“No.”
Cara slammed the door behind her. The sound echoed far too loudly in the narrow corridor, and she stood there, huffing—half breathless, half on the verge of panic.
“No. No, no, no.”
Her legs gave way. She slid down until the cold tiles met her spine, the bathroom floor biting through the thin fabric of her clothes.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. “No.”
She dragged her knees to her chest and fisted her hands in her hair, clutching it as though anchoring herself to something solid.
“I cannot. No. It is not possible.”
It was possible.
The truth settled in her chest like a weight she could not dislodge.
Alessandro’s father.
Her stomach twisted violently.
How—how could it be him?
Yet—
She pressed her palm to her mouth, stifling a sound that was half a sob, half a snarl. She could not let him walk away. She would not. She had sworn it—seventeen years ago, in blood and grief and sleepless nights that had never truly ended.
Her body began to shake, uncontrollably now. Fear, dread, fury—she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
I swore to avenge them.
But Alessandro.
Had he known? Had every look, every touch, every promise been a lie?
“Breathe,” she muttered fiercely. “Cara—breathe.”
He shouldn’t matter. He mustn’t matter. No one was ever meant to matter more than the oath she had carried for half her life.
You have to end this.
You will forget him. People are forgotten all the time. And if you cannot—if some weak, traitorous part of you refuses—then he will hate you soon enough. He will hate you the moment he realises what you’ve done.
Tears spilt freely now, hot and furious.
“Damn it,” she choked.
Her fist struck the tile, pain flaring bright and sharp.
“Damn!”
She drew in a ragged breath, forcing the thought into place like a blade locking into its hilt.
I must do this.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror—red-rimmed eyes, trembling mouth, a woman already halfway damned.
“I have to.”