Revenge
Chapter 22
SOPHIA
I am almost through the crowd when I hear Maria's voice. Before I can turn, a pair of arms closes around me from behind. She pulls me into a hug so sudden and fierce that I lose my balance slightly, forced to grab onto her to stay upright.
"Shopi, oh my God, I'm so sorry," Maria mumbles into my shoulder.
Her voice is muffled against my jacket, nearly swallowed by the thumping bass and the general chaos around us.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes scan my face.
"I heard what happened. Ben and Alex took my phone. I swear to God, I'm gonna kill them."
"It's fine," I tell her. But looking at her expression, I know she sees right through the lie.
"Maria." I give her the tired version of a smile"It's fine."
She stares at me for a beat. Then, she pulls me into another hug, even tighter this time. "Thank you," she whispers into my hair.
I pull back, frowning. "For what?"
Maria looks down at my outfit.
"Well," she says, a small smile breaking through her worried expression, "judging by what you're wearing, you were probably already asleep when you got the messages."
"I was."
"And you still came."
"Yes of course "
She has the decency to look slightly guilty, though it only lasts about two seconds before she shakes her head, her face turning serious—or as serious as Maria ever gets, which has a pretty low ceiling.
"Why didn't you push him overboard?" she demands. "Or... oh, you could have poured a drink over him, or punched him!" She gains momentum now, listing options with the focused energy of someone who has given this genuine thought. "There's a life jacket on the upper deck. If you tied it around his—"
"Maria."
"I'm just saying, you had options."
"Someone already took care of it," I say. The laugh that escapes me is small, tired, and not entirely humorless. "I think."
She tilts her head, opening her mouth to ask what I mean.
I just shake my head. I don't know how to explain what I saw on Lorenzo's face—the dark bruise, the split lip, and the heavy way he carried himself—without it sounding like something it wasn't.
And truth is, I don't even know what it was.
That is the problem. That has been the problem since the exact moment I looked into his eyes and the angry sentence I came down here to shout completely dissolved.
"I should go," I say, glancing toward the edge of the deck. Toward the pier.
Maria's hand snaps around my wrist.
"About that," she says.
Something in her shifting tone makes me freeze. "What?"
"So, the thing is..." She guides me gently but firmly toward the wooden railing. It is never a good sign when Maria maneuvers you somewhere; she only moves people when she already knows they are going to hate the destination.
We reach the railing. I look out.
The black water ripples below. The brilliant city lights twinkle in the distance. And the pier the pier that is supposed to be directly beside the boat, the pier that represents my escape route to Clara's car, my warm bed, and everything that constitutes a normal life is gone.
It sits at least thirty meters away across open water.
I stare at it, my jaw dropping. "When did we... when did we move?"
"Fairly recently," Maria says in that careful, overly cautious voice people use when delivering bad news.
I grip the cold metal railing, staring at the lights of the city. They sit on the shore, completely indifferent to the fact that I am now trapped on a yacht, separated from reality by a body of water I have absolutely no intention of swimming through.
"I think Lorenzo gave the order," Maria adds quietly, knowing it won't help but feeling it needs to be said.
Of course he did.
Of course. Because the cruel messages weren't enough, and Vivienne's public humiliation wasn't enough. Apparently, the goal was not just to embarrass me, but to cage me. To make sure I am trapped in his toxic world for the rest of the night, whether I like it or not.
I let go of the railing. My knees give out, and I slide down until I am sitting flat on the deck floor, my back pressed against the metal bars. I think about Clara, blissfully asleep in the apartment, with no idea that her car is gone or that I am currently trapped on a billionaire's yacht.
She is going to kill me. She is going to wake up, find the keys missing, and murder me.
"Sweetie?" Maria crouches down beside me. Given her six-inch heels, it's a minor structural miracle. She looks at me with the expression she reserves for crises that require both intense sympathy and a ruthless, practical solution. "Just make him pay for it."
"How am I supposed to do that?" I ask, looking up at her. "This is exactly what he wanted. To show me that he controls everything. That he has me in the palm of his hand."
"I know."
"We are on his boat."
"I know."
"His massive, ridiculous yacht."
"I know, I know." She pulls a small silk cloth from her designer bag and begins dabbing at the stain Vivienne left on my shirt. "But you can't go anywhere right now. So..." She looks up, her eyes flashing. "Let's make it worth your while."
I stare at her.
"I have an idea," she says. A slow smile spreads across her face, the specific Maria smile that means she has already calculated a plan much further than she is admitting.
It's a look that promises the idea is either pure brilliance or a total catastrophe, and she honestly doesn't care which one it turns out to be.
"Of course you do," I sigh.
"But first." She stands up, reaches deep into her bag, and pulls out a dress. It's tiny. She holds it out with the absolute confidence of someone presenting a priceless gift.
I stare at the sliver of fabric. "Maria, that is approximately thirty centimeters of material."
"It'll look amazing on you."
"It is the size of a napkin."
"A very chic napkin." She shakes it encouragingly.
"Think about it, Shopi. This is exactly what Lorenzo wants. He wants to break you. He wants to make you regret moving to the city, to make you scared, to make you feel like trash so you'll pack your bags and leave the Academy."
She points the dress at me like a weapon.
"Yes. You're right," I admit, the anger suddenly burning away my exhaustion.
Because here is the thing: if Lorenzo actually knew me, he would know that I never back down when someone tries to make me feel small. I never show weakness or fear when someone is begging to see it. What he doesn't know—what he is about to find out—is that I am not one of his fragile little toys.
"But I am still not wearing that on this boat."
"You are absolutely wearing this on this boat."
Maria grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet with surprising, unstoppable force for someone in stilettos.
"Because we are not going home. Because we cannot go home. And because" she pauses, her smile sharpening into something dangerous, ?...
if we are stuck here, we are going to be stuck here correctly."
I look at Maria. She watches me with the patient certainty of a grandmaster who already knows how the game ends.
"What's the idea?" I ask.
Her smile widens, radiant and wicked.
"Get changed first," she says. "Then I'll tell you."