Chapter Twelve:Open Eyes
1423 Words
Isabella
I don’t tell him.
That’s the first betrayal.
It doesn’t feel like one when I wake up.
It feels like necessity.
Luca is still asleep when I open my eyes. The room is dim, pale morning light slipping through the curtains. He’s on his back, one arm thrown above his head, the sheet low on his waist.
He looks younger when he sleeps.
Less carved from stone.
I watch him for longer than I should.
The line of his jaw. The faint crease between his brows that never fully disappears. Even in rest, he looks like he’s bracing for impact.
I tell myself I’m memorizing him in case I have to leave.
That’s a lie.
I’m memorizing him because I don’t want to.
My fingers hover just above his chest before I let them settle there. Warm. Solid. Steady heartbeat beneath my palm.
He shifts slightly under my touch but doesn’t wake.
Or maybe he does.
With Luca, it’s hard to tell.
“I need to know,” I whisper, though he can’t hear me. “Who you really are when I’m not in the room.”
The survivor’s face flashes in my mind.
The scar along her collarbone.
The tremor in her voice.
I slide out of bed quietly.
The second betrayal.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and old air.
I sit in my car for five full minutes before going inside.
I don’t know what I expect.
A villain.
An exaggeration.
Something that will make this easier.
Instead, when they lead me into her room, I find a woman who looks tired.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
Just tired.
Her name is Elena.
She studies me carefully when I step inside.
“You’re not a reporter,” she says.
“No.”
“You don’t look like the police either.”
“I’m not.”
I close the door behind me.
My hands feel cold.
“I just want to understand.”
Her mouth twitches slightly.
“Understand what?”
“What happened.”
She watches me for a long moment.
“You’re connected to them,” she says quietly.
It’s not a question.
My throat tightens.
“Yes.”
Her eyes flicker with something sharp.
“Are you here to offer money?”
“No.”
“To threaten me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Because I kissed him.
Because I might love him.
Because I need to know if loving him makes me complicit.
“I need to know if they knew,” I say softly. “About the risks.”
Elena doesn’t answer immediately.
Her fingers trace the edge of her hospital blanket.
“They knew enough,” she says finally. “Enough to slow it down. Enough to stop it.”
My chest tightens.
“And they didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
She lets out a small breath.
“Because stopping it would have cost them more than continuing.”
The words settle into me like ice.
Cost.
Everything in Luca’s world is weighed in cost.
Lives.
Reputation.
Stability.
“And you?” I ask quietly.
“What about me?”
“What did it cost you?”
Her hand moves unconsciously to the scar.
“My husband left. My body doesn’t respond the way it used to. I wake up some nights convinced I’m still in the trial room.”
She looks at me then, directly.
“They paid me to be quiet.”
“Did you take it?”
“Yes.”
There’s no shame in her voice.
“Why?”
“Because I was drowning in medical bills and no one else was offering to help.”
The honesty disarms me.
“So you’re not doing this for revenge?” I ask.
“I’m doing this because I’m tired of pretending it didn’t happen.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly.
“And because men in suits don’t get to gamble with people like me.”
Men in suits.
Luca in his dark jackets.
Luca at the head of a marble table.
I feel something twist inside me.
“Do you think he’s cruel?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Who?”
“The one in charge now.”
She studies my face.
“I think,” she says slowly, “that men like that convince themselves they’re necessary.”
The word hits too precisely.
Necessary.
He had said that.
I swallow.
“Do you think they regret it?”
She looks away.
“Regret doesn’t change outcomes.”
No.
It doesn’t.
When I leave the hospital, the sky is gray.
Heavy.
I sit in my car again, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Elena isn’t a villain.
She isn’t hysterical.
She isn’t vengeful.
She’s just a woman who survived something she shouldn’t have had to.
And Luca,
Luca is a man who chose containment over exposure.
Damage control over confession.
Stability over morality.
The problem is…
I understand why.
And that scares me more than anything Elena said.
When I return to the estate, the gates open without hesitation.
Inside, everything looks the same.
Polished.
Controlled.
Untouched.
He’s in the library when I find him.
Of course he is.
He’s standing near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his phone.
He doesn’t look surprised when I enter.
He doesn’t ask where I’ve been.
He just sets the phone down slowly.
“How is she?” he asks.
My stomach drops.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
Of course he did.
I don’t ask how.
I don’t want to know.
“She’s tired,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“She should be.”
I study him.
“You didn’t stop me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He steps closer.
Not aggressively.
Just enough to close some of the distance.
“Because you needed to see her without me in the room.”
My breath catches slightly.
“You’re not angry?”
He considers that.
“I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“That’s ironic.”
A faint flicker crosses his expression.
“Yes.”
Silence stretches between us.
“She’s not lying,” I say.
“I know.”
“She’s not trying to destroy you.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you preparing for war?”
His gaze settles on me fully now.
Because I crossed a line.
Because I stepped into his world.
Because I kissed him after learning the truth.
“Because once something like this starts moving,” he says quietly, “it doesn’t stop at truth. It looks for blood.”
The way he says it makes my pulse jump.
“You think Adriano will use her.”
“Yes.”
“And if he does?”
His eyes darken slightly.
“Then I respond.”
There’s no heat in it.
No drama.
Just inevitability.
I step closer before I think better of it.
“You’re not heartless,” I say.
He studies me carefully.
“No.”
“You’re just willing.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
That word shouldn’t make my chest ache.
But it does.
I lift my hand slowly and place it against his chest again, like I did this morning.
His heart is steady.
Always steady.
“I don’t know what that makes me,” I whisper.
His hand covers mine.
Warm.
Firm.
“It makes you honest.”
I search his face.
“You don’t try to defend yourself.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if you stay,” he says quietly, “I want it to be with open eyes.”
The intimacy of that almost undoes me.
He leans down, not kissing me immediately.
Just resting his forehead against mine.
Breathing the same air.
“If you decide I’m not someone you can stand beside,” he murmurs, “I’ll accept it.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“And if I decide I am?”
His hand slides from mine to my waist.
Slow.
Grounded.
“Then you don’t get to leave when it becomes uncomfortable.”
Heat flickers between us.
Not wild.
Not consuming.
But steady.
Earned.
I tilt my face up slightly.
“And will it?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
Always honest.
His mouth brushes mine, softer this time.
Not claiming.
Not demanding.
Asking.
And when I kiss him back,
It isn’t because I’ve chosen yet.
It’s because I’m still trying to understand why part of me already has.
- Writer
