Chapter 53
It was dawn again.
Dominic’s breathing was steady beside me, one arm lazily slung over his stomach, the other reaching toward the space where I used to be. His knuckles were still bruised from the night before, his jaw faintly swollen, the faint scent of blood and whiskey clinging to him.
I watched him for a long time. The man who’d once been my ruin, now looking so human it hurt.
His lashes fluttered, and then his hazel eyes met mine, slow and warm, like he’d already known I’d been watching him. “You’re thinking too loud again.”
I almost smiled. Almost. And then I finally said the words that had been weighing on me since the glass broke in the kitchen.
“I think I'm finally ready to go home,” I whispered.
Dominic didn’t move at first. He just looked at me, his hazel eyes searching mine, probably trying to see if home still meant the same thing it did before the accident. He reached out, his bruised knuckles grazing my cheek with a gentleness that didn't match the violence of the night before.
“Home,” he repeated, the word sounding heavy in his mouth. “You mean the mansion with the vultures circling the gates? Or the life you had before I found you?”
“Both,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “My mother needs me. The House of Versace needs me. I can’t hide in your shadows forever, Dominic. I have to face the council. I have to face the mafia.”
Dominic sat up slowly, the sheet falling to his waist. He looked at his hands—the hands that had fought his own blood to protect me.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I asked, searching his eyes for reassurance and he nodded.
“I’ll take you home.”
The iron gates of the Versace estate groaned as they swung open, feeling less like an entrance and more like the bars of a golden cage. The drive was lined with guards—static, watchful, and a cold reminder of the world I was reclaiming.
We had left the sanctuary of the medical mansion. The doctor’s discharge papers were sitting in the back seat, a formal end to my time as a patient. Dominic killed the engine at the foot of the grand front steps. He didn’t look at the house; his focus was entirely on me.
"Once we step out of this car, the peace is over," he warned, his voice low.
“We aren't stepping out of the car together, Dominic,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily. “I am.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I need space. Not from you,” I explained, watching his hazel eyes for a flicker of reaction, “but so I can stand on my own feet again. I need to return as the heir to the House of Versace, and I have to do that part alone.” I paused, letting the weight of the last few weeks settle between us.
“And I never got to say it properly. Thank you, Dominic.
For saving me, and for staying by my side when I didn't even know who I was.”
He leaned across the console, burying his hand in my hair to pull me toward him with a gentle, grounding strength. He pressed a long, silent kiss to my forehead.
“Go be the queen your grandfather always knew you were,” he murmured against my skin.
I opened the door and stepped out into the biting morning air. I stood on the gravel, watching the tail-lights of his car disappear through the gates before I turned toward the estate.
Mayami was already there, waiting. Her eyes widened as I approached, her composure fracturing. “Versace,” she breathed, caught between disbelief and pure relief.
Before I could say a word, she tackled me into a fierce hug. “My boss is a survivor,” she muttered into my hair before finally pulling back.
As I looked toward the grand entrance, my mother was standing there. Allura Versace—the strongest woman I knew.
“Mom…”
She moved toward me, and I collapsed into her embrace. The familiar scent of her perfume, the one I had reached for in my dreams during the weeks I was gone, finally filled my lungs.
“My strong, strong girl,” she whispered, brushing the stray strands of hair away from my face. “You’re glowing.”
I pulled back enough to look her in the eye. The dazed girl was gone. “I’m back. And I’m ready to work.”
She saw the fire in my eyes—the Versace spark—and gave a single, sharp nod of approval. The war for the house was just beginning.
I settled into my study, reclaiming the seat that had felt like a throne before it became a memory.
The air was thick with the familiar, expensive scent of sandalwood and faint ink. The housemaids had kept the room in perfect order for my return, as if they knew a queen didn't have time for delays.
The heavy door creaked open. I didn't have to look up to know who it was. My supposed shadow.
He wasn't in his usual sharp suit. He was dressed down, looking like he’d been working in the garage—grease on his hands, a far cry from the polished man I once trusted. I didn't care to ask why. To me, he was already a ghost.
For a long time, the silence was the only thing between us. I stared at him, looking for any trace of the man I thought had my back.
“You knew,” I said at last. My voice was low, slicing through the quiet like a blade. “You knew they were never going to let me go.”
His jaw clenched, his throat working as he tried to find a way out. “Versace—”
“You knew, Zorian.” I rose from the chair slowly, every inch of my posture radiating the authority he had betrayed. “You stood there while they drowned me. You heard them laugh while I fought for air. You stayed silent while they broke me.”
His eyes glistened, a flash of pathetic regret. “I—I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” My voice cracked, but I didn't let it fall. “You simply made yours.”
“I did it to protect you—”
“Protect me?” I let out a laugh, short and sharp as broken glass. “You think feeding me to wolves counts as protection?”
He took a desperate step closer. “I thought if I cooperated, if I gave them what they wanted, they’d stop. I thought they’d let you live.”
“They didn’t stop,” I whispered, each word growing colder as the memory of the ice water flooded back. “They learned exactly how much I could take before I shattered.”
He froze, the blood draining from his face.
“I didn’t tell them everything,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I kept the secrets safe. I kept what mattered away from them.”
I stared through him. “No. You kept yourself safe.”
His face fell, his composure finally crumbling. “Versace, please. I—”
“You were supposed to be my shadow,” I cut him off, my voice quiet but vibrating with rage. “My anchor. Instead, you became another ghost I have to bury.”
He said nothing. He just stood there, his eyes burning with a useless apology.
“I don’t need you anymore, Zorian,” I said. “I saved myself. Your services are no longer required.”
Suddenly, he collapsed. He fell to his knees, his head bowed, his fists clenching the expensive rug. “Hit me. Slap me. Punish me however you want. But don’t toss me away.”
“Like you tossed me?” I looked down at him, feeling nothing but a distant, cold pity. “Don’t worry. I’m not sacking you. But you'll never be near me again. You are now a ghost in this house.”
I lowered myself, sinking onto my knees until my face was inches from his. I watched his gaze flicker and shake. “See how easy it is to go down on your knees, Zorian? Remember how they kept me on mine every single day? While you watched?”
“I—”
“You must be delusional to think you on your knees is supposed to mean something to me.”
I stood up, smoothing my skirt with practiced elegance. A wave of nausea hit me, but I shook it away.
As I walked past him, the rhythmic click of my heels against the marble echoed like a countdown. I didn't look back.
Because some shadows don’t deserve redemption. They only deserve to be left in the dark.