, die quiet, and d







