Chapter 12
"If you keep ignoring your emotions like this, you'll eventually break down," Asvika said, her hand clasped tightly around my arm.
"How unfortunate," I muttered, releasing myself from her grip.
We were back at the house we shared in London. The silence here didn't stretch, it pressed. Every wall remembered my silence. Every step echoed with things left unsaid.
"Can you give me some space to pack?" I asked, looking her dead in the eyes. "Please."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair, frustration colouring her usually calm expression. I hated that look. I hated that I was the reason for it.
"I don't want to lose you too," she murmured.
"You won't," I said, even though I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
She nodded, reluctantly, then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The lock didn't turn, but it might as well have.
I was locked in—with my thoughts, my past, and the damn ghosts that never stopped watching.
Sighing, I turned to my closet. The plan was simple: grab the essentials. My passport. My cash. A few clothes that didn't scream "former heiress turned emotionally unavailable roommate."
But then my eyes fell on something in the corner.
The pile.
Stacked neatly at the bottom of my closet, right where I left them. A row of black boxes, wrapped in brown paper, each marked with gold detailing, each stamped with a V.
Unopened.
Unbothered.
Unwanted.
But no matter how long I ignored them, they always stayed.
Rolling my eyes, I crouched down slowly, dragging the oldest one out. The paper crinkled beneath my fingers, the weight of years pressing into my chest. I tore the wrap open, and it wasn't what I expected.
Receipts. Transaction slips. Confidential documents. Memos from foreign diplomats. Company shares. Names.
People. Allies. Enemies.
All organized.
At the top of the pile sat a letter.
I unfolded it, my fingers trembling slightly as the paper met the light.
"Dear V, If you're finally reading this, it's because you've realized that Mommy is not the evil one—but your best ally. You are the heir to the House of Versace, no matter how far you run or how long you pretend not to be.
I love you. And all these transactions? These deals? These are our alliances. Our empire. Our power. You left, but I never let go.
As the heir, you must know every friend and every enemy. Every knife pointed at your back. Every table we've built.
This is your legacy. Don't be foolish enough to walk away from it again.
—Mother
I stared at the letter for a long time.
Then, I settled on the floor next to the boxes and I opened the second box.
And the third.
And the fourth.
Each one was a window. A glimpse into the empire I had tried to escape yet had never really left. Detailed records. Codename dossiers. Signed agreements with names I recognized from headlines. Offshore accounts. Intel. Locations. Through the years I've been away.
Some of these names…
Some of them were still smiling in my face.
The more I read, the more the silence in the room became suffocating.
I didn't stop.
Didn't eat.
Didn't blink.
Hours passed and I kept memorizing and connecting the dots with the papers.
The sun dipped, then disappeared altogether.
The only light came from the flickering lamp on my desk and the golden glow of the past unravelling in front of me.
Until I reached the last box.
It was heavier. Wrapped tighter. Like it knew it held the final word.
Inside, nestled in smooth velvet, was a folded black outfit. Sleek. Deadly. Designed like armour masquerading as fashion. Beside it, stilettos sharp enough to draw blood, and an envelope.
I opened it.
Dear V,If you've gotten to this box, it means you've forgiven Mother and you're ready to return.
You've wandered. You've rebelled. You've been free.
Now it's time to come home.
You've seen it all. The power. The enemies. The empire.
And you know—no one wears the crown better than you.
Put on the dress.
Call the number.
We're waiting.
—Mother
My throat felt tight.
I stared at the outfit.
Then, slowly, I stood.
Piece by piece, I dressed. The fabric slid over my skin like silk and steel. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the girl staring back.
No.
I did recognize her.
I had just forgotten her.
I picked up the card and dialled the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
"Miss Versace," a crisp voice answered. "When would you like to arrive at your destination? All flights are prepared."
I didn't reply immediately. I looked at myself in the mirror, no longer a girl running from the past, but a woman walking into her throne.
"I'll send the coordinates," I said calmly. "Be ready."
"Yes, Miss Versace."
When I opened the door, Asvika was sitting on the couch, eyes red, laptop forgotten beside her.
She looked up—and froze.
She took me in from head to toe, her lips parting. "You're really going back."
I nodded.
She stood, walking slowly toward me. "So that's it?"
"That's it."
She paused, studying my face. "Are you scared?"
"No."
Maybe. But I wasn't going to let fear rule me anymore.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered. "Even if I'm mad."
I smiled faintly. "Don't be mad for too long. I'll still need you when I burn the whole world down."
She chuckled through her tears, then pulled me into a hug. I held her tighter than I expected to. "Sanaa would be so proud of you."
When we let go, I stepped back.
"Goodbye, Asvi."
"Goodbye, Versace," she said. "Make them regret ever messing with you."
I walked out of the door, heels clicking like gunshots on marble.
And just like that—The heiress was coming home.