Chapter 22
I couldn't breathe. Not in that stupid dress. Not in this palace masquerading as a home. Not with that man watching me like I was still Ara.
Like I was still his.
Dominic fucking Moretti.
My heart shouldn't respond to his voice. To Ara.
To the heat in his eyes that matched nothing and everything I remembered.
But it did.
God, it did.
I made it to the bathroom before I broke.
My heels clicked across the marble, echoing too loudly, too sharply. I locked the door behind me with trembling fingers and braced both hands against the sink. My chest rose and fell too fast. Too deep.
Not here.
Not now.
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, glassy-eyed, flushed, and undone. Not the Versace they thought I was. Not the elegant fiancée. Not the mafia heiress.
But a girl who ran because her mother hated that she wanted to enjoy anything outside the mafia.
A girl whose heart had been splintered and stitched back together so many times, it barely held shape.
Dominic.
I had looked into the eyes of the man who killed Sanaa.
And my traitorous heart fluttered.
I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears away.
No, stop. Not here.
But it came anyway. The sob. It clawed its way up from my ribs and exploded from my mouth before I could stop it.
I slapped a hand over my lips, the other gripping the cold porcelain sink.
Don't cry. Stop crying. He doesn't deserve your tears.
But they came. Hot. Angry. Betrayed.
I sank to the tiled floor, pulling my knees up to my chest. My head dropped between them.
"He killed her," I whispered, like it would make it less real.
The girl who braided my hair during sleepovers.
The only person who knew what my real laugh sounded like.
Gone. Because of him.
"He killed her."
My hands balled into fists. I pounded the floor once, twice. The pain helped. But not enough.
Sanaa's voice echoed in my head. Her laughter. The way she held my face when I cried. The promises we whispered under moonlight.
Dead.
Because of him.
And yet, his voice still made something in me ache. The way he said my name. The way his eyes looked at me like I still meant something.
Why did I still feel this way?
I hated him. I hated him so much that I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands.
But I still wanted to kiss the scars I bandaged.
I sobbed harder, my voice cracking in the silence.
I started hyperventilating, my chest heaving up and down. Shit, I was losing it again. I relaxed on the bathroom floor, trying to grab onto anything to keep me in reality.
The knock at the door was sharp.
"Versace?" Asvika.
I didn't answer.
Another knock. "Vee, open the door."
The lock clicked from the outside, and then she was there, rushing toward me with wide eyes and shaking hands. "Oh my God— Versace—what happened?!"
"I can't—" I choked between sobs. "I can't breathe—"
"Okay, okay, shhh, you're okay," she said quickly, kneeling beside me. Her arms wrapped around me, grounding me. "You're safe. I've got you. Just breathe with me, alright? One, two…just like that."
The door opened again.
It was Zorian.
His eyes landed on me, a crumpled mess in Asvika's arms, and the shift in him was instant.
Without a word, he crossed the room, gently pulling me from Asvika and into his arms. My body went limp against him, my fists still trembling.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't speak.
He just carried me, bridal style, out the back entrance like I was something precious and breakable.
Like I hadn't already shattered.
I buried my face in his chest. The scent of his suit was calming. Familiar. But it wasn't his arms I craved.
It was his.
The one who hurt me the most. And that only made me cry harder.
By the time we reached the estate, I had wiped all the tears away. I hated anyone seeing me in tears. No one deserved that privilege. Not even my shadow.
Asvika sat beside me on the bed, brushing my hair away from my face. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn. Zorian stood at the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn't left since we arrived.
Neither had the storm in my chest.
"You didn't tell me you saw him," Asvika finally said. Her voice was quiet. Careful.
I didn't reply.
"You didn't tell me Dominic Moretti was that man."
I closed my eyes.
"I didn't think I'd ever see him again," I whispered. "I didn't think he'd be Aurelio's cousin. I didn't think—"
"That it'd still hurt this much?" she asked, her voice almost breaking.
I nodded slowly. "He killed her, Asvi. He took her away from me."
Asvika reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. "Then we will make him pay. We take everything from him. Starting with the part of him that still wants you." She spoke low enough for Zorian not to hear.
I flinched.
Because the worst part?
Some stupid part of me still wanted him too. And that might destroy me more than anything else ever could.
"Sleep, when your mother gets back, I'll tell her you passed out or something." I nodded as Asvika literally pulled Zorian out of the room.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed, a text message from The Right Mr Wrong.
The Right Mr Wrong:Versace, I know this marriage proposal is sudden and a bit strange and maybe more political than romantic.
But I want to be your friend, someone you can always count on, even if you don't see me romantically. Even though that's all we ever are.
I hope I woo you enough for you to choose me, and accept my engagement proposal.
My hand hovered on the keyboard, and for once, through the screen I didn’t see the Kashani Billionaire. I saw the guy who had been interested in me from day one, the one who paid my blind date off so he could keep speaking to me.
Thank you, Laurent.
Laurent was his middle name and saying that was my way of saying I think we can be close friends and I liked his proposal.
Sleep well, Mia Stella. Don't worry, I’ll handle the party.
I reacted to his message, putting my phone down. He didn't even ask why I left early. As I closed my eyes, my mind drifted to the hazel eyed monster that returned to my life.
I'll kill him.
Or I'll kiss him.