Chapter 43: THE BREAKING POINT
The night pressed heavy around the Don’s mansion, the kind of thick silence that felt like the world was holding its breath. She sat by the tall windows of the guest parlor, the storm in her chest louder than the wind brushing the glass. For days, tension had grown between them, an invisible thread pulled too taut, and she knew tonight something would snap.
Luca had been distant since the ex returned, his eyes colder, his voice clipped, as though every time he looked at her, he saw betrayal waiting in the shadows. She hated that it mattered. She hated that it hurt. But most of all, she hated that she still wanted him close, still longed for the safety of his arms even when those arms felt like chains.
When the door creaked open, she didn’t turn immediately. His presence filled the room anyway heavy, commanding, impossible to ignore.
"Why are you sitting here alone?" Luca’s voice was low, a growl softened only by exhaustion.
"Because it’s the only place I can breathe," she replied, still staring out the window.
A pause. His shoes clicked against the marble floor as he walked further in. "You think I don’t notice the way you’ve been avoiding me?"
She laughed, bitter and sharp. "Avoiding you? That would require you actually being around. These last few days, you’ve been a ghost in your own house. Unless, of course, you were entertaining her."
The word dripped with venom. His ex. The woman who moved with effortless elegance, who kissed him on the cheek like she still owned a piece of him, who had whispered secrets in the corners of the party when she thought no one was watching.
Luca stiffened. "Don’t start with that."
"Don’t start?" She whirled around to face him now, eyes flashing. "She’s everywhere suddenly. Smiling at me like she knows something I don’t, clinging to you like you’re hers to reclaim. And you" Her voice cracked, but she forced it steady. "You let her."
"I didn’t let her." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked almost wounded. "I was protecting you."
"Protecting me?" She stepped closer, anger rising like a tide she couldn’t stop. "By letting her stake a claim on you in front of everyone? By standing there while I look like the fool in your house?"
His fists clenched at his sides. "If I had pushed her away publicly, it would have sparked questions. Questions we can’t afford right now."
"And what about what I can afford?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what it feels like, sitting there while every eye in the room watches her drape herself over you, waiting for me to break? Do you know how humiliating it is to wonder if I’m just another piece in your game?"
His silence answered more than words could. He looked away, and that hurt worse than anything.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I can’t do this anymore, Luca."
That got his attention. His head snapped back toward her, eyes blazing. "What are you saying?"
"I’m saying I can’t be your puppet, your shield, your convenient wife to parade when it suits you." Her voice shook, but her resolve didn’t. "If all I am is a pawn in your war, then I want out."
He crossed the room in two strides, towering over her, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled fury. "You think this is just a game to me? That I married you to use you?"
"Yes!" The word tore out of her. "What else am I supposed to think? You hold secrets over my head, you make decisions without me, you let your ex slither around this house like she belongs here, and you expect me to believe I matter to you?"
His hand slammed against the wall beside her, caging her in. "You do
matter to me," he hissed, the words dragged from some dark, vulnerable place he rarely showed."Then prove it!" she cried, chest heaving. "Prove it, because all I see is a man who hides everything, who pushes me away the second I get too close. I don’t want to live like this, half-trusting, half-hoping, always afraid of where I stand."
For a moment, neither spoke. Their breaths mingled, harsh and ragged. She could see the war inside him the Don who wanted control, the man who wanted her, the boy who had once lost too much and learned never to give freely again.
His hand trembled against the wall. "You think I don’t want to tell you everything? That I don’t fight with myself every damn day not to pull you closer and let it all go?"
Her voice softened, breaking. "Then why don’t you?"
Because he couldn’t. She saw it in his eyes before he even spoke.
"Because the second I give you that part of me," he whispered, raw and hoarse, "you’ll be in more danger than you can imagine. And I’d rather you hate me than watch you bleed for my mistakes."
Her throat tightened. The anger, the jealousy and the pain, it all tangled with the ache of hearing that truth, of knowing that under the armor of the Don was a man terrified of losing her.
But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
"Maybe you don’t get to make that choice for me," she said quietly. "Maybe loving you, or hating you, or whatever this twisted thing between us is shouldn’t mean I’m locked in a cage while you fight your battles alone."
Silence again, heavy as stone.
Finally, Luca stepped back, dragging a hand over his face. For the first time, he looked defeated. Not by his enemies. Not by his empire. But by her.
"If you walk away now," he said, voice low and dangerous, "there’s no coming back."
Her chest ached. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t walking away from him, only from the lies, the half-truths, the walls he built between them. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she turned back to the window, to the storm still raging outside. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and trembling, a woman torn in two.
Behind her, the door closed softly. He was gone.
And for the first time since this began, she felt the true weight of the chains she had chosen, chains not of silk, but of the heart.