Chapter 28 #2
I glanced at Ezio. He shrugged, picked up his coffee cup, and calmly took a sip, as if he hadn't just said that.
But I saw the laughter in his eyes.
After breakfast, the children followed the servants to change clothes. Only Ezio and I remained in the dining room.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm patch on the tablecloth. Macy changed positions, belly up, sprawled on the floor, sleeping without a care.
"Nice weather today," I said.
"Yeah."
"Did you sleep well last night?"
"Alright."
Silence for a moment.
"Ezio," I hesitated. "What you said this morning about 'coming home for dinner'—is there a special reason?"
He set down his coffee cup, looking at me. "No. Just want to come home for dinner."
"Oh, okay," I said.
"What, problem?"
I said, "Of course not."
He said nothing more, stood up, and walked around the table to my side. He bent down and dropped a kiss on my forehead.
Then he straightened, picked up the folder from the table, and strode toward the door.
"Ezio," I called after him.
He stopped, turned to look at me.
"Come home early," I said.
His gaze rested on my face for a moment, softening, then he nodded and pushed through the door.
I sat at the table, picked up the now-cold coffee, and took a sip.
Macy rolled over on the floor, letting out a vague grunt.
Leo's voice came from the hallway. "Juliet, wait for me! My shoelaces came undone again!"
"You're so clumsy!"
"I'm not clumsy! The shoelaces are clumsy!"
I smiled, set down the cup, stood up, and headed toward the hallway.
At ten in the morning, I got a call from an unknown number.
Too much had happened lately. I'd grown cautious, didn't answer the strange call.
But that number called several more times.
Maybe it really was urgent.
I thought, and answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Olivia..." Sophie's voice came through, broken and stuttering, like she was crying. Background noise of wind and traffic. "I need your help... Can you come out? Please?"
I stood by the window, watching Leo and Juliet grooming Macy in the yard outside. The sunlight was beautiful, the children's laughter coming through the glass, blurred and warm.
"Sophie? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"I'm... I'm over in Brooklyn, car broke down, phone's dying... Can you come get me?" Her voice carried a sob, sounding genuinely panicked. "I'll send you my location. Just come alone, I don't want to bother too many people..."
"Wait there, I'm coming right now."
I hung up, hurriedly changed clothes, and grabbed the car keys. Running into Elsa as I came downstairs.
"Miss Adrian, you're going out?" she asked, a bit of surprise in her eyes—since the shooting, I rarely went out alone.
"My sister's in some trouble. I'm picking her up. I'll be back soon."
"Should we tell Mr. Visconti? Or have the driver take you?"
"No need, I can manage." I cut her off, mind only on getting to Sophie quickly. "Won't take long, about an hour."
Elsa hesitated, finally nodded. "Be careful then."
I drove out of the manor, following Sophie's location toward Brooklyn. Along the way, I called Sophie several more times. The first time, no answer. The second time, it rang a few times before being hung up. The third time went straight to voicemail.
Unease started rising in my chest.
Maybe her phone died, I told myself. Maybe she found another way.
The location ended at an abandoned industrial area, surrounded by rusted metal warehouses and weed-choked empty lots. I parked the car on the roadside, got out, and looked around.
Nobody. No Sophie, no broken-down car, nothing.
Wind blew through the abandoned factory buildings, carrying the smell of rust and dampness. I pulled out my phone, about to call Sophie again.
No signal bars.
No signal.
My heart sank sharply. Instinct told me to turn back.
"Olivia."
That voice came from behind, familiar and elegant, but carrying a certain malice.
I turned around.
Bianca emerged from a warehouse shadow, wearing a dark coat, hair blown messy by the wind, but her expression eerily calm, even carrying a trace of a smile. Two men followed behind her, standing silently in the distance like emotionless statues.
"Bianca," I said, voice steadier than I expected. "Where's Sophie?"
"Your sister?" She laughed lightly, slowly walking toward me. "Don't worry, she's fine. Preparing for her honeymoon trip. I just borrowed her voice."
I clenched my phone, knuckles white. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" She repeated, tilting her head to look at me, as if she'd heard a very interesting question. "Olivia, what do you think I want?"
She didn't wait for my answer, kept walking toward me. I instinctively stepped back, my back hitting the cold car door. Nowhere left to go.
"You know," she stopped two steps in front of me, looking me up and down, gaze sliding from my face down my body, then back to my face, with a predator's calm appraisal. "Sometimes I really wonder what makes you better than me."
Her voice trembled, but her eyes never left my face.
"Then you came back," she said, voice dropping, so low it squeezed from her throat.
"You came back with a bastard. He didn't even have to do anything.
Just stand there, and Ezio ran over like a dog on a leash.
He brought you back to the manor, treated your kid like his own, he even—" her voice suddenly turned shrill, "he even threw me out for you. "
I watched her warily, didn't speak rashly.
"In terms of family background, I'm the eldest daughter of the Colonna family.
Best education since childhood, fluent in three languages, grew up in high society, know how to talk, how to walk, how to do the right thing at the right time.
" She paused, corner of her mouth lifting.
"And you? A poor girl living on charity.
Your father in debt, your mother dead. The gap between us is huge. "
"So what?" I asked.
"So I don't understand," a trace of confusion entered her voice.
"I'm better than you in every way, stronger in every aspect.
But he just won't see me. Five years. I stood in front of him, dressed beautifully, smiled at him, was good to him—but he looked at me the same way he'd look at a painting on the wall. "
When she said this, her tone wasn't accusatory. More like stating a question she'd thought through countless times but could never answer.
"And you," she looked at me. "You left. You disappeared for five years. What did you do? What did you do for him? What makes you better than me? Why was I the one thrown out?"
After saying this, her chest heaved violently, eyes reddening, but tears didn't fall. She bit her teeth, as if using all her strength to maintain something about to shatter.
I looked at her.
Suddenly, something clicked in my mind.
She said "threw me out."
Not "he doesn't love me," not "he broke my heart," but "threw me out."
What she cared about wasn't losing him. It was the humiliation that came with losing that position. Being thrown out itself, not who threw her out.
Looking at that face twisted slightly with anger, everything suddenly made sense.
She wasn't heartbroken over a man. She was furious over a deal gone bad.
"So what?" I asked. "You think it's unfair?"
"Fair?" She laughed, that smile carrying a condescending contempt. "Olivia, this world was never fair. I have better breeding than you, I'm prettier than you, more refined than you. I'm better than you in every way! But he chose you. This isn't about fair or unfair, this is—"
"This is about you feeling humiliated," I said.
Her smile froze for a moment.
"You spent five years using every trick. Got pregnant with his child, manufactured guilt, nailed yourself to his side. Thought if you were patient enough, endured enough, that position would eventually be yours. Then he kicked you out like kicking away a dog that wouldn't leave."
"You—"
"You're not angry he chose me," I interrupted, looking into her eyes. "You're angry he made you lose face in front of everyone. The eldest daughter of the Colonna family, outdone by a poor dancer, thrown out in front of the whole manor—that's what you can't swallow."
Her expression changed. That calm shell showed a thin crack.
"Who do you think you are?" Her voice dropped, carrying a dangerous chill. "How dare you lecture me?!"
I stared at her, took a step forward. Our distance closed.
"Bianca, you were raised to be a proper marriage tool.
Learned three languages, not because you liked them, but because it meant you could sell for a better price.
Grew up in high society, learning to read people, not because you're smart, but because you needed to know when to smile, when to bow.
Everything you have—your refinement, your elegance, your composure—they're all things meant to be priced and sold. "
Her lips trembled.
"You packaged yourself so perfectly, but you never knew one thing. A woman who can only gain status through a man, no matter how elegant or noble, she's just a vine clinging to someone else. Without that man, you're nothing."
"Shut up!"
"But I'm not," I said, voice not loud, but each word hammering in like a nail.
"I have no family to lean on, no background to support me.
Everything I've achieved, every penny I earned myself, every choice I made for myself.
You can mock me for being poor, mock me for lacking refinement, but you can never deny one thing—"
I looked at her with pity. Her eyes reddened, but tears didn't fall.
"I don't need any man to define who I am. But you do. Without Ezio, without the Visconti family, what does being the Colonna eldest daughter matter? Don't you still have to find the next powerful person, repackage yourself, and sell yourself again?"
The air seemed to freeze.
Bianca stared at me, fire burning in her eyes. Her fists clenched tight, nails digging into her palms, shoulders shaking violently.
Then she laughed.