Chapter 46 Madeline
Madeline
Every morning, half-asleep and I grabbed my phone and waited for the message. It was habit. What wasn’t habit was the hope that followed right behind it, hope that he’d overreacted.
I expected an apology but it never came.
The second week was grief in slow motion. The kind that lives in your throat and makes every swallow feel like swallowing glass.
I moved through my days like nothing had changed because in my world, you don’t fall apart where anyone can see it.
The third week was when I started to hate myself for how much I missed him.
I hated how dependent I’d let myself get. That picking underwear turned into a whole thing.
I stood in front of my drawer for too long, fingers hovering over lace and silk like the wrong choice would mean I’d failed. There was no morning message telling me which set and that he was waiting for a photo.
Of a night, I would lie in bed with my phone in my hand and reflexively catalogue my day the way I used to for him—what I ate, what I didn’t, who I met, what I handled, what made me spike, what made me shaky, what made me miss him so badly my ribs ached.
My thumbs would hover over the screen, ready to send the debrief message out of sheer muscle memory.
Then I’d remember.
There was nowhere to send it.
I called him near the end of the third week because I couldn’t keep living with a hole shaped exactly like him. No answer. On the fourth night, I tried again. The call didn’t even go through. A refusal so clean it made me feel disposable.
Blocked.
I stared at the screen until my eyes burned.
Though, tonight was different because it was the first time I’d seen him since the day he broke me.
The restaurant sat inside the casino like it was trying to be a cathedral, crystal, white linen, and staff who moved like ghosts. It was the kind of place where everyone spoke softly because money didn’t like noise.
My family loved places like this. They loved anything that looked like control.
Uncle Zeke was halfway through telling a story about a trade dinner like he’d been the hero of it.
My father listened with that practiced calm he wore in public.
Aunt Diana smiled too often, the way women did when they were trained to be agreeable.
My mother sat like she owned the room, her posture flawless, her expression composed in a way that always felt like a threat.
I had barely touched my plate.
I told myself I wasn’t hungry. I told myself it was nerves from being surrounded by dynasty eyes. I told myself a lot of things.
The private booths above the dining room curved along the upper level like balconies in an opera house. From there, you could see everything below. Everyone down here was on display whether they realized it or not.
Vince sat up there.
He was in the center of the booth with his brothers arranged around him like the world naturally organized itself into Crow hierarchy.
Rome leaned back with a drink, loud even from a distance.
Luca sat still, attention angled outward like he was tracking exits and threats without moving his head.
Bastion looked carved from boredom and violence.
Vince looked… fine.
He had a drink in his hand. His shoulders were relaxed. His mouth moved in the smallest expression of amusement—barely there, but real.
Two women sat with them. Not sisters.
I felt my stomach drop. A cold, sharp plunge that made my fingers go numb around my cutlery.
Vince passed his lighter across the table to one of the women like it was nothing. She said something that made his lips twitch up, and he looked at her—not a casual glance.
A real look.
The kind of look that made my stomach drop because I recognized it. I’d been on the receiving end of it before the world changed.
The woman touched his arm gently as she spoke again, and Rome smirked like the joke belonged to all of them.
That was the moment my brain finally offered the thought I’d been refusing for three weeks.
Maybe I hadn’t known him at all.
I’d spent days making excuses for him because the alternative made me feel cheap. Replaceable. Like I’d imagined the devotion in his hands because I wanted it badly enough.
Maybe he hadn’t been protecting me from something bigger than me. He’d just gotten bored.
I forced myself to breathe. My fork hovered over my plate like I could pretend food mattered.
I couldn’t.
“I’m going to step away for a moment,” I pushed my chair back carefully so it didn’t scrape.
Uncle Zeke’s head turned immediately.
“Are you alright, Maddy?” my father asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” I lied, because I’d been trained to make that word sound believable.
My mother’s gaze didn’t even lift. She was looking at Aunt Diana with a pleasant smile, like she was already halfway into a different conversation.
“Not clearing every plate like a stabled pig. It’s an improvement.” My mother gave me a smile proud smile.
Heat surged up my neck so fast my vision pinched for a second. I kept my face still. I kept my expression neutral.
Aunt Diana laughed softly like it was charming.
My mother leaned closer to her. “Her calorie intake has decreased. It’s about time she made an effort.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “Massie.”
“What?” my mother asked, feigning innocence. “I’m proud. Aren’t you?”
My father’s attention flicked back to me. “You’re getting concerningly thin.”
I decided now was the best time to go to the bar.
Because I was still not my thinnest.
Not pretty enough.
I still couldn’t even get starving myself right.
I reached the bartender. “Strongest drink you’ve got. Lowest calories.”
His eyes flicked over my face for a second. “A shot?” he offered.
“Please.”
He poured something clear and slid it toward me. I swallowed it quickly. The burn cut down my throat and hit my stomach like punishment.
It didn’t fix anything.
So I ordered another.
The second one hit harder. It loosened the edge of my panic. It blurred the sharpest corners of my thoughts.
I was halfway across the corridor when I saw them again.
Vince and Rome were moving toward the exit, walking like the building belonged to them. Rome was talking, animated, and Vince listened with that cold attention that made people obey without being asked.
Vince was walking straight at me.
My heart slammed once, hard enough to make my vision tilt.
His gaze lifted and landed on me.
Ten seconds, maybe.
Long enough to acknowledge my presence.
Long enough to look straight through me like I was furniture. Like I was someone he used to know and couldn’t be bothered pretending mattered now.
The air left my lungs so abruptly it felt physical.
I stopped walking. I couldn’t help it.
Rome kept talking like nothing was happening. Vince kept walking.
He passed close enough that I could smell his cologne and my body reacted like it remembered him even if he’d decided he didn’t remember me.
Footsteps clicked behind them.
The women.
They followed at a slower pace, laughing softly.
One of them called out, bright and teasing. “Vince, wait. I have your lighter.”
Vince stopped instantly.
Not for me.
For her.
He turned back, and she walked straight to him. He took the lighter from her hand, fingers closing around it slowly, then his gaze lifted to her face.
A real look.
Focused. Appraising. The kind of look that made the hairs on my arms rise because it wasn’t casual attention, it was intent.
A dom shopping for a sub.
Or worse.
A dom already training one.
The woman smiled up at him like she felt it too. Then she kissed his cheek like it was nothing—like she’d earned it. Vince held the door for her with practiced control, and she brushed past him with a flirtatious comment that made Rome smirk again.
Vince didn’t stop watching her as she walked away.
A stare. The kind of stare that said mine without the word ever leaving his mouth.
She disappeared down the hallway, and Vince’s gaze followed her until the last second, as if he physically couldn’t let go of the line between them.
My stomach turned.
I hated that I was standing there watching it. I hated that I couldn’t mask my face. I hated that the shock and heartbreak were just… on me, visible, humiliating.
The door shut.
Vince and Rome were gone.
And I was still frozen like a girl who hadn’t learned how to recover her dignity quickly enough.
When my feet finally moved again, I walked back to the table on autopilot.
“She has no appointments set for summer viewing,” she was telling Aunt Diana, like she was discussing table settings. “Not one heir has requested her. Not even a handler reaching out on behalf of a dynasty.”
Aunt Diana’s sympathetic hum landed like a gavel. “That’s… concerning.”
“It’s humiliating,” my mother corrected.
The room didn’t tilt. It stayed perfectly level. That was the problem. Everything stayed functioning while something in me cracked anyway. My hand found the back of the chair.
He walked past me like I was nothing.
The word blocked flared in my mind, hot and humiliating.
I hadn’t just been left.
I’d been erased.
Why did no one want me?
What was wrong with me?
Why wasn’t I enough to make anyone stay. I had given Vince everything and it still wasn’t enough.