Page 4 of Veiled Vows

"But you did," I whisper, my heart shattering into a million pieces. "You did."

I sit on the chair, wiping the mascara streaks from my face. I struggle to stop my breakdown while Salvatore just stands there, unmoving, his expression stoic. He isn’t affected by this at all. Why would he be?

"Why?" I finally burst out, desperation lacing my voice. "Don't you love me? Did I really mean nothing to you?" Embarrassment washes over me, turning my spray tanned skin red. I’m still starved for his affection, for his love. How pathetic.

I hate myself for being so weak, for still seeking him out like a moth to a flame, knowing I'll only get burned.

"Love is not part of this equation, Serena," he says cruelly. "You were never meant to be loved."

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I gasp like I’ve been punched. I feel a surge of pain and anger, overwhelming and consuming.

"Then what am I to you?" I demand foolishly, still so desperate for a man that doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. "A pawn? A trophy?"

Salvatore plasters his body to mine, our breaths mingle. His lips are so close to mine that I stupidly think for a second he might kiss me.

"You are what I need you to be," he delivers the deadly blow. "Nothing more."

I charge at him, anger flowing through my bloodstream. My sanity has slipped away from me. As I scream and scratch at him, my vision blurs with a red mist.

I have lost control over my own actions. The room whirls around me, my heart beating so loudly that rational thought is drowned out. I am shaking, my body jerking with cries and yells. I clutch his arms tightly, sinking my nails into his skin while shouting in his direction.

"Don't you love me? Don't you fucking love me?"

His expression remains cold, unmoved by my outburst. He pushes me, and I fall to the cold ground, looking up at him in disbelief. He never laid a hand on me before... I guess that nowthat I found out the truth, there is no longer a need for him to act like the doting husband. He’s going to be a beast with me, just like he is at his business table.

"No," he says firmly, finality dripping off the word. "I don't."

"I hate you," I choke out, my voice barely audible through the anguish. "I hate you for making me believe that you do..."

Instantly, I regret admitting my feelings, showing my vulnerability. I swallow the lump in my throat, realizing that hatred is still an emotion, still a connection. He doesn’t deserve any part of me, not my love, not my hate. Indifference is what will make him realize what he lost. He doesn’t deserve any ounce of emotion from me.

Salvatore watches me silently, like it isn’t his wife that he just broke. He didn’t even flinch when I said I hated him; he doesn’t give a shit about me or my feelings. As he turns his back to me and leaves, it is then I decide that he will be nothing to me too.

My head is aching, my eyes hurting real bad from all the crying. I know there is no getting out of this. It would be a cold day in hell before my father would let me file for divorce. Divorce is not an option, not when it means going up against a man like him, or my father-in-law, or my “husband.” Their influence stretches far and wide, they would stop at nothing to ensure I remain bound to this marriage.

Instead of fighting a losing battle, I will adapt. Like them, I’ll approach this like a business deal. No matter how much it tears me apart inside to pretend like the man who has my heart isnothing, I’ll put the pain aside. Let the game of indifference begin.

Chapter 3

Salvatore

From my office on the highest floor, I have a panoramic view of everything I own, everything I control. The buildings, the businesses, the people—they all move to the rhythm I set. This is my kingdom, built brick by brick, deal by deal.

My desk is cluttered with contracts and proposals, each one more profitable than the last. Despite all of the work I still have to complete, my thoughts are focused on one thing: Serena. It's been two week since she discovered the contract, and she still hasn’t gotten over her little temper tantrum.

I tug at my collar, trying to relieve the irritation that prickles my skin whenever I think about her words: "Don't you love me? Don't you fucking love me?" Her voice, so desperate and raw, grates on my nerves. It reminds me of my past.

"Salvatore, don't you love me?"My mother's sickly sweet voice creeps into my consciousness. Those words have haunted me for years. She'd ask me that every time she crawled into my bed late at night, every time she demanded more than a son should give.

I clench my fists, forcing the memories to the back of my mind. It’s irrational, but I feel angry at Serena for making these memories resurface.

Regardless, she needs to know that arranged marriages are how things go in our world. She’ll get over it, eventually. She has to. The agreement with her father is clear: she wasn’t supposed to know about the arrangement. It was supposed to make things easier. Clearly, it hasn’t.

Her running to the guest bedroom is nothing but an act of rebellion. Every night, I find myself standing outside the door,debating whether to drag her back to our bed. But that would only fuel her defiance. She needs to come back willingly. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I say.

---