Prologue #2
His jaw clenches. Then, slowly, deliberately, he releases me. Just to prove he can. That he’s the one in control of my physical body. At least in this moment. I step back immediately, my skin still burning where he touched me.
Luca watches me with an infuriatingly lazy smirk. “You wanna play stubborn?” He tilts his head. “Fine. But this flippant attitude? It’s ending. First thing I’m doing after the wedding is booking your appointment.”
As I freeze in place, my stomach drops. Luca clocks my discomfort immediately. He’s paid to read people. And torture them for their weaknesses.
He chuckles, stepping closer again, forcing me back against the wall. “No wife of mine is gonna be walking around looking like a teenage boy. You’re gonna get some real tits, Minnie. Big enough to fit in my hands—”
He lifts his right hand, cracking his knuckles, flexing his thick fingers.
“—which means bigger than those mosquito bites you got now.”
The air in my lungs turns solid.
Luca smirks. “You really think a man wants to come home to that? To a wife with nothing to squeeze? Shit, Minnie, my fucking thumb is bigger than what you got.”
Heat crawls up my throat, the familiar kind—the one that says he’s right, that everyone who ever laughed was right.
You’re embarrassing. No real man wants a woman built like you. You’ll never get married looking like that.
My sister, Frankie. My father. My schoolmates. Every sneer. Every whisper. Every sideways glance.
After I graduated from college, I thought I was past this, thought I had buried it.
Luca tilts his head, studying me. “What?” His lips curve up. “Cat got your tongue? Thought you were tough, Min. Ripping up that bill, walking away from your father.”
His words swirl through my head until I snap. My hand moves before my brain catches up. For once, instinct doesn’t freeze—it fights. Before I can stop myself, I slap him hard. The sound cracks through the hallway.
Luca’s head jerks to the side. His smirk vanishes. For one horrifying second, the air freezes. Then his jaw ticks. His eyes darken. And a diabolical grin spreads across his face.
Something slow. Dangerous.
“Oh, Minnie.” He rolls his jaw. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Before he can hurt me, before he can kill me, I run up the spiral staircase toward my bedroom.
The second I’m inside, I slam the door shut and lock it. My heart pounds against my ribs like a drumline, my pulse roaring in my ears. My hands tremble as I brace them against the wood, sucking in air. Steady. Keep it together.
I don’t have time to break down.
I don’t have time to think about Luca’s voice, thick with amusement as he humiliated me.
No real man wants a woman built like you. You’re gonna get some real tits. My thumb is bigger than what you got.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t cry. Don’t give him that satisfaction.
My closet door stands open. I stare at it for half a second before I start moving. Yanking a duffel bag from the top shelf, I shove in jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, socks, underwear. Whatever fits. I don’t think, I just move. Because if I think, I’ll crumble.
Behind me, my door handle rattles. Then comes a slow, taunting knock. My sister’s voice is another hit to my already frazzled nervous system. I unlock the door anyway.
“You know, this is actually a good thing,” she says as she steps inside, her voice light, casual. Like we’re chatting over coffee.
I don’t answer.
“Dad’s right. You’ve always been embarrassing.” A pause. Then her next statement sounds almost gleeful. “At least now I don’t have to pretend to like you anymore.”
As my throat burns, I grip the duffel tighter. Keep packing. Keep moving.
“Not that I ever really did,” she adds with a mocking sigh. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
I zip the bag while Frankie giggles. Like this is a game. Like she hasn’t spent our entire lives making sure I knew I would never be enough.
“You’re just so… pubescent.” She hums. “It’s kind of gross, honestly. How have you lived this way? I’d kill myself if I had to walk around like some scrawny little boy my whole life. If you cut your hair short, people literally wouldn’t know what you were.”
My fingers tighten around the strap. I don’t know why her words still land after all these years, but they do—sharp, efficient, practiced.
“Dad should’ve made you get them done the moment you turned eighteen. Before he allowed you to go to college. Imagine how much better your life would be.” She turns the door handle. “Well. Not that it matters now. Good luck out there, Minnie.”
Her footsteps retreat down the hall while I swallow the thick knot in my throat and sling the duffel over my shoulder.
I refuse to let Frankie’s words dig into my bones. I refuse to let my father’s rejection turn me to dust. I refuse to stay in this house one second longer.
My fingers close around Kepler’s cage. He’s a ferret, but probably more like an emotional support animal. Just one more thing my father and I fought over. He didn’t want any “rodents” in his house.
Kepler’s kind eyes stare into mine. At least someone still loves me.
And then I walk out of my bedroom and down the grand staircase, my duffel digging into my shoulder, Kepler’s cage clutched in my other hand.
I won’t miss this place one bit. The house is quiet. Too quiet. No voices. No bits of conversation. No sound of my father still pacing in his office, still furious over my defiance. No Luca hovering around the corner waiting to grab me.
Just the slow tick of the antique clock in the foyer.
The front door looms ahead. Twenty steps. Fifteen. Ten.
But before I can make my escape, I see her. My mother stands at the living room window, sipping her coffee. Statuesque. Sophisticated. So stunning she sometimes makes me want to look away.
The sight stops me in my tracks.
For half a second, I let myself believe she’s waiting for me.
That she knew I’d come down, that she’s ready to tell me to stay.
That she’ll say the words I’ve always needed to hear.
That she’ll be the one person in this family who chooses me just because she nurtured me inside her for nine months before bringing me into this world.
My throat tightens. My fingers clench around the strap of my bag.
“Mom,” I whisper.
She stares at something outside on the perfectly manicured lawn. The clock continues to tick off the seconds. Slowly, methodically. My jaw locks. She hears me. I know she does, so I wait.
For a second. A breath. A heartbeat.
I wait for her to turn.
I wait for her to say, “Don’t go.”
Instead, she exhales shakily—and says, barely audible, “You shouldn’t make him angry.”
Something inside me cracks. My pulse thrums, sharp and cold. I was stupid to hope. Stupid to believe.
So I just stare. How could it come to this? How could she be so callous to her own flesh and blood? Shifting the weight of Kepler’s cage in my hand, I adjust my grip. Then without another word, I walk past her.
She never turns around.
I never needed her to save me. I just needed her to see me.
The front door groans as I pull it open. Outside, the air is crisp, cold, and sharp against my skin. The Marino estate stands tall and oppressive behind me.
I step onto the driveway, duffel over my shoulder, Kepler’s tiny face pressed against the bars of his cage.
But I don’t hesitate.
Not once.
I keep walking toward the street where my car is parked. For the first time in my life, I own each step.
And I never look back.