Chapter 40
Emilia
T he sun dipped low, a molten gold spilling across the sprawling gardens of the Moretti estate. Shadows stretched long against the manicured hedges, and the amber light caught on the delicate crystal glasses perched on tables draped in ivory linen. The scent of roses and lavender hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint, briny tang of the sea breeze drifting up from the cliffs. Guests moved like elegant silhouettes, their laughter and murmured conversations weaving into the soft strains of a string quartet that played somewhere near the fountain.
I adjusted the hem of my dress, fingers brushing against the silky fabric as I stepped onto the stone path leading toward the reception. My heels clicked softly against the stones, barely audible over the music and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I’d been running all day, a blur of quick movements and whispered reassurances, from the moment Adrianna’s makeup artist arrived at dawn to the last, frantic tug of her lace veil just before the ceremony. My muscles ached, but there wasn’t time to think about that now.
Adrianna’s wedding was perfection itself, every detail impossibly precise. Flower petals lined the aisle in an unbroken path of white and blush pink, so perfect it almost felt sacrilegious to step on them. The ceremony had unfolded seamlessly, the vows spoken with a solemnity that even the most skeptical guest couldn’t ignore. Adrianna had stood beneath the arch of roses, her gaze steady, her smile soft but real. Michael had taken her hand, his touch careful, his words measured. Despite everything—the arrangement, the expectations—there had been something in the way he looked at her, something unspoken but steady, as though he were promising, without words, to keep her safe.
Watching them, I’d felt the tension in my chest loosen, just a little. She would be okay. Protected. That was what mattered.
Now, as the golden light gave way to the first hints of twilight, I finally let myself breathe. The faint hum of the day’s chaos still lingered in my mind, but it was distant now. Adrianna had everything she deserved—everything she had been waiting for.
Now, as the reception was in full swing, I found myself nursing a glass of champagne, my feet aching from hours in heels. The dance floor was alive with movement, a blur of swirling gowns and sharp suits, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Adrianna and Michael were at the center of it all, their hands intertwined as they swayed to the music, their smiles soft and unguarded.
“You look lost in thought,” came a voice from behind me.
I turned to find one of Michael’s cousins—Enzo, if I remembered correctly—standing there, a charming smile on his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair slicked back in a way that made him look like he’d stepped out of a cologne ad. Not bad-looking, but not my type. Still, his easy demeanor was a welcome distraction from the knot of nerves that had been twisting in my stomach all evening.
“Just taking it all in,” I said, returning his smile as I lifted my glass. “It’s a beautiful wedding.”
“It is,” he agreed, his gaze flicking to the dance floor. “But I think the maid of honor deserves a dance. What do you say?”
I hesitated, my eyes darting to the crowd. Dante was nowhere in sight—he hadn’t been all evening, as far as I could tell. And maybe that was for the best. The last thing I needed was another confrontation, another reminder of the tension simmering between us. Besides, Enzo seemed harmless enough. A dance wouldn’t hurt.
“Why not?” I said, setting my glass down on a nearby table.
Enzo’s smile widened as he offered me his hand, leading me onto the dance floor. The music shifted to something slower, the kind of melody that encouraged close proximity and whispered conversations. He was a decent dancer, his movements smooth and confident as he guided me across the floor. We made small talk—something about his work, his travels—but my mind was elsewhere, my thoughts drifting to a certain dark-haired, brooding man who had an uncanny ability to consume my every waking moment.
“Are you always this distracted?” Enzo teased, his tone light as he spun me gently.
“Sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s been a long day.”
“Understandable,” he said, his grip on my waist firm but respectful. “But you should try to relax. Enjoy yourself.”
I was about to respond when I felt it—a shift in the air, a prickle at the back of my neck that sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could turn, a familiar voice cut through the music, low and laced with barely contained irritation.
“Mind if I cut in?”
Enzo froze, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Dante’s presence was unmistakable, a magnetic pull that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Yes." I said attempting to pull towards the opposite direction at the same time Enzo answered.
“Of course,” Enzo said quickly, stepping back with a polite nod. “The floor is yours.”
I barely had time to process the exchange before Dante’s hand was on my waist, his other hand capturing mine as he pulled me into a dance. His grip was firm, his movements commanding as he guided me across the floor with an ease that left no room for argument.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, my voice low enough that only he could hear .
“Dancing,” he said simply, his dark eyes locked onto mine. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“Rescuing?” I repeated, my tone sharp. “From what? A perfectly nice conversation with someone who doesn't scream at me?”
Dante’s lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made my blood simmer and my pulse race in equal measure. “From boredom,” he said, his voice smooth and infuriatingly confident. “I could see it all over your face.”
I narrowed my eyes, resisting the urge to stomp on his polished shoes.
"I lost my cool last night," he said, his hand tightening slightly on my waist as he spun me, the motion pulling me closer than was strictly necessary.
I rolled my eyes. "No fucking kidding." Then with a sneer I leaned in and sniffed. "You smell like a distillery, have you even stopped drinking?" I would feign disgust so that he didn't see the hurt I really felt.
Dante’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, his dark eyes narrowing as they bore into mine. “Careful, princess,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
“Good,” I shot back, my tone sharp as I matched his intensity. “Maybe it’ll wake you up. Because whatever this is—” I gestured between us, my hand brushing against his chest as we swayed to the music, “—it’s exhausting. One minute you’re possessive and overbearing, and the next, you’re cold and distant. Make up your mind, Dante. Either you care, or you don’t.”
His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress as if he were holding himself back. “You think I don’t care?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down my spine. “You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with, Emilia. No idea what I’ve been trying to protect you from.”
“Protect me?” I scoffed, my heart pounding in my chest as I glared up at him. “Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, it feels more like you’re trying to control me.”
His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath the shadow of stubble along his cheek. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “This isn’t just about you, Emilia. There are things at play here—things you wouldn’t even begin to comprehend.”
“Then explain it to me!” I demanded, my voice rising despite the music and the murmurs of the crowd around us. “Stop keeping me in the dark and treating me like I’m some fragile little girl who can’t handle the truth. You don’t get to make decisions for me, Dante.”
His eyes flashed, a storm brewing behind them as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You want the truth?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. “Fine. I’m trying to stop a war, Emilia. A war that could destroy everything—and everyone—you care about. And the last thing I need is you getting caught in the crossfire because you can’t stay out of trouble.”
I froze, his words sinking in like a stone dropped into the depths of my chest. A war. The weight of it pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, but I refused to let him see how much it affected me. Instead, I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze with defiance.
“And what about you?” I asked, my voice trembling but steady enough to carry the challenge. “Who’s protecting you, Dante? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one falling apart.”
His smirk returned, but it was bitter, devoid of the usual arrogance that made me want to slap him. “I don’t need protecting,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “Not from you. Not from anyone.”
“Really?” I shot back, my anger flaring again. “Because it seems to me like you’re drowning, Dante. You’ve been avoiding me, snapping at me, and now you’re here, making a scene because you can’t handle the fact that someone else might actually enjoy my company.”
His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make me gasp. “You think this is about jealousy?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I give a damn about some second-rate nobody trying to charm you on the dance floor?”
“Then what is it about?” I challenged, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared up at him. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like jealousy.”
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “It’s about you, Emilia,” he growled, his voice rough and unrelenting. “It’s always been about you. And the fact that you’re too damn stubborn to see it is driving me insane.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as he spun me again, the motion pulling me flush against his chest. His hand slid from my waist to my lower back, pressing me closer as the music swelled around us, the rest of the world fading into the background.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice soft but no less intense, the words a quiet declaration that sent a shiver down my spine. “And I don’t care who knows it.”
The possessiveness in his tone should have infuriated me, should have made me push him away and walk off the dance floor. But instead, it left me breathless, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared up at him.
The heat of his words wrapped around me like a vice, tightening with every syllable. My breath hitched, and I hated the way my body betrayed me, leaning into him even as my mind screamed at me to pull away. His dark eyes burned into mine, daring me to challenge him, to push back against the weight of his claim.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said finally, my voice trembling but resolute. “You don’t get to decide who I belong to, Dante.”
His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, but there was something else in his gaze—something raw and unguarded that made my chest tighten. “Don’t I?” he murmured, his hand sliding higher up my back, his touch firm and possessive. “Because every time you look at me, every time you let me touch you, you’re deciding. Whether you admit it or not.”
My heart pounded, the music around us fading into a distant hum as the tension between us coiled tighter, like a spring ready to snap. His words were a challenge, a declaration, and I hated how much they affected me. Hated how much I wanted to believe them.
“Dancing with me. Letting me hold you. Letting me remind every man in this room that you’re mine.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to throw his words back at him, but the intensity in his gaze stopped me cold. Dante’s hand on my back burned like a brand, his dark eyes locking me in place, daring me to defy him. But I couldn’t do this—not here, not now. Not with the weight of his words pressing down on me, making my chest ache with emotions I wasn’t ready to name.
He was drunk, he wasn't thinking straight. I was throwing every excuse into the atmosphere to explain his behaviour.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pull away from him. “I need some air,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Let go of me, Dante.”
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, his jaw clenching as if he was battling some internal war.
"You're drunk. Let go of me, Dante.” I repeated pulling away from him, expecting him to hold on.
But then he released me, his hand falling away as I stepped back, the sudden absence of his touch leaving me unsteady.
I turned on my heel, my dress swishing around my ankles as I made my way off the dance floor. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a drum. The cool night air beckoned, a reprieve from the heat of his gaze and the storm brewing between us.
But I didn’t make it far. I could hear him almost huffing and puffing behind me as I sped my walking up a bit knowing deep down it was a fruitless task.
“Emilia,” Dante’s voice cut through the music, low and commanding, stopping me in my tracks. I didn’t turn around, didn’t dare meet his eyes, but I could feel him behind me, his presence a weight I couldn’t ignore.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he said, his tone laced with frustration.
I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I turned to face him. “What do you want from me, Dante?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “You can’t keep doing this—pulling me close, then pushing me away. Acting like you own me one minute and then treating me like I’m nothing the next.”
His dark eyes flashed, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grab my arm. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. “I’m trying to stop this from spiraling out of control.”
“Stop what?” I scoffed, trying to pull my arm out of his grasp. “From spiraling into what, Dante? Because right now, it feels like you’re the one spinning out.”
His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath the shadow of stubble along his cheek.
“You won't tell me! You'll never trust me! I'm just a pawn in the mens games, do you not think I know that? Look at this fucking wedding Dante! The men selling us off for power. Control." I shot back, my voice rising despite the murmurs of the crowd around us. His hand gripping me with enough force to make me wince. I know bruises would be fresh by the end of this. “Stop treating me like I’m clueless. Stop shutting me out.”
His hand shot out again, gripping my arm with enough force to make me wince.
“You’re hurting me, Dante,” I hissed again, my voice trembling as his grip on my arm tightened. The shadows of the garden swallowed us whole, the murmurs of the wedding reception fading into a distant hum. The sharp edge of his jaw was illuminated by the faint glow of the moon, his dark eyes boring into mine with a ferocity that made my breath catch.
His grip loosened slightly, just enough to ease the sting but not enough to let me go. “Do you think I want to hurt you, Emilia?” he growled, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping against steel. “Do you think I enjoy this?”
“Then let me go,” I shot back, my chest heaving as I tried to pull free. But he didn’t budge. His hand remained firm, his body a wall of tension and barely restrained fury.
“I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. The admission hung between us, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, I saw it—the cracks in his armor, the storm raging behind his eyes. He wasn’t just angry. He was unraveling.
“Why not?” I demanded, my voice rising despite the lump forming in my throat. “Why can’t you just let me go, Dante? Why can’t you let me breathe?”
“Because I don’t know how to,” he snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. His hand dropped from my arm, leaving a phantom ache in its wake as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know how to let you go, Emilia. And it’s driving me fucking insane.”
The rawness in his voice stopped me cold. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as I stared at him, unsure whether to scream at him or pull him closer. His confession was a double-edged sword, cutting through the anger and hurt that had been building between us, but leaving behind a vulnerability that terrified me.
“Dante…” I began, my voice softer now, but he cut me off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Do you know what it’s like?” he said, his tone quieter but no less intense. “To feel like you’re losing control? To know that every time you look at someone, every time you touch them, you’re putting them in danger?” He took a step closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You think this is about jealousy? About me being possessive? It’s not. It’s about keeping you alive, Emilia. It’s about protecting you from the monsters in my world—monsters who would tear you apart just to get to me.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket. “I’m not afraid of you, Dante,” I said quietly, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “I’m not afraid of your world.”
“You should be,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because if you stay in it, it will destroy you. It will destroy us.”
“Then stop pushing me away,” I said, taking a step closer. “Stop treating me like I’m some fragile thing that’s going to break. I’m stronger than you think, Dante. I can handle this. I can handle you.”
His jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides as he stared at me, the battle raging behind his eyes clear as day. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice rough and strained. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” I challenged, my chin lifting in defiance. “Stop shutting me out. Stop making decisions for me. If you want to protect me, fine. But don’t do it by treating me like I don’t matter.”
“You matter,” he snapped, his voice rising with a ferocity that made me flinch. “You matter more than you should. More than anything else in my life. And that’s the fucking problem.”
The confession hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. I stared at him, my heart pounding as his words echoed in my mind. More than anything else. He said it like it was a curse, like it was something he couldn’t control, and it terrified him.
“Dante,” I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled back as if my touch burned him.
“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice breaking. “Not here. Not now.”
I watched as Dante took another step back, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. The distance he put between us felt like a chasm, one I wasn’t sure I could—or should—cross. His words still hung in the air, raw and jagged, cutting through the night like shards of glass. You matter more than anything else in my life. And that’s the fucking problem.
The weight of his confession was suffocating. It was everything I’d wanted to hear and yet nothing I could make sense of. How could I matter so much to someone who seemed determined to push me away at every turn? How could I mean more to him than anything, and still feel like I was standing on the outside of his world, looking in?
“You can’t do this?” I repeated, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “What exactly can’t you do, Dante? Be honest? Be vulnerable? Let yourself feel something without running away?”
He flinched at my words, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze to the ground. For a moment, he looked almost...defeated. Like the weight of whatever he was carrying had finally become too much. But then his jaw tightened, and when he looked back at me, the vulnerability I’d seen was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he wore so well.
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You think this is about me being afraid to feel? You think this is about me running away? It’s not. It’s about keeping you alive, Emilia. It’s about making sure you don’t end up as collateral damage in a war you have no business being part of.”
“I’m already part of it!” I shot back, my voice rising despite the lump forming in my throat. “Whether you like it or not, whether I like it or not, I’m already in this, Dante. My name, my family, my blood—it’s all tied to your world. There’s no escaping it. So stop pretending like you’re doing me a favor by keeping me at arm’s length.”
His eyes flashed with something I couldn’t quite name—anger, frustration, maybe even fear. But he didn’t respond. He just stood there, his hands fisted at his sides, his body coiled so tightly I thought he might snap.
“You can’t have it both ways,” I continued, my voice quieter now but no less firm. “You can’t act like I’m yours one minute and then push me away the next. You don’t get to decide how much of you I get to have, Dante. That’s not how this works.”
He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “You think this is a choice?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You think I want to push you away? You think I don’t lie awake at night, wondering what the hell I’m doing, wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by letting you get this close?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. The rawness in his voice, the way his shoulders sagged as if the weight of his own words was too much to bear—it was almost too much to take.
“Every time I look at you,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper, “every time I touch you, I’m reminded of how easy it would be to lose you. And it terrifies me, Emilia. Because I know what happens to the people I care about. I know what happens to the people who get too close.”
“And what happens?” I asked, my voice trembling as I took a tentative step toward him. “What happens, Dante? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one tearing us apart, not your world.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine as if he was looking for something—answers, reassurance, maybe even salvation. But whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned away, his back to me.
“I can’t do this,” he said again, his voice barely audible. “Not with you. Not like this.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. My chest ached, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. But I refused to let him see how much his words hurt. I refused to let him have that power over me.
"Fine," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, though every word felt like I was swallowing glass. "If you can't do this, then don't. But stop acting like you're the only one who gets to decide what happens between us. Stop pretending like you're the only one carrying the weight of this...whatever this is."
Dante froze, his broad shoulders stiffening, and for a moment, I thought he might turn around. But he didn’t. He stayed rooted in place, his back to me, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The silence between us was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the wedding reception in the distance. Laughter, music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt like it was happening in another world, far removed from the storm brewing between us.
"You think this is easy for me?" he said finally, his voice low and strained, like he was holding something back. "You think I don't want to give in? To let you in? To stop fighting this?"
"Then why don't you?" I demanded, taking another step toward him. My heels clicked softly against the stone path, but the sound felt thunderous in the suffocating quiet. "Why do you keep pushing me away, Dante? What are you so afraid of?"
He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the night like a blade. When he finally turned to face me, his dark eyes burned with a mix of anger and something deeper—something raw and unguarded that made my breath catch.
"I'm afraid of losing you," he said, his voice rough and unsteady. "I'm afraid of what happens when someone like me loves someone like you. Because it never ends well, Emilia. It never fucking ends well."
The word hung between us like a live wire: loves. My heart stuttered in my chest, the weight of his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave. He looked at me like he’d just torn himself open, like he’d handed me a piece of himself he’d never given to anyone else. And I didn’t know what to do with it.
"Dante..." I started, my voice barely above a whisper, but he cut me off with a sharp shake of his head.
"No," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You don’t get it, Emilia. You don’t understand what it means to be with someone like me. The things I’ve done. The blood on my hands. The enemies I’ve made. If they knew how much you meant to me—if they even suspected—they’d use you to get to me. And I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because of me."
I stared at him, my chest tightening as his words sank in. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that I could handle it, that I wasn’t afraid. But the truth was, I was afraid. Not of him, or his world, but of the weight of what he was saying. Of what it meant to be loved by someone like Dante Conti.
"You don’t get to make that choice for me," I said finally, my voice trembling but resolute. "You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. If you care about me—if you really care—then stop shutting me out. Stop trying to protect me by pushing me away."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then something in his expression shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he took a step closer. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a touch so gentle it made my chest ache.
"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he said quietly, his voice laced with a mix of longing and despair. "You don’t know what it’s like to live in my world, to carry the weight of it every day. It’s not just danger, Emilia. It’s darkness. And once you’re in, there’s no way out."
"Maybe I don’t want a way out," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I want to be where you are, no matter how dark it gets."
His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something crack in his armor. But then he pulled back, his hand dropping to his side as he turned away again.
"I can’t," he said, his voice barely audible. "I can’t give you what you want, Emilia. Not without destroying you in the process."
"What...what are you doing? You can't just spring that on me and then what...break up with me?!" My voice was hysterical sounding even in my ears.
I stared at him, my chest tightening as the weight of his words crashed over me like a tidal wave. Break up? Could you even call it that when we weren’t officially anything? When every moment we’d shared had been wrapped in layers of tension, desire, and unspoken truths? But it felt like a breakup. It felt like he was ripping something vital out of me, leaving a gaping wound that I didn’t know how to close.
“You’re serious,” I said, my voice trembling as I tried to process what was happening. “You’re actually doing this.”
Dante didn’t turn around. He stood with his back to me, his broad shoulders rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The moonlight cast a faint glow over him, highlighting the sharp lines of his profile, but he didn’t look at me. He couldn’t.
“Yes,” he said finally, his voice low and cold, like the snap of a winter wind. “I am.”
My breath hitched, and I took a shaky step forward, my heels clicking softly against the stone path. “You don’t mean that,” I said, desperation creeping into my tone. “You can’t mean that. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after—”
“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice sharp and unyielding. He turned to face me then, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made my heart ache. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Emilia.”
“Harder?” I repeated, my voice rising as the anger and hurt bubbled to the surface. “You think this is hard for you? You’re the one walking away, Dante. You’re the one deciding that this—us—isn’t worth fighting for. So don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re the victim.” I shook my head, my vision blurring as tears threatened to spill.
His expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something like regret flashing in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he always wore when he was trying to shut me out.
“I’m doing this for you,” he said, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. “You’ll understand one day. ”
“No,” I said, my voice trembling as I took another step toward him. “I won’t. Because this isn’t about me, Dante. This is about you. You’re scared. You’re scared of what this means, of what we could be. And instead of facing it, you’re running away.”
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I’d struck a nerve. But then he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his tone dismissive. “This isn’t fear. It’s reality. And the reality is, you’re better off without me.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. My chest ached, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. But I refused to let him see how much his words hurt. I refused to let him have that power over me.
“Fine,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended, though it cracked on the last syllable. “If that’s how you feel, then go. Walk away. But don’t you dare tell me to forget you. Don’t you dare act like you didn’t start this, like you didn’t pull me into your world and make me believe there was something worth holding onto.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher—anger, frustration, pain. Maybe all three.
“Goodbye, Emilia,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Forget me.”
And then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing against the stone path as he disappeared into the shadows. I stood there, frozen, my chest heaving as I tried to process what had just happened.