Chapter 16
ELENA
The next morning arrived too soon—sharp, like it had been waiting to drag me back into a world I wasn’t ready to face.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room, my reflection staring back at me with quiet, hollow eyes.
The Black Veil Society academy uniform fit too perfectly, too neatly, as though nothing in my life had unraveled in the past four weeks.
The navy blazer sat crisply over my white blouse.
The fabric was clean, and structured.
I smoothed the blazer down over my torso anyway, pressing my palms over the seams as if I could smooth something inside myself in the same way.
The skirt fell just above my knees—modest, controlled, appropriate.
Deceptively so.
Because beneath it, wrapped in gauze and hidden from sight, my knees throbbed dully.
A constant, quiet ache that never fully left me.
Every movement reminded me of it.
Every step. Every shift of weight.
I adjusted the strap of my black backpack over one shoulder, forcing my posture straight, forcing myself to look like someone untouched by everything I had endured.
Then I stepped into the corridor.
It had been four weeks since the ridge.
Four weeks since Vincenzo banished me from his bed and sentenced me to sleep alone.
Four weeks of waking to the same unfamiliar warmth that lingered in my dreams—his scent, his heat, his unwanted presence haunting me even when he kept his distance.
He hated himself for still wanting me.
I saw the signs everywhere.
He lingered outside my door at odd hours, posture rigid, as if fighting the impulse to step inside.
When I caught him, he would turn sharply and disappear without a word, shoulders tight with self-disgust.
He entered rooms I occupied and immediately looked furious with himself for doing so.
His eyes would find me, darken, then slide away like the sight of me disgusted him—because it did, and because he couldn’t stop looking.
Twice I woke to him standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, fists clenched so hard the knuckles were white.
He never spoke.
He simply stared, breathing controlled and angry, before walking out like being near me was a punishment he inflicted on himself.
When we passed in the hallway, his hand would twitch toward me before he yanked it back, a low growl of frustration escaping under his breath.
The accidental brush of his fingers against my arm sent unwanted heat curling low in my stomach.
My breath caught. Adrenaline surged.
Fear followed instantly—because this was the same man who had vowed to tear my womb from me if I ever carried his child.
And when our eyes met across any space, the conflict in his gaze was unmistakable: pure loathing for the weakness I represented in him.
He would clench his jaw until it looked painful, then force himself to look away, as if even acknowledging me cost him something vital.
He despised himself for it.
And I was learning to fear how much I noticed.
I descended the grand staircase slowly, each step calculated to hide the slight limp I couldn’t fully mask.
My hands brushed lightly against the railing, not for support, but for control—something to ground me as I moved through the house like I belonged in it.
Like I wasn’t just... passing through.
Normally, by now, someone would have shown up.
A soldier—silent, efficient—assigned to drive me to the academy.
He never allowed the same driver to take me twice.
Vincenzo saw to that, as though even the smallest familiarity was too much freedom for me.
They kept their distance in every way.
In words. In glances.
And I never asked why.
Because I didn’t want to understand the rules of his world.
But today—
No one appeared.
No footsteps followed me.
No voice called out.
No “Signora” echoing through the hallway.
Just silence.
I frowned slightly as I reached the open garage doors.
Rows of vehicles stretched before me—sleek black sedans lined in perfect order, armored SUVs standing like silent guards, a matte-gray Lamborghini that looked less like a car and more like something built for war.
Nothing moved.
No driver. No escort.
No explanation.
“Which of the cars would you like to be driven in?”
The voice broke the silence—and the quiet confusion curling in my chest.
I turned.
Slowly.
Vincenzo stood framed in the doorway that led back into the house, as though he had been watching the entire time without interrupting.
He was already dressed for whatever business awaited him—tailored black suit cut to perfection, white shirt left open at the collar just enough to reveal the faint shadow of his collarbone.
His sleeves were rolled to mid-forearm, exposing strong, controlled lines of muscle.
The morning light caught him in a way that felt almost intentional.
It sharpened the line of his jaw.
Deepened the darkness of his eyes.
For a moment, I forgot how to speak.
My mouth went dry.
I hated that it did.
Hated the way my pulse jumped the moment his gaze stayed on me too long, the way something warm—traitorous—unfurled beneath my navel like a slow, uninvited flame.
I hated that my body reacted at all.
After everything.
After the ridge.
After the blood.
After the words he had thrown at me with such precision they still echoed inside my chest.
And yet—
There it was.
That pull.
Quiet. Persistent. Unwanted.
As though my body had decided, completely independent of my mind, that he was still something safe.
Something familiar.
Something... close to home.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my expression into something neutral as I turned my gaze away from him.
His eyes didn’t leave me.
Those cold, beautiful eyes—sharp enough to cut, steady enough to trap—watched me with the same intensity he always did.
“Which of the cars would you prefer?” he repeated, slower this time.
Each word landed with quiet authority.
I swallowed.
Hard.
Then forced myself to look away from him completely, turning my attention toward the lineup of vehicles in the garage.
My eyes scanned the rows—sleek black sedans, armored SUVs, machines that looked less like transportation and more like extensions of his control.
And then—
The 2026 Toyota Hilux.
Matte black.
Lifted.
Rugged in a way that felt almost defiant in the midst of all that polished luxury.
I had noticed it weeks ago.
There was something about it that felt... different.
Something I secretly wished I could sit behind the wheel of instead of being driven like something that belonged to someone else.
I pointed at it without turning back to him.
“That one.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
A single nod.
“After you.”
I started walking.
Each step felt deliberate.
Like I was trying to prove something—not to him, but to myself.
That I could move through this space without being consumed by it.
Without being affected by him.
But I wasn’t alone.
I felt him behind me almost immediately.
Too close.
Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body with every step he took.
Close enough that the faint scent of cedar and something sharper wrapped around me like a second presence.
Like he was marking the air around me.
Claiming it. Claiming me.
My skin prickled.
My breathing faltered.
My thighs tightened instinctively, betraying me in the smallest, most humiliating way.
I clenched my jaw harder, forcing myself to keep walking, to ignore the way my body responded to him even when my mind screamed otherwise.
Why?
Why him?
Why did my body still remember?
Why did it still react to the way he had held me that first night—careful, controlled, like I might break if he moved too fast?
Why did it still linger on the rare moments when his voice softened?
When his hand brushed my cheek without force?
When he looked at me like I wasn’t entirely something he wanted to destroy?
I hated that part the most.
Because those moments made everything else worse.
They made it harder to hate him completely.
I reached the Hilux and pulled the passenger door open, slipping inside before I could think too much about anything.
The leather seat was cool against my skin, grounding in a way I didn’t expect.
I sat upright immediately, staring straight ahead, forcing my body to still.
For control.
For distance.
For anything that would keep me from thinking about the fact that he was still right behind me.
There was a pause.
Long.
Heavy.
Then—
He stepped closer.
I felt it before I saw it.
I hesitated—just slightly—then turned my head just enough to glance out.
He was standing beside the open door, watching me.
Something unreadable in his expression.
Something deeper than the usual cold detachment.
Something that felt—
Too close to hunger.
A quiet tension coiled in my chest.
Then, without a word, he reached out and closed the door.
The soft click echoed louder than it should have.
And just like that—
He disappeared from my immediate space.
Only to reappear seconds later on the driver’s side.
My heart stuttered when I realized what was happening.
“You’re... driving me?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Small. Unsteady.
Almost disbelieving.
He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat without looking at me, adjusting himself with the same controlled precision he did everything else.
The engine started with a low, powerful rumble that vibrated through the seat beneath me and straight into my bones.
“Yeah.”
Just that.
One word.
Final.
The truck reversed smoothly, the massive gates ahead of us opening silently as if the entire estate responded to his presence without question.
We pulled forward, exiting the garage and moving along the long, winding private drive.
Silence settled between us.
Thick. Electric.
I sat rigidly in my seat, trying to ignore the way my awareness sharpened in his presence. But it was impossible.
Everything about him pulled my attention.
The way his large hands flexed slightly on the steering wheel.
The subtle movement of his forearms beneath the rolled sleeves.
The controlled rise and fall of his chest.