Page 122 of King Of Order

The panic started with a tightening in my chest, like I’d swallowed engulfed a massive storm. The sensation grew, spreading through my veins like poison, making every nerve vibrate with fear.

The man I thought cherished me, who had been my first lover, who acknowledged me like no one else ever had, had only come into my life to destroy my father and our family.

A wave of nausea hit me.

My body trembled, and my heart pounded in my ears.

I sat paralyzed, frozen in the chair, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

The air encircling me felt thick and heavy, like syrup suffocating me. My vision tunneled, and everything around me seemed far away and distorted.

I wanted to scream, but my voice remained caged, locked somewhere deep in me.

Only tears fell, hot and fast, down my cheeks. My limbs wouldn’t move or respond to the frantic signals I was sending them.

Trapped inside my own body, not even able to twitch my fingers, I was drowning in my despair.

‘Cosa c’è che non va? What’s wrong, Chiara?’

Rio’s growl came through the fog but felt like a million miles away.

He placed his drink on the table and tilted his head, studying me, brow furrowed.

‘Say something? Why aren’t you responding?’

My mind fragmented, part of me watching him, wondering if he was thinking why I wasn’t screaming, yelling, or hitting him.

He didn’t realize that I couldn’t. I was beyond all of that, caught in a vortex of pain and betrayal that was swallowing me whole.

He rose and moved to my side, kneeling beside me. He shook my shoulder, his voice muffled, distant yet urgent. ‘Chiara? Chiara, talk to me.’

But my mouth was immobile, unable to form the words; my lips refused to move.

I was slipping deeper into the abyss, my cognition shutting down in self-defense.

Lost in a fog. Mired a thick, molasses-like haze that coated everything in my mind.

Making it impossible to think or feel beyond the overwhelming weight of my grief.

VALERIO

The silence between us was suffocating.

Chiara sat in the chair beside me, her eyes vacant, staring at nothing.

She hadn’t moved since my confession, her body limp and pliable, like a puppet with its strings cut.

In a gruff whisper this time, I called her name again, trying to coax her back to me, but there was nothing. Just that hollow, empty gaze that terrified me more than any threat or enemy ever had.

Fuck, she’d recently lost her father, had been on edge due to stress from her brothers, and had been assaulted in her gallery.

What the hell I’d been thinking, pushing her buttons? Telling her the fucking cold truth?

This was my fault.

The words ran through my mind on an endless loop.

I’d pushed her too far, shattered the fragile trust we’d built with the onus of my confession.

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