Page 94 of Ruthless Royalty

Seeing the pain in his eyes, the raw honesty, makes my heart ache. I want to say something, anything, to make it better, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do with this confession. Nikolai must see the turmoil in my eyes because he smiles again, this time softer, more resigned.

“You don’t have to say anything, Chiara. I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty or to confuse you. I just … I just needed you to know. Because seeing you on that bed, broken … I think it took what was left of my heart.”

I can’t stop the tears now, and I reach out, taking his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Nikolai, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He shakes his head, lifting my hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

“You didn’t hurt me, Chiara. Life did. But you … you’ve always been a bright spot for me. Even if I can’t have you the way I want, I’ll just be here as your big brother … if you’ll have me”

The tears are falling freely now, and I nod, unable to speak, my heart heavy with everything that’s been said, everything that’s been left unsaid.

“Of course … You’re family,” I sob, wiping my tears away. I can’t ever reciprocate Nikolai’s feelings, not now. Not ever.

I know I can’t tell Giovanni about this. It would ruin their brotherhood, destroy the bond they’ve built. And I can’t do that to either of them.

Nikolai stands up, releasing my hand and leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Rest, okay? You’ve been through enough. We’ll talk more later.”

I nod again, still in shock, still trying to process everything, as he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

I’m left alone with my thoughts, Nikolai’s confession feeling like lead in my heart. I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know how to move forward, how to face Nikolai after this, how to pretend that everything is normal when it’s anything but.

But I know one thing—I can’t let this destroy what I have with Giovanni, and I can’t let it come between them.

I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to keep the peace, to protectthe people I care about. But for now, all I can do is rest, as Nikolai said, and hope that somehow, everything will be okay.

But deep down, I know that nothing will ever be the same again.

CHIARA

Ilay in bed, staring at the ceiling, but the darkness in the room can’t drown out the images flashing in my mind. I close my eyes, trying to force them away, but it’s like they’re burned into the back of my eyelids, relentless and unforgiving.

Leo’s hands on me. The cold, detached look in his eyes as he held that syringe. The feeling of helplessness, of terror, as I realized what was happening, what he was about to do. It all keeps replaying over and over, a sickening loop that I can’t escape. My skin crawls with the memory, every nerve ending on fire with the phantom sensation of his touch.

I feel filthy.So fucking filthy.

The tears start again, burning hot as they spill down my cheeks, but I don’t try to stop them. I don’t think I could if I tried. I can’t seem to stop crying, and with every tear, I feel like I’m drowning in the weight of what happened, the horror of what Leo did to me.

I press my face into the pillow, my sobs muffled, but it doesn’t help. I can still feel it—the grime, the dirt clinging to my skin, deep in my pores, in my bones.

It won’t come off. I can’t get clean.

Desperation claws at my chest, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. The lights are harsh, unforgiving, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—pale, tear-streaked, my hair a tangled mess, my eyes red and swollen.

But it’s not the reflection that bothers me. It’s the filth I can still feel clinging to me, the grime I can’t seem to wash away.

I yank open the shower door, stepping inside, still wearing my pajamas, and turn on the water, as hot as I can bear. The steam fills the small space, thick and suffocating, but it’s nothing compared to the suffocating feeling of dirt on my skin.

The water hits me like a scalding rain, but it’s not enough. I grab the bar of soap, scrubbing at my arms, my legs, my face—anywhere that he touched me, anywhere that feels tainted.

But it doesn’t help. It won’t come off no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how raw I make my skin, I can’t get clean.

I’m crying harder now, sobbing as I scrub, the water running pink with the blood from where I’ve scraped my skin raw. But I can’t stop. I can’t stop until I’m clean, until this filth is gone. But it’s not working.It’s not working, and I feel like I’m falling apart, unraveling at the seams.

I can’t get clean. I can’t get clean…

“Chiara!”

The sound of Gio’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and filled with panic. I look up, my vision blurry with tears, and see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his eyes wide with horror as he takes in the scene—the blood, the water, the soap clutched in my trembling hands.

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