Page 79 of Ruthless Royalty

I shake my head, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit,” he says, a little sharper this time. “The entire Suite heard your fight last night.”

I don’t respond, biting my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret. I know he’s just trying to help, trying to be there for me like he always is, but right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to open that wound.

“Chiara?” he presses, his voice softer now, more gentle.

I close my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Can we just not? Please, Nikolai.”

He’s silent for a moment, and I can feel him weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he nods, leaning back in his seat.

“Alright. But you know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”

I nod, swallowing down my tears. “I know. Thanks.”

We lapse back into silence, and for the rest of the flight, neither of us speaks. I’m too lost in my own thoughts, too wrapped up in the pain and confusion swirling inside me. I can’t stop thinking about how he left without a word, how he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

But as much as it hurts, I won’t take back what I said. I can’t. Marriage isn’t the answer, not for us, not now. Maybe not ever. I won’t be forced into something I’m not ready for, something that feels more like a trap than a promise.

Giovanni doesn’t understand that, and maybe he never will. But I have to stay true to myself, even if it means losing him. Even if it means this pain I’m feeling now.

Later when the plane touches down, Nikolai waits for me to gather my things before we head out. He still doesn’t say much, just keeps close by, a steady presence that I’m grateful for, even if I can’t bring myself to tell him.

As we step outside, the car waiting for us pulls up, and Nikolai opens the door for me without a word. I slide into the backseat, staring blankly out the window as the driver takes us to our destination. The city passes by in a blur, and I barely notice the familiar sights, too lost in my own head to care.

When we finally pull up to the estate, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. My mother will be expecting me to be happy, to be excited about being home, but I don’t know if I have it in me to put on that mask.

Nikolai must sense my hesitation because he stops beforeopening the car door and turns to me, his expression softening. “You don’t have to pretend, Chiara. Not with me.”

I look at him, and for the first time since we left Willow Bridge, I feel a crack in the wall I’ve been trying so hard to keep up. The tears I’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, but I bite them back, refusing to let them fall.

“I’m just so tired,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m tired of all of this.”

He reaches out and squeezes my hand, his touch grounding me. “Will you be okay?”

I meet his gaze, trying to muster up some kind of reassurance, but the words catch in my throat. “I will be,” I say instead, the only thing I can offer him.

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he just nods and starts walking toward the house, his footsteps slow, like he’s giving me time to catch up.

I know that I need to talk to Giovanni, that we need to find a way to fix this, but right now, the thought of facing him again feels like too much.

So I push it all down, burying the hurt and confusion deep inside, and focus on the one thing I can control—surviving today. One step at a time, one breath at a time, until I can figure out what to do next.

CHIARA

The house feels colder than usual, the familiar warmth replaced by an uncomfortable tension that seeps into every corner. I’ve been quiet since Nikolai and I arrived, my mind still reeling from everything that’s happened. The fight with Giovanni, the emptiness of the morning, and now, being back here, in this house that doesn’t quite feel like home.

Dinner is a strained affair. The long table feels even longer tonight, the distance between me and everyone else a physical manifestation of how isolated I feel.

My mother tries to engage me in conversation, her voice soft and worried, but I can’t bring myself to respond with more than monosyllabic answers. She doesn’t push, but I can see the concern in her eyes, the way she glances at me like she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong but doesn’t know how to ask.

I can’t blame her. She’s been trying so hard to reconnect with me since I got back from my gap year, but there’s a chasm between us that neither of us knows how to bridge.

And Dmitri … he’s a presence more than anything else, a man who stepped into my life while I was gone and took over without mymother having so much as a conversation with me. I barely know him, and yet here I am, living in his house, part of his world; a world I’m still trying to understand.

I push my food around, not really eating, my mind too distracted to focus on anything else. The pendant around my neck feels heavier than ever, a constant reminder of Giovanni, of the fight, of the decision I made.

“Chiara, sweetheart,” my mother’s voice breaks through my thoughts, her tone gentle but filled with worry. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve barely touched your food.”

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