The next few days were unbearable. Dominic remained outwardly calm, but I could sense a tension simmering beneath his perfect facade. Our public appearances were flawless; the world saw a couple in harmony. But behind closed doors, the distance between us had grown into a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.
I tried to provoke him, to draw him into conversation. “If someone from my past came here, would you tell me?” I asked one evening during dinner, my fingers nervously tracing the edge of my napkin.
Dominic paused, fork hovering mid-air. His sharp gaze met mine. “That depends on whether that person is a danger to you… or to us,” he said carefully, each word deliberate.
“And if they were both?” I pressed, my voice almost breaking.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Some truths are more dangerous than lies, Talia,” he said, his voice low and unreadable, leaving a chill in the room far colder than the evening breeze outside.
I wanted to lash out, to demand honesty, but instead, I swallowed my frustration. The fractures between us were no longer just emotional; they were structural, threatening to collapse the very foundation of our lives together.
Later that night, I stood by the window, looking out at the city lights and wondering how much of Dominic Castatello Sinclair I truly knew. He was a man of secrets, a master of control, and yet… the smallest cracks in his armor fascinated me, drawing me closer even as they terrified me.