Chapter 2

For the entire next week, Luca had been acting like a deranged zealot, trying to mend the irreparable rift between us with suffocating, grotesque displays of affection.

Racks of one-of-a-kind Parisian haute couture were flown in by private jets daily, turning my bedroom into a suffocating warehouse of luxury. 

A legendary 50-carat pink diamond—auctioned for a staggering hundred million. Luca had placed it around my neck himself, his fingers lingering on my collarbone as though the cold stone could somehow warm the ice between us.

He'd commissioned a portrait artist to paint us together, hired a renowned chef to prepare every meal I'd ever mentioned liking in passing.

Fresh orchids appeared in every room each morning, their cloying sweetness making me nauseous. 

He'd even tracked down the out-of-print children's books I used to read to Nancy, stacking them on the nightstand as though their presence could resurrect what he'd helped destroy.

But no amount of wealth could buy a dead woman’s forgiveness. 

My suffocating, icy silence only drove him to the brink of insanity. That night, his fragile patience finally snapped. 

"You're being stubborn." Luca said. "I'm trying to show you how much you mean to me."

"By keeping me prisoner?" The words came out flat, emotionless. 

"Not a prisoner. My wife. Where you belong."

I finally turned to face him, and his eyes darkened with an intent I recognized too well.

"Luca, don't—"

But he was already backing me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head while the other slid down to grip my waist. "Four years, Callista. Four years I've waited for you to come back to me." 

His mouth found the curve of my neck, teeth grazing skin. "Do you have any idea what that does to a man?"

He breathed against my throat, fingers already working at the delicate buttons of my nightgown. 

The silk fell away like water, pooling at my feet. Cool air kissed my exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with desire. 

"Please," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded. "Not like this."

He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed.

"I'll make you remember," he said, settling his weight over me. "I'll make you remember what we had before everything went wrong."

His hands were everywhere—rough and demanding. He pushed my thighs apart with his knee, settling between them with a groan that vibrated through both our bodies. 

"That's it," he murmured, mouth trailing fire down my throat to my collarbone, then lower. "I knew you still wanted this. Wanted me."

I turned my head away, focusing on the ornate molding of the ceiling as his lips closed around one nipple, tongue circling until it peaked against my will. Pleasure sparked through me—unwanted, unbidden, a physiological response divorced from any actual desire. 

When his mouth found the apex of my thighs, I couldn't stop the gasp that escaped. The pleasure built despite everything—despite my hatred, despite my grief, despite the fact that this was just another form of imprisonment.

"Luca, stop—" But the protest died as his fingers joined his mouth, curling inside me with practiced skill, finding that spot that made my back arch off the bed.

"You're so wet for me," he groaned against my inner thigh. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."

I turned my face away again, silent tears sliding down my temples into my hair.

His movements grew more frantic, more brutal. One hand slid between our bodies, finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles that made my traitorous body clench around him. The pleasure crested against my will, my body seizing in climax even as my mind screamed in protest.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, feeling me pulse around him. "Come for me. Show me you're still mine."

We lay there in the aftermath, his weight crushing me into the mattress, both of us slick with sweat. 

Finally, he carried me to the bathroom, washed me clean with meticulous care, then dressed me in a fresh silk nightgown.

"You'll see," he murmured into my hair. "Give it time, and you'll remember why you married me in the first place. We can be happy again, Callista. We can have everything we lost."

I said nothing, staring at the ceiling.

He sat on the edge of my bed and reached out to brush my pale cheek.

“Callista, let the past stay buried. We’re still young. We can have kids of our own someday.”

I twisted my face away, dodging his touch. My gaze swept over him like I was staring at rotting garbage.

His hand froze mid-air. A violent, dark glint flashed across his eyes, yet he forced his rage down.

Right then, the sharp chime of the security monitor pierced the heavy silence in the bedroom, followed closely by the echoing thud of the mansion's massive front doors opening downstairs. Through the ajar bedroom doors, a sugary, simpering voice drifted up from the grand foyer.

“Luca, has sister come home?”

I snapped my head up, pupils blown wide in shock.

Sylvia stood in the doorway wearing a flowing white sundress, holding the hand of a five or six-year-old boy. Her side profile matched mine by seventy percent.

Years back, Luca had been head over heels for me—his older brother’s wife—yet he could never have me. Drunk and lonely, he’d spent one fleeting night with this woman who bore my likeness.

I stared straight at Luca, voice sharp with accusation.

“You told me you locked her away behind bars! Why the hell is she standing in this house?”

Luca dropped his gaze awkwardly.

“She only got out of prison last month. She’s got nowhere to go. I couldn’t just leave her out on the streets.”

“She already served her sentence, and she’s Jasper’s mother. I can’t abandon her to starve.”

I ignored every word out of his mouth and stepped past him. My palm cracked hard across Sylvia’s cheek with a sharp slap.

“That one’s for my daughter Nancy.”

Luca’s eyes blew wide. “Callista!”

I paid him no mind and struck her a second time.

“That one’s for me.”

Sylvia crumpled onto the floor, her cheek bright red and swollen, her voice cracking into broken sobs.

“Mrs. Byers, I know I messed up and leaked word about your daughter, I’ve already paid for my crimes! Is it such a sin to want my own son to live? Please, just spare Jasper and me.”

A cold, bitter smirk tugged at my lips. I raised my hand to strike her again, only for Luca to clamp my wrist tight and pin it in place.

“Enough! She was a victim back then too. Why can’t you let this go?” he roared.

Sylvia’s eyes welled up with fake tears. She shuffled forward looking delicate and heartbroken.

“Sister, I know you hate me. Now that you’re back with Luca, maybe I ought to pack Jasper up and leave. I’d rather sleep on the sidewalk than ruin your marriage.”

“Shut your mouth!” I shook all over with rage, jabbing a finger toward the front door. “Take your bastard brat and get the hell out of here!”

“How can you talk about Jasper like that?” Sylvia took a sudden step closer, reaching to grab the hem of my dress. “He’s Luca’s flesh and blood!”

I jerked my arm away on instinct. Sylvia let out an over-the-top, ear-piercing scream, then flung her body backward like a broken puppet, crashing hard onto the marble floor.

“Sylvia!” Luca’s face drained of all color. He shoved me hard with one brutal push.

“When are you gonna stop this madness? Four years haven’t been enough for you to let it go? Or is Nancy not the real reason you’re torn up—are you still hung up on my older brother Marco? You only cared about her ‘cause she was his kid!”

His strength was overwhelming. My frail frame stumbled backward with the force, my forehead slamming straight into the sharp corner of the marble coffee table.

A dull, heavy thud echoed through the hall.

The world spun violently around me. Warm, thick blood trickled down my forehead and seeped into my eyes, blurring everything into a sea of scarlet red.

Luca’s heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively reached to pull me up—only for Sylvia to lock both arms tight around his thighs, wailing.

“Luca, my stomach hurts so bad…”

His movement ground to a halt. He glanced between my blood-soaked face and the whimpering woman on the floor, jaw tight with frustration.

“Callista, Sylvia saved my life once. Why can’t you find it in yourself to tolerate her? Or have you never gotten over Marco? You’ve disappointed me more than I can say.”

I didn’t make a single sound of pain. I slowly pushed myself up off the floor, swiping a hand across my blood-streaked eyes.

The crimson liquid stained my face a haunting, ghostly shade of tragic beauty.

I stared at the husband who would always choose another woman over me, and a quiet laugh bubbled out of my throat. It grew louder and louder, echoing off the empty hall walls, cold and unsettling to hear.

“What a loyal lifesaver. What an unforgettable old flame. What a massive letdown I am.” I laughed hollowly, each word sharp enough to cut flesh. “Luca, your so-called love makes my skin crawl.”

Disappointment had hollowed me out completely; I felt nothing anymore.

A bitter, mocking smile tugged at my lips. I turned away, my bloodied frame dragging heavily as I trudged back to the bedroom where I was imprisoned, never sparing him a single backward glance.

I closed the door and dialed that number I hadn't called in a long time...