Page 131 of King Of Order

Instead, I watched her, my heart swelling with relief and something more profound. Something I wasn’t ready to name yet.

The change was subtle over the next few days, but it grew.

She started sketching and illustrating more, little by little. As the art flowed, so did her spirit. The house began to feel lighter and warmer as if her presence was finally starting to seep back into it.

Mrs Venetio and I took turns ensuring she knew she was not alone.

We didn’t push or force her to do more than she was prepared for.

We worked around her, offering encouragement, getting her to the bathroom, bringing meals, and sitting with her in silence when she needed it.

Making sure she was aware of our quiet support so she’d heal at her own pace.

And through it all, I stayed by her side.

Every night, I held her, and slowly, the fear that gripped my heart began to loosen.

Witnessing her recovery and returning to her first love of creative expression changed something in me.

My feelings for her were growing deeper than I’d ever expected.

I wasn’t only protecting her out of guilt anymore. I wanted to nurture her because I had fallen for her. Hard.

I would never again let anything hurt her again.

Not as long as I breathed.

Chapter 27

CHIARA

Ihad no idea for how long I’d been lost in my mental and emotional fog.

It might have been days or weeks.

Through it all, night and day, Rio stayed by my side.

However, I was puzzled by his presence and care as he placed a cup of coffee by my working canvas and kissed the top of my head.

Why the fuck did he still give a damn about me?

I couldn’t speak to him, ask him this, and many more questions that whirled in my head.

I wondered where I was as I sat on the terrace of a house I’d never set foot in.

It was a beautiful, sprawling, grand house with sea views, the distant outline of Vesuvius lurking on the horizon.

It might as well have been a prison.

No matter the stunning and calming view, the real battle was inside my head. The art I created of it was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.

Each pencil line I traced, every crayon swirl, helped build some fragile defense against the shadows threatening to swallow me whole and drown me in a sea of anguish.

All the strokes of paint I added to the canvas were a desperate attempt to prevent the molasses from settling in my brain. The stains of color made me move and create, even when I only wanted to stop, let go, and give in.

It would be so easy to surrender to it and permit the creeping numbness to overtake me.

I sensed its ebbs and flows, like surging ice on top of a fast-running river, freezing over every part of me one moment and melting away the next.

---