He Taught Me to Obey, So I Learned to Leave
Lucien Varelli loved me best when my madness belonged to him.
I tracked his convoy routes, checked his burner phones, and almost turned the city upside down whenever he disappeared for more than five minutes.
At first, Lucien loved it.
He kissed the signet ring on my hand and swore no woman, no family, no power in the city could ever take him from me.
Until the night I cut off a call from Celeste Ardian.
After that, I was no longer his wife.
I was a problem.
A scandal.
A woman too unstable to stand beside the heir of a ruling house.
So Lucien signed the papers and sent me to St. Dymphna House.
They called it a private residential clinic.
What it really was, was a place where inconvenient women were broken down and rebuilt into something quieter.
Five years later, Lucien came to take me home.
The director told him I had done beautifully.
I no longer screamed.
I no longer fought.
I knew how to lower my eyes, soften my voice, keep my hands still, and smile like a proper Donna.
Lucien thought they had cured me.
He was wrong.
They had not cured my madness.
They had only killed the part of me that once loved him.