Chapter 5
1089 Words
⸻
The boutique smelled like sin.
Leather, vanilla, and cash — a heady perfume Ariana wore like a second skin as she stepped inside with Lucas trailing behind her. A crimson curtain divided the lingerie section from the darker selections: harnesses, silk rope, collars lined in velvet.
Lucas let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. You didn’t say you were going for war.”
Ariana smiled without warmth. “I’m done waiting.”
She walked ahead, her heels echoing against marble tiles. Mannequins displayed lace and latex in poses too suggestive for public decency. One wore a deep black strappy corset with thigh-high stockings and silver cuffs.
“Try that one,” Lucas said, nodding.
“Only if you carry the bags.”
He grinned. “Gladly.”
They moved through the aisles like royalty—Lucas in his tailored coat, Ariana in a silk dress that clung to her hips like a whisper. She picked out crimson lingerie with sheer panels, a black leather choker, then paused at the wall of costumes. A schoolgirl set. A nun’s habit made entirely of mesh.
She held it up. “Think he’d hate this?”
Lucas chuckled. “No. He’d combust.”
Ariana didn’t smile. “Good.”
⸻
The next boutique was more elegant. High-end dresses, luxury heels, and perfume that smelled like temptation. Lucas lounged on a couch near the dressing room while Ariana tried on a deep green velvet gown with a slit that climbed too high and a neckline too low.
She stepped out.
Lucas let out a low, appreciative sound. “Matteo’s going to f*****g die.”
That’s when she heard the voice.
“Well, well. Look what the street rats dragged in.”
Ariana stiffened.
She didn’t have to turn to recognize the voice.
Joan Avira.
Matteo’s arranged fiancée.
The woman chosen for diplomacy, bloodline, beauty—and most of all, obedience.
Ariana turned slowly, gaze cool. Joan stood at the boutique entrance, tall, blond, plastic-perfect, with two bodyguards behind her like ornaments.
“Didn’t realize this place sold knockoffs,” Joan said, walking forward in stilettos.
Lucas rose from the couch.
“Back off,” he said, tone dangerous.
“Oh, the best friend,” Joan said sweetly. “The one she’s always clinging to. Do you know your little girl’s dressing up like a w***e to impress a man who will never love her?”
Ariana’s smile sharpened. “At least I’m not waiting to be married off like livestock.”
Joan stepped closer. “You think sleeping with him made you special?”
Ariana didn’t flinch.
Joan’s voice dropped, cruel and cold. “He’s already forgotten you. He told me so.”
It happened in a blur.
Ariana’s fist slammed into Joan’s cheekbone.
The boutique exploded into chaos.
Joan shrieked, claws out, dragging her nails down Ariana’s arm. She swung her purse like a weapon, caught Ariana’s shoulder hard. Ariana lunged again, but one of Joan’s guards stepped between them, shoving Ariana back into a mirrored wall.
“Enough!” Lucas bellowed, stepping forward like a god of war.
Joan adjusted her hair, smirking through her split lip. “Enjoy the bruises, sweetheart. Maybe they’ll remind you of your place.”
She turned and walked out like nothing happened.
Ariana stood frozen, shoulder burning, arm scraped raw.
Lucas caught her. “You okay?”
She nodded, breathing hard. “Take me home.”
⸻
The villa was quiet when they returned.
Ariana moved through the halls like a ghost, her coat pulled tightly around her. The bruises were already blooming — red on her shoulder, purple near her ribs. Her arm stung where Joan’s nails had cut skin.
She reached her bedroom and shut the door behind her.
Removed her coat.
And stood in front of the mirror.
She looked like a war survivor.
Hair wild, eyes shining with rage, lips swollen from adrenaline. Her dress had a tear at the side, exposing skin already starting to darken.
She stared at herself.
He told me so.
Joan’s words echoed like bullets.
But they were interrupted by the door slamming open.
Matteo stood in the doorway, fury pouring off him like smoke.
“You went out with Lucas?”
Ariana’s heart jumped.
“What—?”
“I warned you,” he snapped. “I told you to stay away from him.”
She stared at him. “You don’t get to barge in here like—”
He was already crossing the room, eyes blazing, voice low and lethal. “I told you to stay away from him, and you walked out of this house like my orders meant nothing.”
“I don’t belong to you!”
He stopped short.
Then his eyes dropped.
To the bruises on her skin.
Her exposed shoulder.
The red welts on her arm.
He froze. Jaw clenched. A muscle ticked at his temple.
“What happened.”
“Joan,” Ariana said. “She attacked me. In the boutique.”
His face went blank. That dangerous, infuriating calm she hated.
“You hit her?”
“I defended myself.”
He stepped back.
His silence said everything.
“You’re angry at me?” she said, voice rising.
“You fought her. In public.”
“She came at me, Matteo.”
“You shouldn’t have been there. Or with Lucas.”
Ariana stared at him.
“You’re taking her side?”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped forward, voice breaking. “She clawed at me. She humiliated me. And all you care about is whether I embarrassed your little peace treaty?”
Still, silence.
“You think she matters more than me?”
His voice was hoarse. “You matter too much.”
The words should’ve comforted her.
They didn’t.
“Then why do you keep choosing her?”
Matteo looked like he was made of stone.
Because that was the only way to keep from shattering.
Ariana’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away.
“You know what, Matteo?” she whispered. “Go ahead. Marry her. Play your part. But don’t ever look at me like I was the mistake.”
She turned from him, walking to the window.
She heard the door open.
Then close.
He was gone.
And this time, he didn’t come back.
⸻
Ariana slid to the floor, back against the wall.
She looked down at the bruises on her skin.
And realized something bitter:
They didn’t hurt as much as the silence he left behind.
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