Chapter Forty–Six
Soraya
“WHERE’S MY PRINSESST?RTA?”
We’re sitting on the kitchen floor, facing each other—his back against the cupboards, mine against the island. His legs bracket mine, a tray of ginger cookies between us.
We’re nibbling cookies because apparently everything else here is “teeth-rotting garbage.” His words. When I told him to quit complaining, he shot back that I should “stop acting fucking poor.”
He’s an asshole.
My favorite asshole. Which is why I haven’t bothered explaining there’s no proper food in the house because I’ve never had to think about it. My assistants know my hunger pangs and cravings better than I do, so I get fed before I even realize I’m hungry.
“What?” Stefano pauses mid-nibble and examines the cookie, scowling as if it personally offended him. “Wait, are these department store cookies?”
I bite my lip to stave off a laugh. What a diva.
“‘I’ll bring your prinsesst?rta soon, my little liar. Promise,’” I quote, raising a brow. “Remember that sweet little message you sent to stop me from blowing my brother to bacon bits?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” he replies, dropping the cookie. “Had no idea I’d be seeing you today. Your dad’s an asshole. Just dumped me here without warning. Didn’t even tell me how to get in. Just drove off and—”
“Wait. Dad didn’t bring you in?”
He dusts crumbs off his fingers. “What do you mean?”
“Did he leave you in the tunnel outside the gates, or did he actually bring you insi—”
“Yeah. The tunnel.”
“Did someone open the gate for you?”
“Seemed so. It beeped open.”
“Was Dad beside you when it opened?”
“No, I told you, he drove off and left me.” His brows pinch together. “What’s that look? What is it?”
“Was anyone waiting for you on the other side of the gate when it opened?”
“No. No one. Why? What is it?”
“Yup, Dad’s an asshole, alright.” I sweep my hair back. “Did he drug you at any point while you were with him?”
“At any point?” He barks out a laugh. “I don’t think there was a point when I wasn’t drugged on some level or another.”
I scoot across the floor and push up onto my knees between his splayed legs. He grabs a handful of my ass as I lean in and run my index fingers behind his ears. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” he asks, though his eyes are locked on my cleavage. “You’re hot as fuck, you know that?”
Probably still drugged if he thinks that. “I’m checking for a chip.”
“A chip? Like the one you have?”
“You know about my chip?”
“Pavlov told me about it, yeah.” He squints. “You think he chipped me?”
“It’s the only explanation for why the gate opened for you.
The chip also acts as an access key. You don’t get chipped unless you’re implicitly trusted.
” I stand up. “Okay, I’m going to cross the room and activate mine.
If you’re chipped, you’ll feel...a connection of sorts.
Not sure how to explain it, but if it happens, you’ll know. ”
“Oh...kay,” he says slowly, a deep furrow between his brows.
I walk across the room, putting a solid stretch of space between us. Then I rub behind my ear to activate my chip, and wait.
Stefano straightens. And I see the moment he feels it. His brows shoot up and his body jolts forward like he’s being yanked by an invisible string. “Holy shit, what the fuck is that?”
His reaction hauls a laugh out of me.
“It’s like…” He takes a step forward, then stops himself, like he’s physically resisting a pull. “It’s like a live magnetic line from here to where you are.”
I nod. “Yup. You’re chipped.”
“Where? When? How?” He frowns, concentrating, then presses two fingers to the inside of his upper arm. “Right here. This is where the connection feels strongest. But...there’s nothing there.”
Deactivating my chip, I cross the room back to him. “It’s developed to feel like flesh,” I explain. “You won’t notice it unless you know what you’re looking for.”
“Why would he put this shit in me without my permission?” He rubs hard at his inner arm, pissed. “How do I get it the fuck out? Tell me.”
“Chips can only be removed at the HQ lab. You can’t just cut it out.” I step closer and wrap my arms around his neck to calm him down. “Being chipped is a good thing, Stefano.”
“You pronounced violation wrong,” he seethes. “How the hell is this a good thing?”
“Because it means you’re trusted,” I tell him. “You’re welcome here anytime. You’re inside. No longer just on the outside as a beneficiary. Still limited access until you start contributing, but trust me, it’s good. Very few people get chipped.”
“So what, you’re saying there’s going to be a bunch of random strangers tuned into me all the time? Tracking my every move?”
Shaking my head with a laugh, I step back and take his hands. “That’s not how it works. For you to even get chipped, there had to be at least two people who volunteered to tie themselves to you and swore an oath to prioritize your life above all else.
“Those people become your personal aides who you can contact anytime, anywhere, about anything. It’s sort of like one-way telepathy. Or prayer. You speak, they hear you, and they get you whatever assistance you need. No one the wiser.”
His scowl doesn’t change.
I squeeze his hands. “You can activate or deactivate it whenever you want. Or keep it activated but mute it when you need privacy. It’s all up to you. I’ll teach you how to use it.”
His brows pinch together. “Who would just sign up to be tied to me without even knowing me?”
He has no idea how popular he is inside The O. “People who know that being on your side means being on mine.”
Tilting my head, I contemplate him for a beat. “But what I find strange is that Dad would go through with this without you ever meeting them. That breaks protocol.” I narrow my eyes. “Did you make some kind of deal with him?”
His jaw flexes, and he averts his gaze.
Oh no… “What deal did you make with my dad, Stefano?”
Instead of answering, he grabs my wrist and pulls me flush against him, wrapping me into a hug and nuzzling into my semi-dry hair. “I don’t want to talk about that yet.”
“Stefano—”
“Not yet, babe.” He nips at my earlobe, teasing. “For now, how about you teach me all about this damn chip…over poor-people ginger cookies?”
What the hell is he hiding? What deal locked him in enough to get chipped?
My pulse quickens.
“I swear to Hell, Stefano, if you made my dad use you to hand my mom a win over me, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
He just hugs me tighter.
~
WE SPEND HOURS talking, drifting through the house from one spot to another, our limbs tangled, fingers lazily tracing each other’s skin. He fills me in on his hazy week with Dad, and I answer all his questions, filling in the blanks.
From what he recounts, Dad didn’t hold back. Flew him to several of our divisions, exposed him to some of our seediest inner workings without warning, trying to scare him off.
Too bad he underestimated Stefano. He could’ve saved himself the time and effort if he’d just believed me when I told him what kind of man Stefano is. Stubbornly unyielding, tenacious, gutsy.
When he sets his sights on something, he doesn’t stop until it’s his. For Stefano, failure’s not a deterrent, but a challenge.
Dad and I had struck a deal: during Stefano’s hunt for me, he could do whatever he wanted to throw him off.
Mislead, intimidate, block, confuse. If Stefano still persisted and found me, Dad would have to accept him.
Give us his blessing. But then he broke that deal by kidnapping Stefano in Zytglogge.
And I. Saw. Red.
“What happened with your brother?” Stefano’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
We’re outside now, stretching our legs after devouring the hearty beef bourguignon meal brought up to us an hour ago. The sun has dipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky awash in deep purples and streaks of tangerine.
“Huh?”
“Your sixteenth birthday,” he clarifies. “I picked up some hints over the last week…but I really want to believe I’m reading it wrong.”
There was a time when even thinking about that night would have me shrinking in on myself, like a snail withering under salt. Exposed, fragile, disintegrating.
For eleven agonizing minutes that night, I was utterly helpless. That helplessness slowly morphed into blinding, white-hot rage. Over time, that rage cooled into something colder, more dangerous: numbness. Complete emptiness.
Now, when my mind drifts back to that night, to Sevyn, to Mom, I feel nothing. No pain. No anger.
Just…nothing.
Which is how I’m able to respond now with cool detachment.
“If you pieced together that my brother raped me...then yeah. Sevyn and his two puppet friends cornered me while I was showering, and they held me down while he brutally ripped my hymen. Afterward, he dared me to tell Mom. Said, ‘See who she’ll believe, you dumb slut.’ We both knew the answer. ”
I pause. Take a breath. “So no, I didn’t run to her.
I stayed locked in my room and let him have the party to himself.
He never liked that we had to share a birthday celebration.
I sat with my crossbow and bolts and waited until the guests were gone.
Sevyn and his friends were out by the pool, drunk and rowdy, their guards down, all laughs and jokes. No remorse about what they did to me.”
The cool evening wind whips my air-dried waves across my face, and I try to tuck as much of it as possible behind my ear.
“I shot the two friends who held me down first. Through the chest. But Sevyn didn’t deserve death.
He needed to suffer. So I arrowed him precisely where I knew it would permanently fuck him up for life.
Then I took an arrow and stabbed his cock.
Repeatedly. Made sure he’d never feel pleasure again. The end.”
Stefano stops walking. Which prompts me to stop and turn to him.
“Hey,” I grit out. “Don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a victim.” I jab a finger in his face. “I’m not a fucking victim.”
“Understood.” A beat. “Can I hug you?”
“Why? Because you feel sorry for me?”
“No.” He smooths out his features. “Because I love you.”
I’m Soraya Byrd. My tear ducts are drier than the Sahara—I don’t cry. So why do my eyes feel like wet stones right now? Why are they burning?
“Since when?” I ask, voice cracking. “You’re Stefano Castello. Everyone knows the only things the King of Vegas loves are money, himself...and maybe his twin.”
“And now you.”
My heart thuds, heavy and uneven. Eyes stinging, I take a step back. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you think I’m here, Soraya? Why I endured all the bullshit, let myself be drugged, chipped without permission? What do you think it’s all for, if not because I’m crazy in love with you?”
Shaking my head, I take another step back. “Because y-you like to own things. You like to claim, to chase, to win. Go after what you want and...”
What the hell is going on with my eyes today? I blink upward in an attempt to stave off the burning, the stinging wetness that feels so utterly foreign.
“Does it scare you?” he asks. “Does it scare you that I love you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you feel better if I didn’t?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Because dysfunction feels safer?”
Yes.
When I don’t answer, he steps in and gently cups my neck, his thumbs lifting my chin. “This is a first for me,” he says, low and raw. “I’ve never been in love before. And I’m not even sure what it all means. But the things I feel for you are…big, and intense. Overwhelming sometimes.”
His brows tighten slightly, as if the admission costs him. “It’s…a lot. And even though I spent my whole life fearing the weakness and vulnerability that comes with love, now that it’s happened… None of it scares me. Just the opposite. This is the most alive I’ve ever felt.”
He sweeps the pads of his thumbs along my jaw. “You make me see color again, Soraya. You make me aware of the wind and the birds and the sky. My senses, my zest for life and success that were dead a few years ago have...revived somehow?”
He lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know, it sounds foolish saying it out loud, but…that’s how it feels. All I can see, hear, smell, taste is you. My soul’s alive again because...I think it’s been waiting for you.”
He runs the tip of his thumb under my lower lip.
“So no, Soraya, I’m not going to give you the dysfunction you want.
I’m going to love you, because that’s what you deserve.
If you don’t want to hear it, fine. I’ll show it.
I’ll keep showing it until you believe you’re nobody’s punching bag or chess piece.
You’re my fucking queen. An extraordinary woman deserving of extraordinary love.
And they’re going to see it, recognize it, and fucking accept it. ”
I chew my bottom lip and search his eyes. There’s no trace of deceit. Only raw, unfiltered sincerity. Earnest and steady. He’s not pulling one over on me, not playing a game. This is real.
This isn’t soft Stefano, or moody Stefano, or even asshole Stefano. This is a different man altogether.
This is Stefano...in love.
“Okay…” I step forward, closing the distance between us. “You can hug me.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips as he wraps his arms around me.
Strong, comforting, reassuring, protective.
He offers no more words. But he doesn’t need to.
Everything he wants me to know is in the curve of his arms, the warmth of his chest, the steadiness of his breaths.
Letting me know he sees me, understands me, accepts me completely.
Sixteen-year-old Soraya needed this hug from her mom. From her dad. She never got it. She had to learn to hug herself. To find solace in her own arms.
Until now…
For the first time in nine years, a tear slips down my cheek.
Mortified, I bury my face in Stefano’s chest before he can notice. Maybe I’m not as numb, not as deadened, as I thought.
And somehow...that realization fills me with a strange, quiet relief.