Chapter 16
"My biggest regret was meeting you."
Thump.
Thump.
My eyes widened.
Goosebumps ghosted across my arms as the wind blew through the garden, tugging at my clothes like a warning.
"Oh my God. He said that to you?"Asvika's voice was scandalous, like she lived for this tea.
"Not to me. It was his girlfriend. I'm just feeding you the tea." Sanaa had said it with wide eyes, mocking the drama.
"The day you learn to mind your business, Asvi—and the day you stop indulging her, Sanaa—is the day pigs fly."
Asvika snuggled closer, her legs tossed over mine. I nudged her off gently and stood, walking away from the garden.
"Speaking of pigs, I'm craving pork ribs. I—" Asvi started but Sanaa jumped in.
"I can make—"
"Not you, Sanaa." I muttered, shooting her a flat look over my shoulder.
She pouted but followed me anyway, her feet light against the cobblestone path as we slipped into the warmth of the kitchen.
I pulled out a pot and started prepping ingredients.
"You know, I could help boil the—"
"No."
"Okay, okay, I get it. I'll just keep you company, I guess. It's not your fault you don't know true exquisite cooking," she teased.
I rolled my eyes, smiling silently.
"When I get married, Vee. I'll take you with me."
"Why?" I asked, baffled.
"Who else will cook for me and my husband? And honestly, how could I ever love anyone more than you?"
"The actual fuck?"
"In fact, I've decided I'm not getting married anymore. I'll just stay with you," she said.
"Forever?" I raised a brow.
"Duh. Forever and ever."
No.
That's not real.
It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It's not real. It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It's not real. It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It's not real. It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It's not real. It's not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
IT'S NOT REAL!
I jolted upright in bed, lungs collapsing against my ribs. I couldn't breathe.
My hands clawed at my chest as though I could dig into my body and pull-out whatever agony lived there. It wasn't mere pain; it was an infection.
Something wrong that was rooted in me.
Her laughter played again in my head like a song I couldn't turn off.
I smashed the nightstand. Wood splinters scattered. The lamp cracked in half. My hand throbbed, but it didn't stop me.
I staggered toward the mirror.
I screamed until my throat tore.
The mirror shattered when I hurled a perfume bottle. Cracks spiderwebbed across the reflection, distorting my face into someone I didn't recognize.
"It still hurts. It still hurts. IT. STILL. HURTS."
My fist connected with the mirror.
Blood sprayed. I didn't feel it. I didn't care.
Bang.
Bang.
It felt like I'd been shot, again and again and again.
Each memory was a bullet. Each smile was a knife. Her voice was everywhere, in the walls, in my skin.
"You could've saved her."
I turned.
There was something in the mirror. Someone. A shadow.
No.
That was me?
"If you'd told Dominic the truth, he wouldn't have pulled the trigger."
I covered my ears. "No."
"Or better still…You should've died with her, bitch."
"NO!"
The voice didn't stop. I screamed again. My throat gave out, but I kept going.
I wanted her back. She promised me forever and ever.
My feet dragged through the broken glass on the floor. I didn't even flinch as it sliced me open. Blood painted a path behind me, but I was numb to the sting. It was the only thing that felt real.
I clawed at my hair, desperate to rip the noise out of my skull. I could hear her laughing.
"I'll cook for you, Vee!"
Please. Please. Stop.
Her laugh was louder.
Make it stop.
I bit my lip until I tasted metal.
The door burst open.
ZORIAN
The mansion was silent.
Too silent.
Ms. Versace had left for some gala with Alvaro. Only a few guards remained, and me—Versace's shadow, her reluctant babysitter.
Then I heard it.
Crash.
Bang.
A scream so guttural it turned my blood cold.
I ran. Took the stairs three at a time. Followed the carnage.
When I flung open the door, my brain couldn't process what I saw fast enough.
She was on the floor. Barefoot. Bleeding. Wailing.Not crying. Not weeping.
Wailing.
Her eyes were bloodshot, wild, her fists battering everything she could reach. Drawers overturned. Sheets ripped. Books flung. Glass everywhere.
She didn't see me.
"MAKE IT STOP!" she screamed, voice cracked, teeth gritted.
I ran forward, catching her before she could slam into the mirror again. She fought me. Like a wild animal. Like I was the devil.
"Versace! It's me! I'm here!"
"MAKE IT STOP!" she screamed again, throwing her fists.
"I'm your shadow, remember? I'm your guard. I've got you. I've got you."
I held her until she stopped thrashing. Until she slumped. Until the air was filled only with the sound of her breath—ragged, broken, burnt out.
She gripped my jacket like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.
"I-I can't sleep. I need to jog."
Her voice was like sandpaper. Gone. She could barely shape the words.
"No. You're not going anywhere."
"Since when do you give the orders?" she hissed, still shaking.
I eased her down to the floor, brushing hair from her face.
"I'll be right back. Just hold on."
When I returned, I cleaned every wound. Quiet. Gentle. Like she'd break if I looked too hard.
She watched me like she wasn't here.
I didn't ask. Didn't speak. Just carried her downstairs, set her gently behind the kitchen counter.
"What's this?" she murmured.
"A recipe I learned. It’s supposed to help with insomnia," I lied, chopping vegetables slowly.
There was no recipe, no magic cure. Just movement. Just distraction. Just something, anything, to pull her back.
She watched for a while, her head tilting as I chopped vegetables.
I made noise on purpose. Loud, repetitive, boring noise.
A lullaby made of domestic nothing.
Eventually—
Thud.
I looked over. She was asleep, head on the counter, finally still.
That had been the plan.
There was no recipe.
Just silence. And rest. And mercy.
I picked her up and carried her upstairs, carefully avoiding the glass. Cleaned what I could. Swept what I couldn't.
"I hate you, old man," she muttered in her sleep.
Old man?
I tucked that away for later.
As I sat in her ruined room, watching over her, one thought rang loud in my chest:
Who knew the girl who ruled rooms with her eyes, could break like this, when no one was watching?
I didn't know. But as I looked at her there, bruised, torn open by grief, I realized I didn't care.
Whatever haunted her like this, I'd destroy it. I didn't care if it was a man, a memory, or a ghost.
She was mine to protect. And tonight, I was her shield.