Chapter 27 Livvie
LIVVIE
The music room is silent now, except for the loud thrum of my heart beating out of my chest.
I stand barefoot in the middle of the room, Kingston’s oversized T-shirt clinging to my bare thighs, my violin limp in one hand, the bow dangling from the other.
The last note I played is long gone, swallowed by the anger he left behind.
He didn’t want to hear me out or understand the turmoil I’ve gone through.
Instead, my husband just cut me off and walked away. He didn’t fight for us.
I close my eyes tight and press my lips together, trying to trap the heat of our kiss before it fades forever.
It’s already gone, though.
All that’s left is a hollow ache stretching wide inside me.
My body moves before my brain can stop it, carrying me out of the room like I’m sleepwalking. The diamonds in my wedding ring catch a shard of moonlight and glitter like tiny tears.
I stare at it, jaw clenched until it aches. Every instinct tells me to rip it off and hurl it down the hallway.
But something stops me.
Not because I still believe in fairy tales or hope he’ll return and order me not to leave. But because taking it off would make this pain real. And I’m not ready to admit our marriage is over.
Not when his touch still lingers on my skin and he’d fucked me earlier like I was a religion he hated believing in. And certainly not when I remember the beautiful, tender moments we’d shared, the laughter and intimacy.
Inside my bedroom, the curtains aren’t drawn yet so millions of lights illuminate the cityscape.
I toss the violin onto the bed like it betrayed me and go straight to the dresser. My movements are quick and frantic, shoving in random items of clothes, shoes, a passport, and the emergency roll of cash from the bottom drawer.
My hands pause at the hem of his T-shirt, still soft, still warm with everything we were just hours ago. I decide not to take it off out of stubbornness and pull a hoodie over the top of it.
When I reach the penthouse door, the security guard doesn’t move to stop me. He just stands there, expression distant, and gives a single, silent nod as if he already knows I’m no longer welcome here.
That icy rejection hits harder than I expect, and for one stupid second, the urge to scream swells in my chest. But I don’t let it loose because it won’t change a damn thing.
I square my shoulders, clutch my violin case tighter, and march into the waiting elevator, doing my best to stay strong.
But when the elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me inside a metal box, all the emotions inside me become too big.
My reflection stares back from the polished steel with my unbrushed hair, makeup free complexion, and watery eyes. I look like a girl who just survived a war, only to realize she was on the wrong side.
I grip the railing behind me, my knuckles bone-white.
What the hell am I doing letting him call the shots? But he told me to get out like I meant nothing. It was easy for him. That clean-cut. That final.
My head drops back against the wall with a dull thud.
Breathe, Livvie. Just breathe.
But breathing doesn’t stop the shitstorm tearing through my chest. Maybe Kingston knew walking away was the best for both of us.
Sure, I could disappear now. Leave this life behind and forget all about the order to kill him… but then my family would die.
The elevator slows and I drag in a breath like I’ve just dragged my way out of a dark ocean.
I can’t think straight anymore. All I need is space and distance to figure this out before everything collapses or the Red Tribunal comes for me next.
Outside, the street is loud, chaotic. Honking horns. Voices. A man yells into a phone, something about the stock market, and a woman with purple hair clips my elbow on her way past.
I keep walking, sneakers scuffing the pavement, sweat gathering at the nape of my neck beneath my hoodie.
I should’ve worn something else, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when I stormed out with a violin case and my heart breaking in my chest.
The city hums around me and I don’t know where I’m going. The streets blur together, one block melting into the next.
Uptown? Downtown? Doesn’t matter. I just know I can’t stop moving until I’m far away from his penthouse.
Every corner I pass, I glance over my shoulder. Old paranoia, born from a childhood trapped in shadows and secrets.
No security detail trails me this time. No black SUV crawling behind or watchful eyes reporting back. I left the penthouse on my own, and now I’m truly alone.
The irony doesn’t escape me.
This quiet stretch of freedom is the very thing I came to New York for. A fresh start. A life without chains, bodyguards, and eyes on my every move.
Yet here I am, mid-breakdown after my fake marriage blew up, wandering unfamiliar streets in a city ruled by the very man I just walked out on.
After a few more blocks, I slow near a quieter side street, lift my gaze, and blink at the warm glow of a boutique hotel tucked between a sushi bar and an antique bookstore.
Its red brick exterior is clean and understated, with ivy crawling up one side and gold-lettered signage polished to a shine.
I linger on the sidewalk, considering my options, and adjust the violin strap on my shoulder before nodding once to myself.
This is where I’ll disappear for a while, paying in cash, leaving no trace that I was ever here.
The awning above offers me shadows, but nothing shields me from the ache settling in my chest.
However, I want to set the record straight before I vanish, so I dig into my purse and pull out my phone.
I stare down at the screen and scroll until Kingston’s name stares back at me, bold and permanent, like a tattoo etched into my existence.
It rings once. Then cuts off, going straight to voicemail.
My heart clenches when it beeps and I have the opportunity to leave a message. So I do.
"Hey… it’s your wife," I say it like a sick joke. "I just wanted to tell you the truth. All of it. I never wanted to lie to you. I swear to God, Kingston. I mean… it’s no secret I hated you when I said my vows. You were everything I tried to get away from back home in Ireland.”
I pace the sidewalk and take another steadying breath.
"Truth is, you scare the hell out of me."
I pause, heart pounding as the voicemail records in the open air, my thumb trembling against the phone.
"Not because of what you are or the power you carry. You scare me because when I look at you, I don’t see a monster anymore. I see a man who’s never hurt me… a husband who tried. The guy I would pick a hundred times over if I ever had a choice."
My chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat.
"What I said to my ma… That wasn’t for me. That was for her to repeat to my da. That was strategy. Me trying to figure it out. But you need to hear the truth from me, not from anyone else."
I glance up at the hotel sign, then back down, like the words might be hiding somewhere on the sidewalk.
"I could never hurt you, Kingston. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone else."
The breath I drag in shakes and I hate how close I am to breaking.
"So yeah… this is me. Your wife. Apologizing for not running straight to her husband the moment they gave me the order. I thought I could handle it. Thought I could protect you somehow. But I just made it worse."
My voice softens.
"I’m in love with you, Kingston Viacava. I guess that doesn’t matter to you anymore."
I take a breath, ready to end the message, when the hairs on the back of my neck rise and that old familiar prickle of awareness scurries over my scalp.
Someone’s watching me.
Glancing sideways, I notice a black town car idling at the curb, engine whispering beneath the city noise. The back door swings open and Roman steps out, his tailored coat flaring just slightly in the warm afternoon breeze.
I stagger back a step. “Why the hell won’t you leave me alone?”
He doesn’t smile like he used to. He just kills the space between us and clamps on to my arm.
“I’m done playing nice, Liv,” he murmurs, voice like a slow bleed of poison. “You’re coming with me.”
I jerk back, my pulse leaping. “No… No, I’m not. Tell my da I’m done being a puppet.”
A shadow moves across his expression as a ghost of a smile dances over his lips.
“This has nothing to do with him.” He leans in so close I catch the waft of his cologne. “You’ve always been mine. My little puppet. And I’ve been patient long enough.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I squirm against his grip.
Pedestrians glance our way, but no one stops to help me.
While I wrestle with him, Roman snatches the violin case from my shoulder.
“No—wait—don’t!”
I reach for it, but he’s already popped the latches.
He strides toward the edge of the sidewalk and with a flick of his arm, he flings the violin into the traffic.
Time slows.
I scream.
The instrument arcs through the air, and then a truck’s front tire crushes it mid-turn. The splintering sound rips through my ribs.
My body lurches like it’s my bones breaking out there in the road.
“You fucking bastard!” I scream, trying to claw at him, but he catches my wrists and my phone drops to my feet.
His face dips low to mine, breath hot and venomous. “Continue to fight me and I’ll start breaking things that bleed.”