Chapter 3 #3
I turned slowly. The movement made my dress rustle against the marble floor.
They were there, ready to fight my war. They, whom I’d had to save from their own emotional disasters, were now looking at me with… pity.
That cloying, suffocating compassion was worse than the mockery of the crowd in the church.
“Take care of this?” I asked, and the chill in my voice made them both stop. “You’re not going to ‘fix’ this for me.”
“Bianca, we just want to help,” Enzo said, taking a step forward. “We know how it is…”
That was the last straw. The wrong word and the wrong suggestion…
“You know?” My voice rose, sharp. “You know what it’s like, Enzo? To be publicly humiliated? No! You chose to play the monster, almost destroying Larissa before deciding you ‘felt’ something.”
Enzo flinched, as if I’d slapped him.
“And you?” I turned to Matteo. “Do you know what it’s like to be rejected? No! You ran away from your son for six years out of sheer pride, leaving Priscilla to carry the burden alone.”
They both stared at me, shocked. Cruelty was the only weapon I had left.
“I’m not like you.”
The scream echoed through the suite, making the crystal on the vanity vibrate.
“I’m not weak. I’m not driven by that… that sentimental, pathetic thing you call love!”
A toxic surge shook me—one I would surely regret later—but it seemed like all I had to keep from feeling even more humiliated by what had happened.
“Do you think I’m standing here falling apart?” I let out a laugh, a harsh, broken sound. “I’m not going to fall apart over a man!”
I walked toward them, puffing out my chest and pretending to pull myself together, but the truth was that my ruined dress and smudged makeup only made me look even more like a clown from a horror movie.
“What happened today wasn’t a romantic tragedy, nor was it a broken heart,” I spat out the words. “It was a miscalculation. That’s all! I misjudged an asset. I overestimated a partner. It happens in business.”
“Bianca, stop it,” Matteo tried to approach me. “You’re suffering. Let us—”
“Suffering?” I cut him off. “Suffering is what happens when you lose control, and I haven’t. I’m angry—something I know how to use. I don’t need protection, nor do I need you guys to clean up my mess. I’m not some scared damsel who needs to be saved by a Ferraro. I am the fucking Ferraro!”
The truth of my accusations weighed down the room. They couldn’t deny their past, and I was using that to shield myself from their pity.
“Now, get out of here.”
They hesitated, caught between pain and frustration.
“Bianca…” Enzo tried once more.
“GET OUT!”
They left.
The door closed, plunging me back into the dim light and the sickening scent of lilies.
I stood motionless, listening to their footsteps receding down the hallway.
The moment their footsteps disappeared, my legs gave way.
I fell to my knees on the marble floor. The last of my strength vanished, leaving me hollow and empty.
My breathing came in short, erratic gasps. The air wouldn’t enter my lungs, as if the room itself were closing in on me. The tears came without warning—not slow and sad, but violent, in uncontrolled bursts. My dress spread around my knees like a pool of silk and failure.
I pressed my hands against my face, but I couldn’t hold back the sound. The crying tore at my throat—raw, animalistic, and devoid of dignity. It was the sound of anger mingling with shame, an echo of the humiliation I swore I wouldn’t feel.
My shoulders shook, and my salty tears ran into my mouth, burning like salt in an open wound.
His name flashed through my mind, and the pain came on stronger, tearing at me from within. He had left me—under the weight of stares, cameras, and the entire city. The man I had chosen, the one I had calculated, the asset I had assessed… had abandoned me before the whole world.
My hand slid down to my belly, an almost unconscious touch. There lay the only secret that still belonged to me, the only one he hadn’t taken, and for a moment, despair turned to dread.
I curled up, hugging my own legs, trying to make myself fit inside myself.
The dress clung to my skin; the cold, damp silk served as a reminder that even beauty could be suffocating.
The cold from the floor seeped through the fabric, creeping up my legs, and yet it was nothing compared to the numbness within me.
When I finally managed to breathe, the sound that came out was a dry sob. I lifted my face, feeling my eyes burn. The tears were still falling, but they had turned into rage at having cared so much, at having believed, and at having let a man turn me into a spectacle.
I brought my unsteady hand to my back and grabbed the zipper. The silk gave way, sliding down my shoulders and piling up on the floor like an abandoned carcass.
The chill closed around me. I took a deep breath, my skin prickling and my heart throbbing in the emptiness.
A miscalculation, I repeated silently.
But deep down, I knew: it wasn’t a miscalculation. It was a collapse.
There I was: naked, shattered, and, for the first time in my life, truly alone.