Chapter 14 #3
The backyard stretched wide and dark, an expanse of controlled wilderness.
Manicured grass gave way to something harsher in the distance.
The ridge.
The inverted V rose from the ground like a warning—a jagged formation of artificial limestone, sharp-edged and uneven.
It had been built years ago, part of some twisted philosophy of discipline and endurance.
Every surface was angled, unstable, unforgiving.
There was nowhere to rest, nowhere to hide.
Only pain, multiplied by gravity and time.
Renzo stopped at its base.
The night was quiet except for the distant hum of wind.
“Take your shoes off,” he said.
I looked at him.
For a moment, he didn’t look back.
That was answer enough.
I bent slowly, fingers trembling only slightly as I untied the laces. Slid the sneakers off.
Let them fall carelessly to the side.
Bare soles met cold gravel.
The sting was immediate—sharp, biting.
“Walk to the ridge’s peak. Kneel. And do not rise until I say so,” he said, letting each word settle like a weight.
Not an order.
A sentence.
I pushed forward, every step a battle against the chill crawling up my spine.
When I reached the ridge’s peak, a shiver of fear ran through me.
Below, the jagged drop of the training cliff plunged into darkness, and the wind howled around the stones like voices warning me to turn back.
Scattered around the ridge were the remnants of past drills—broken boards, splintered stakes, and the sharp steel spikes of training dummies that had been flung and forgotten.
My chest tightened, and I almost froze—but Renzo’s glare pinned me in place.
Not daring to hesitate, I lowered myself carefully.
The moment my knees touched the stone, agony ripped through me—sharp, merciless, as jagged edges bit into flesh and bone.
I sucked in a breath that escaped between clenched teeth, the pain burning through every nerve.
There was no adjusting.
No position that eased it.
Every shift only found a new kind of hurt.
Renzo stood over me, quiet for a long moment.
Then, his voice broke the silence—barely above a whisper:
“I’m sorry, Elena.”
I looked up at him.
There was something in his eyes—conflict, guilt, restraint.
Something that wanted to help but knew better than to try.
A small, humorless smile tugged at my lips despite the pain.
“You did nothing wrong,” I whispered, my voice trembling with pain.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for... Renzo... I’m... I’m just thankful you survived.”
A sharp stone dug into my knee, and a cry of agony tore from me.
I winced, gasping through clenched teeth.
“I was... I was worried... I thought you might have died... in that dark cell...”
My chest heaved as the pain tore through me. “This... this is my fate...”
I groaned, each sound carrying my torment, the jagged stone beneath me whispering that the longer I remained, the sharper its bite would only grow more unbearable as time dragged on.
His throat moved as he swallowed.
He nodded once, but didn’t speak again.
Renzo crouched a few feet away—close enough that his body broke the worst of the wind cutting across the ridge.
His posture was careful.
Like everything else about him.
The air itself felt wrong—thick, metallic, charged with the kind of silence that came just before violence.
Even the wind seemed hesitant, as if the sky was holding its breath.
Renzo’s voice came quiet, edged with something that didn’t quite match his usual restraint.
“I did not believe you struck Violet,” he said. “That you made her bleed, as she claimed.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t look at him.
He continued, slower now, each word weighed before it left his mouth.
“I checked the camera feed,” he said, voice sharp. “It’s completely wiped. The techs call it a glitch, but it’s too convenient. I think she’s setting you up—and it’s working.”
It’s obvious she’s laying a trap.
Yet Vincenzo’s hatred is so thick he refuses to think rationally.
To him, logic doesn’t exist. Only what his mistress says matters.
My fingers curled slightly against the rough stone, nails scraping against the surface as another wave of pain rippled through my knees.
Blood had already begun to pool beneath me—dark, sticky, seeping into the jagged limestone like the ground was drinking it in.
I stared at it because it was easier than looking at Renzo.
The sky rumbled faintly in the distance, like a warning that hadn’t fully decided whether to become a storm.
My voice came out thin, scraped raw by cold and restraint.
“This hurts... so bad,” I groaned, every nerve on fire.
The words felt like surrender, and I despised myself for letting them out.
Tears slipped free before I could stop them—warm against my chilled skin, quickly swallowed by the wind.
I blinked hard, but they kept coming, traitorous and unstoppable.
“Has anyone... ever survived this?” I whispered, grit in my voice despite the pain shredding my knees. “Renzo... I can’t... I feel like I’m going to die...”
Renzo’s jaw tightened visibly.
For a moment, he looked at the blood pooling beneath me—at the way it spread, slow and unavoidable.
Then he looked away, like the sight burned him.
The silence stretched.
When he spoke again, his voice had shifted—lower, heavier, stripped of its usual distance.
“I never trusted Violet.”
He said, each word deliberate.
“My loyalty has always been to her sister, and to the promise I made to her on her deathbed—to make Violet fulfill her lifelong dream of marrying Vincenzo.”
“That’s why it may feel like I hate you... but I don’t. I’ve observed you. You are... likeable. You do not pretend, and it pains me so much see you like this. I wish I could do something to ease your suffering.”
He softened, voice quieter now.
“You don’t deserve this. Vincenzo knew, deep down, that you do not deserve such cruel, inhumane punishment.”
“Elena... forgive me for how I’ve treated you these past weeks, since you became Vincenzo’s bride. I am truly sorry.”
That made my breath catch.
His words hit somewhere deeper than I expected.
He didn’t look at me as he spoke, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the ridge.
A gust of wind swept across the ridge, tugging at his coat, at my hair, at everything that wasn’t anchored.
The storm was coming closer now, pressure building in the air like something inevitable.
“How long... how long must I stay kneeling like this?”
I whispered, trembling, my knees raw and bleeding, every nerve aflame.
“Hours... maybe days,” Renzo said, his voice low.
Then softer still: “And when the rain comes... it will only make it worse, Elena. Much worse.”
He held my gaze, eyes full of conflict and something unspoken.
“But I’ll stay. Through it all. Let the storm fall. I’ll be right here with you.”
A sharp spike of pain shot through both knees as I shifted without meaning to—instinctive, desperate for relief that didn’t exist.
The jagged stone bit deeper, tearing fresh layers of skin. I sucked in a breath, body tightening involuntarily.
“No,” I whispered, teeth gritted against the pain. “Go. Leave me... I can endure this.”
Renzo’s jaw tightened.
“I won’t leave you. I’d take your place in an instant if it meant you wouldn’t suffer.”
The words sank deeper than the pain.
I swallowed hard.
My arms strained uselessly behind me, wrists raw and burning from the cuffs.
I tested the chain—pushing onto the balls of my feet, trying to find leverage, trying to stand.
The chain snapped taut with a brutal, metallic pull.
My balance failed instantly.
Knees slammed back into the unforgiving ridge of stone with a sickening jolt, and a sharp cry tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Pain flared white-hot, radiating up my legs, stealing my breath.
Fresh blood welled and spilled, warm against the cold surface beneath me.
The black stone beneath my knees was already slick with red—my red—running in thin, fragile rivulets that drifted toward Renzo’s boots.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
My chest tightened as tears spilled over, silent and unstoppable.
My whole body trembled—not just from the cold wind cutting across the ridge, but from the relentless, grinding pain in my knees.
Every second felt longer than the last, each breath a battle.
Ten minutes.
Maybe less.
And I was already breaking.
“Renzo... please... help me stand. This is... too much.
The words slipped out before I could stop them—small, fragile, almost childlike.
I hated how weak they sounded, but I couldn’t hold them in.
I lifted my head, looking up at him through blurred vision and wet lashes.
“I... I can’t bear it any longer
Renzo’s expression shifted immediately.
His jaw tightened.
I saw it then—the conflict.
The restraint. The anger he wasn’t allowed to show.
He bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough that the muscle in his jaw jumped, as if he was holding himself together by force.
For a moment, it looked like he might step forward.
Might help.
Might do something.
Then a voice cut through the wind.
“Leave, Renzo.”
Vincenzo.
The name alone felt heavier than the chains.
He stood at the base of the ridge, his presence commanding even from a distance.
A white cashmere coat draped over his shoulders, untouched by the dampness around him, paired with white trousers that somehow remained immaculate despite the wet grass.
His hair was slightly damp, curling faintly at the temples, as though he’d walked through the mist to get here.
His face was too calm.
And his eyes—those unreadable, piercing eyes—locked onto the scene like he was observing something far removed from himself.
Renzo hesitated.
His gaze flicked between me and Vincenzo, conflict written plainly across his features.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Something raw flashed in his eyes—regret, maybe guilt, maybe something deeper he couldn’t afford to feel.
His lips parted like he was about to argue.
About to refuse.
But then he stopped.
He swallowed it down.
Nodded once—sharp, controlled, military.
And turned away.
I watched him go.
Watched the only person who had even hesitated leave me behind.
Each step he took away from me felt like something inside me was breaking.
Until he was gone.
And I was alone.
With the man who wanted to destroy me.