24 | Money, Money, Money
The city's chaotic rhythm pulsed outside the tinted windows of the sleek black SUV as we drove through Manhattan.
Towering skyscrapers and flashing billboards reflected off the sleek black windows, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were somewhere else, on the ball, on Luciano, and on what kind of dress I needed to make them all stop and stare. To make them remember me.
Franco sat across from me, his broad frame relaxed in the leather seat, but his eyes were sharp. The faint smirk on his lips told me he was itching to say something provocative, as always.
The silence between us was comfortable in its tension, but of course, he couldn't leave it alone for long.
"So," he drawled, his voice tinged with amusement, "what's this urgent shopping trip for? You planning to take over the world, one designer dress at a time?"
I turned my head to him, letting a sly smile play on my lips. "Something like that. It's about the gathering this weekend."
"Let me guess," Franco leaned forward slightly, the humor in his dark eyes turning to mischief. "You're planning to make every woman in the room hate you and every man fall at your feet."
"That's the goal," I replied, unbothered by his teasing.
He slightly chuckled, shaking his head. "How exactly do you plan to pay for this little adventure? You planning to flash a smile and hope they just hand over expensive designer dresses out of the goodness of their hearts?"
I smirked, finally turning to him. "Oh, I have a plan, Franco. Don't you worry."
He raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. I reached into my handbag, pulling out the ace up my sleeve: Luciano's black card.
I held it up, the sleek metal catching the sunlight like a weapon. Franco blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet opulence of the street.
"Luciano's card? You've got balls, I'll give you that, red."
I shrugged, slipping the card back into my bag. "It's not like he doesn't owe me."
Franco leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "You're not even pretending to feel guilty, are you?"
"You know what I've heard before I got married to Luciano?" I said, keeping my voice low. "I've heard the unmistakable sounds of my dear husband and his precious Ciara fucking. Do you think I'm going to feel guilty for buying a few dresses and a few pairs of shoes? Hell no."
"So, this is revenge?"
"Call it therapy."
The SUV came to a smooth stop in front of Elysian, one of the most exclusive boutiques in New York. The glass doors shimmered with understated opulence, and even the sidewalk seemed cleaner in this part of the city.
The bodyguards exited first, scanning the area before one of them opened the door for me.
I stepped out with confidence, my heels clicking against the pavement, and Franco followed close behind.
Inside, the boutique was a haven of luxury. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over rows of couture gowns, each one more extravagant than the last. The air was cool and faintly perfumed, a subtle reminder that even breathing here came at a price.
Instantly, a polished woman with a practiced smile approached us, her gaze flickering briefly to Franco and the bodyguards before landing on me.
"Welcome to Elysian," she said smoothly. "How can we assist you today?"
"I need a few dresses," I said, my tone calm but commanding. "Something that makes a statement."
"Of course," she replied, her smile widening. "Right this way."
I followed her deeper into the boutique, Franco trailing behind with an air of reluctant curiosity.
The fitting room they led me to was nothing short of a private suite, complete with plush seating and full-length mirrors that reflected every angle.
The racks of gowns they brought out were works of art, silk, lace, and crystals woven together with precision and care.
The first dress was too simple. The second, too loud. The third had potential, but it didn't quite feel right.
I was on the verge of removing another when I caught sight of the dress. Red silk that clung to my curves like a second skin, with a high slit that revealed just enough leg to make a statement without crossing into vulgarity.
When I stepped out of the fitting room, the reaction was fast. Franco's usual smirk faded, replaced by something closer to admiration. The bodyguards exchanged quick glances but remained silent, their professionalism intact.
"Well?" I asked, turning slowly, so the fabric shimmered in the light. "What do you think?"
Franco cleared his throat, his voice unusually subdued. "You'll definitely turn heads."
"Good," I said, smoothing the fabric over my hips. "That's the point."
After selecting a few dresses, a few pairs of shoes and a few designer handbags, I finally moved on to the accessories. I chose a pair of diamond earrings that sparkled like fire and a bracelet that felt satisfyingly heavy on my wrist.
The saleswoman estimated the total with a practiced smile.
Without a word, I pulled out Luciano's card and handed it to her. The black metal caught the light like a weapon, and for a moment, it felt like one.
She swiped it with practiced ease.
"We're grateful for your purchase," she said, handing the card back.
As the bags were packed and handed to the bodyguards, Franco leaned in, his voice low. "You're really going through with this, aren't you?"
I met his gaze, unflinching. "Every penny."
"You know this isn't going to go unnoticed by Luciano," he said, his tone laced with warning.
"Good," I replied, my voice cold but steady. "Let him notice. Let him wonder. Let him lose his shit."
As we stepped back into the SUV, the weight of the day settled over me, not as exhaustion, but as satisfaction.
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I place the last pair of heels into the closet, arranging them neatly with the others, my fingers tracing over the leather and stitching as I breathe in the scent of freshly purchased clothes.
It's a strange feeling, putting everything in its rightful place, dresses, shoes, handbags, all lined up in their neat little rows.
I finally pull the last dress over the hanger, smoothing the fabric out and letting it hang perfectly, and I step back to admire the chaotic order of it all.
A part of me can't help but smirk. For all the wealth that Luciano throws around, for all the power and control, I still have the upper hand in ways he'll never understand.
It's then that the door opens, and the head maid steps in. Her presence is silent and efficient, as always, but she still manages to have a certain weight in her footsteps.
"Mrs. Costa," she begins softly, her voice polite yet with a trace of hesitation, "Luciano asked for you to come to his office. He wishes to speak with you."
I turn toward her, my voice even as I reply, "I'm quite tired from shopping, actually. Tell him to come here instead. It's been a long day. Thank you."
The maid doesn't protest. She simply nods and leaves, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. The door clicks shut behind her, and I can already feel the unease settle in my chest.
I sigh, finishing up my task, brushing the last of the wrinkles from the dresses.
Moments later, the door bursts open, and there he is, standing in the doorway. Luciano. His sharp features are illuminated by the light from the chandelier, his tall frame filling the doorway.
Without waiting for an invitation, he strides into the room, his footsteps heavy, like a storm about to break.
He looks me up and down as I stand there, half-distracted by the beauty of the dresses around me.
"What the hell is all this?" Luciano's voice is low, almost too controlled. But I know him well enough to hear the edge beneath it.
His eyes flick over the newly bought clothes, the shoes, the handbags, all of it displayed in a way that feels far too perfect, almost too intentional.
I glance up at him, holding his gaze, unfazed.
"Oh? This?" I gesture to the rows of luxury dresses that were hanging in the walk in closet. "I went on a little therapy trip because I was feeling a little bit like a second choice."
So much for the fresh start he was hoping for between us.
There's no mistaking the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his dark eyes narrow at my words. But he doesn't respond right away. He steps closer, his shoes clicking against the marble floor as he approaches me, his gaze sweeping over everything I've bought.
For a moment, he just stands there, like he's assessing the situation.
Then, he speaks, his voice much colder now, demanding, "I noticed there was a withdrawal. A significant one."
I raise an eyebrow, my fingers running lightly over the seam of one of the dresses.
"Oh? What was the amount? Thirty thousand?" I offer the number casually, like it's no big deal, but it is.
His eyes flash, and there's a flicker of something darker in them now. He takes a step toward me, his face hardening, and I know I've struck a nerve.
"No, Aurelia," Luciano's voice is icy, each word measured. "It was more than that. A lot more."
"How much more?" I ask innocently, though I know the exact figure that will drive him mad.
"Five hundred thousand," he finally spits out, his gaze narrowing. "Five hundred thousand dollars. Just for shopping."
I shrug nonchalantly. "I told you, I went on a little therapy trip. Spent it all on myself since I deserved to be the top priority for once. Do you have a problem with that?"
Luciano's silence fills the room, the air thickening with tension. For a moment, I almost expect him to explode, to lash out. But instead, he stands there, motionless, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I have no problem with you spending money," he begins. "But this... this significant amount? It's alarming. It's like you're seeking my attention, Aurelia." He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches me.
"I thought we both agreed on a clean slate, no more games, no more lies. What's this about?" He crosses his arms over his chest, standing tall in the doorway, his posture commanding and implacable.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He's right. We agreed to start fresh, to leave the past behind us.
I can feel his heavy gaze on me. He's waiting for an answer, expecting me to explain myself. But I can't. Not really. Not without showing just how much I've been hurting, how much I've been lying to myself. How I've been trying to fill the void with things that can never make me whole.
"Don't look at me like that," I snap, crossing my own arms defensively. "I'm not seeking your attention. I'm just... I'm doing what I want."
The words slip out before I can stop them, sharp and bitter.
"I never said you couldn't do what you want, Aurelia. I'm just saying... when you drop half a million dollars in a day, it starts to feel like you're trying to prove something. To me. To yourself." He steps closer, his voice lowering, almost gentle.
I bite my lip, looking away from him, my heart hammering in my chest. He's right again. It's not just about the money.... It's about the bitterness that sits heavy in my chest, the twisted mix of love and hatred I feel for him.
I'm married to a man I both despise and long for at the same time. I hate him because he's been with my sister, who he cared about, and that thought alone makes my blood boil. But I love him, too, because you don't just get over a five-year crush in an instant.
Those feelings don't disappear overnight, no matter how much I wish they would.
"I'm not seeking your attention," I mutter again, but it feels empty. I want to believe it, but deep down, I know the truth. "I'm just... I'm doing this for me. Because I deserve it. I deserve something, right?"
Luciano stares at me, his eyes searching, piercing. I can't escape the way his gaze makes me feel like he's seeing right through me, right into the parts of me I try to hide.
"If shopping makes you feel better," he begins, his voice smooth yet cutting, "then go ahead. Buy every dress, every pair of shoes, every damn handbag in the world. But let's not pretend for a second that it'll fix whatever's broken inside you."
Damn him. Damn the way his words hit their mark, slipping past my defenses with ease. Damn the calm, calculated tone he uses, so sure of himself, so sure of me.
My fingers clutch the fabric of the dress in my hands as though the silk can anchor me, keep me from drowning in the sea of emotions he stirs up.
"You're wrong," I say, my voice barely a whisper. But deep down, I know he's not.
I keep throwing money at these dresses, convinced that maybe this time it'll be different.
Maybe this perfect piece of fabric will finally wrap around me like a warm embrace, make me feel like I actually matter, like I've been chosen for once in my fucking life.
But deep down, I know it's all a lie. No amount of trendy clothes can stitch together the gaping wound of abandonment that festers inside me.
One day, the deep wound will ultimately consume me.
.
.
.
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Short explanation: Luciano married Aurelia or forged the marriage certificate because he and her father had made a deal while she was in a coma to protect his honor and position.