I turned and walked away, leaving Costa behind.
Back home, Zara way laying in bed fresh from release.
And I’m here falling apart, piece by piece, for a woman who had no idea how completely she owned me.
Let the family talk. Let them whisper.
I’ve already made my choice.
Chapter Seventeen
Zara
The morning light was cruel.
It slid through the curtains like an unwelcome guest, painting gold stripes across the unfamiliar ceiling. I blinked, disoriented for a moment, before the weight of everything crashed back down on me.
The penthouse. The marriage. The fight. The gift.
I rolled over, checking; it was seven thirty. Lorenzo would be gone by now—he always left early, according to the schedule on his desk that I had glanced at when I’d done a little snooping yesterday while he was out attending to “business”.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
Both? Neither?
I didn’t know what I felt anymore. My thoughts were crashing into each other, all sharp edges and chaos. Anxiety curling with regret, a flicker of desire shadowed by shame. My chest felt tight, like someone had tied a string around my lungs, and I pressed my hand over my heart just to remind myself it was still beating. I caught myself replaying scenes from a few nights back, small humiliations and brief moments of tenderness that only left me more confused. And then the complete embarrassment and shame last night as I got off to the vibrator he’s bought me, calling his name out to keep it alive as I thought of him.
I was starting to feel like I was floating outside myself, unable to decide if I should cry, scream, or simply disappear back into the sheets. And I hated that feeling. It’d always ended poorly for me.
Fighting the anxiety brewing, I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The floor’s cold under my bare feet. The whole place smelled like him—expensive cologne, woodsy, dangerous, and I hated how much I noticed it.
After showering and throwing my messy curls into a bun, I made my way out of my room. I’d half-expected Lorenzo to be there, waiting in the living room with that intense, unreadable expression he wore like armor. But the rooms were empty. The air was still. The only sound was the dull thud of the dryer running.
The only thing out of place was a note that sat on the counter in sharp, angular handwriting:
I will be away on business for a few days. The car will take you anywhere you wish to go. Call if you need anything. — L
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Away on business, and he couldn’t even bother to tell me.
I’m so glad I didn’t end up letting Lorenzo into my bed.
Plus, how old was this man anyway? Always leaving notes when he could just text me. Or, you know, knock on my door that he passes to get to his own.
He claims to be thirty-seven, yet acts like he’s from the Middle Ages in the most infuriating ways.
Yet for some reason, I couldn’t just leave it alone.
All I could think about over the last few days was the heat of his hands on my skin, the way his mouth felt when he wasangry and desperate. So what? So he could have gotten his fix, vanished into another city, probably fucking some other girl with the ring of our fake marriage still cold on his finger. My stomach twists, half in anger, half in something I refuse to name.
I crumpled the note in my fist and tossed it into the same trash can as the one before.
Fine. This is what I wanted after all. The cold expectations that I agreed to on paper. A chance to prove to myself, and to him, that I didn’t need more. That I could live in his world without letting it swallow me whole.
Work was a blur of spreadsheets and coffee and pretending I wasn’t falling apart.
My cubicle at the marketing agency felt smaller than I remembered. The beige walls pressed in on me, the fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous drone, and every time my phone buzzed, I jumped, half-expecting it to be him.
