Page 71 of Marriage of Revenge

"I could try talking to him," Naomi whispers, and god, her need to protect me still burns bright even here. But we can't risk whatever fragile mercy Antonio's showing her. My future might be written in shadow and steel, but hers doesn't have to be.

I squeeze her shoulder, voice soft as secrets. "Don't." Antonio and Franco disappear around the corner, but their presence lingers like smoke.

Paola guides us deeper into the mansion's darker heart, stopping at a heavy door. "Your room," she tells Naomi with careful indifference, passing her a key that promises freedom with chains attached. "The mansion's yours to explore. But step outside?" Her smile carries warning. "He'll clip those wings fast."

"Where's Isa staying?" Naomi's frown says she reads the shadows in this script.

"Upstairs." Paola's eyes slide over me like she's remembering other nights in other rooms.

I pull Naomi close, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume, of safety. "See you tomorrow." My voice stays steady even while panic claws up my throat. When she hugs back, the emptiness in her eyes makes my chest ache - this girl who used to light up rooms with laughter, now carrying shadows of her own.

"Okay." Her smile wobbles but holds. "Remember who he was. Tonio's still in there somewhere."

But that's the problem, isn't it? The boy who played piano while I danced burned away with half his face.

Now there's only the Beast.

And I belong to him.

Paola leads me up another staircase, key scraping in lock like a warning. The room beyond belongs in some gothic romance - all heavy furniture and darker promises. The bed dominates everything, massive enough to make my pulse skip. Through windows that haven't seen care in years, the view probably stuns - but all I see is neglect. Cobwebs dance in corners like he's making a point: this space, like me, isn't worth maintaining.

"Bathroom's ready. He chose your clothes himself." Paola's words carry weight like chains. Another reminder that choice is a luxury I traded for Naomi's safety.

"How thoughtful. Why doesn't he just dress me himself?" The bite in my voice surprises even me - a last grasp at defiance.

Paola's smile curves like a blade. "You should be so lucky."

"Lucky. Right. Because that's what every girl dreams of - a Beast picking out her wedding night attire." But my attempt at sarcasm falls flat. Because somewhere in this fortress, Antonio's either plotting war or plotting my undoing. The shiver that races down my spine isn't entirely fear.

At least he's not Henrik or Radomir. The Beast might want to break me, but he'll do it with precision. With purpose.

With hands that still remember how to make me dance.

Because the truth is: His gaze still strips me bare, searching for lies I wish I could tell. And tonight... god, tonight looms like thunder. I'm not the same girl who used to dream about first times and forever. My body's a map of survival now, marked by battles he knows nothing about.

The weight of what comes next sits in my chest like stone. It's one thing to face the Beast in daylight, to trade barbs and threats across chapel aisles. But here, in this room that should smell like promises instead of dust? Everything feels sharper, darker, more real.

"He doesn't trust you." Paola's words slice through my spiral. "Trust is everything to him. Always has been." Her voice carries poison wrapped in truth.

And there it is - jealousy burning in her eyes. As if this marriage isn't just another weapon in Antonio's arsenal, as if he wants anything from me but revenge.

"I'm just a toy he'll break and discard." The words taste like truth, but something in Paola's face shifts.

Her hand lingers on the door like she's weighing secrets. Like she knows something about the Beast that I don't.

About what he really wants.

About what he plans to take.

"Fifteen minutes." Something dark threads through Paola's voice, like she knows what kind of performance tonight demands. The key turns in the lock, another reminder that choices aren't mine anymore.

Anxiety hits like stage fright but worse, my pulse already starting its dangerous dance. Water. I need water, need my meds before my heart decides to improvise its own rhythm. My eyes catch on bags sprawled by the bed, and suddenly everything feels urgent.

My hands shake as I dig through them, memories crashing in waves - Antonio's eyes at the altar, roses gone sticky with blood,gunshots replacing wedding bells. Music turned to screams. The past and present tangle until my chest feels too tight, my heart skipping beats like a broken record.

Finally, my fingers close around the bottle. I force myself into position, into the routine that usually brings my body back under control. Breathe deep. Hold. Tighten. Release. Again and again until my pulse remembers its proper steps, until the vice around my chest loosens enough to think.

But even with my heart settling, fear still coils in my stomach. Because whatever dance Antonio has planned for tonight? It's not one I know the steps to. There's no choreography for this, no rehearsal for the moment the Beast claims what's his.

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