Chapter 2

I opened the chat. No hello, no explanation. Just a video a little over ten seconds long and a short message.

The video was dated last month, on my birthday. The night a blizzard hit.

That night, the storm had knocked out the power in our basement apartment. Matteo had called, breathless, claiming the loan sharks had tracked him down and hurt him. He said he had to stay in hiding until morning.

I believed him.

I spent the entire night huddled beside a candle that had almost burned out, sick with worry. The next day, I even sold nearly a pint of my blood on the black market just to buy him supplements to help him recover.

But the video in front of me shattered my last illusion.

The video showed a lavish suite bathed in soft, dim light. Matteo lay asleep on a velvet sofa, his jacket discarded and his shirt hanging open, exposing his muscular chest.

As the camera moved closer, Victoria's hand entered the frame. A diamond ring sparkled on her finger as she ran her fingertips over the old crescent-shaped scar beneath his collarbone.

He'd gotten that scar from a shard of glass while saving me.

He'd once told me it was the mark of our love, and only I was allowed to touch it.

But in the video, Victoria's finger traced slow, suggestive circles over that scar. Matteo frowned in his sleep, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he let out a contented sigh and leaned into her palm.

Her message appeared beneath the video.

"This scar is hideous. But after we had sex that night, he was so exhausted he didn't even stir when I touched it.

"Alaia, you and I both know it's time to stop playing house.

"In the real world, he's never needed your cheap little love."

I was shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.

My stomach heaved. I ran to the sink and threw up what little food I'd managed to eat that night.

I turned on the faucet, splashed water on my face, and stared at my reflection. My face was pale, and my hair looked dry and lifeless.

This was the test he wanted?

I'd sacrificed my dreams and even sold my blood, all to prove I deserved the empty title of Donna.

Meanwhile, he sat above it all, wearing the red string bracelet I'd braided for him, watching me make a fool of myself.

I didn't want love like this.

I crossed to the corner and picked up my cheap secondhand cello. I'd found it at a pawnshop for $50.

That night, an underground bar in Manhattan needed a cellist to accompany the evening's act. The gig paid $200.

That bar drew every kind of shady character. I'd always been too scared to take gigs there.

But now, all I wanted was that money. It was enough to buy me a ticket out of town.

Away from Matteo forever. Away from this place that had broken my heart.