Page 2 of Devil's Tulip

I don’t respond, just watch her for a moment longer. Aunt Marie has always made her feelings clear: she hates my guts. Even during the early days after my parents’ deaths, when Uncle Aldo and everyone else coddled me in an attempt to snap me out of my destructive grief. I still don’t know what I did to earn such loathing. Every attempt to please her only seemed to deepen it.

“I’ve had Bea lay out a dress on your bed. Your fiancé sent it himself. That’s what he wants to see you in for your date tomorrow.”

My fiancé.

The ache in my chest swells into a suffocating throb, each beat making it harder to breathe as the room spins around me. And in a moment of desperate insanity, I make the stupidest move imaginable—I seek out an ally in her. Crossing the space between us, I grab her hand. “Aunt Marie, please. I can’t marry Carlo. Talk to Uncle. I’ll marry anyone else without a fuss, I swear, but not Carlo. He’s been widowed five times! His wives were killed by?—”

“Enough!” She yanks her hand away, her face twisting with revulsion. “You’ve always been such an ungrateful brat. My husband and I housed you when you had nowhere to go. We fed you, raised you, and now, when it’s time for you to repay us, this is how you do it?”

Words tangle on my tongue, caught behind the lump in my throat, as her face blurs through stinging tears. “B–but?—”

“This is the problem with orphans,” she continues her rant, her voice dripping with the same hateful disdain she’s always reserved for me. “If your parents didn’t have the good grace to hang around long enough to take care of you, then you should at least have the decency to be grateful to your benefactors and do as you’re told. We don’t owe you a thing, Gianna.Youoweus. And it’s high time you paid your dues.”

“But I’ve always done what I was told! I’ve never?—”

“Silence!” Her hand snaps up, and as I flinch, tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. That brings a sickening glint of glee to her dark eyes, like I’ve just given her what she wanted.

Right. My pain has always seemed to feed her joy in some twisted way. Forgetting myself, even for a moment, was stupid.

I swipe at the tears quickly, refusing to give her more. Then I swallow around the painful lump in my throat, drop my gaze to the floor, and shuffle past her, practically plastering myself to the opposite wall to avoid brushing against her.

What did I do to deserve this? Seriously,what?

I’ve tried so hard to be the perfect niece. I do as I’m told, keep quiet, earned grades so good I got a full academic ride to college. Bled my very soul onto the?—

“Ugh.” The grunt slips out as I collide with something solid. Before I can process what’s happening, I’m slammed into the wall. The impact sends a jolt through my skull and hip, so hard there’s an audible crack, followed by a burst of pain that knocks the air from my lungs.

Through watering eyes, I make out Dario’s scowling face as he snarls, “Watch where the fuck you’re going, Gigi.”

My cousin invades my space deliberately, ramming his shoulder into mine as he passes. I stagger, gasping as my head connects with the hard surface again. The hallway tilts, and I desperately slap my palms against the wall, hugging it to stay upright.

As I stand there, trying to breathe through my pain for God knows how long, something deep inside me just… snaps.

Maybe it’s the thought of Carlo’s ring on my finger, or the way Dario’s smirk mirrors Uncle Aldo’s. Whatever it is, it seems to swallow my fears whole until all that’s left is a strange, crystalline clarity. And suddenly, I stop giving a fuck about the consequences.

I limp to my room, straight to the tattered backpack slung over my chair. It’s a relic from my teenage years—the last gift my parents gave me. Somehow, it has survived all this time, just like me, so I always carry it with me on errands. I guess it makes me feel like they’re still here. Like I’m not completely alone.

Dumping the bag on my bed, I make my way to the walk-in closet, where I peel off my clothes in front of the mirror. The sight stops me cold. The ugly, purple swelling on my hip stands out like a trophy of Dario’s latest victory, a fresh addition to the fading bruises already decorating my stomach. My lips press together as I twist for a better look. At least this time he stopped at shoving me against the wall. Lucky me…

I grab a pain relief patch from the back of my underwear drawer—my makeshift first aid kit, stocked up over years of “accidents”—and carefully smooth it over the worst of the swelling. Then I turn to the racks of clothes.

I’ve fantasized about running away from home for years but never had the lady balls to actually do it. Amazing how being offered up as the sacrificial lamb to Uncle Aldo’s ambitions makes a girl grow a pair.

First challenge: walking through the house with an obviously stuffed backpack would raise red flags. Solution? Wear as many clothes as physically possible.

Layer by layer, I transform myself into a walking closet. I yank down two pairs of leggings, then jeans, then slacks, stacking them slowly over my legs. Each tug sends a flare of pain through my hip, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Next, I raid the tops: a tank top first, then a silk top, a crop top, and finally, a turtleneck.

When I check my reflection again in the mirror, I look like I’ve suddenly gained five kilos overnight. But I don’t care how I look. Function over fashion.

My coat goes on last—the final layer of armor. Not exactly bulletproof, but it’ll have to do.

After twisting my hair into its usual messy bun, I walk back into the bedroom. The picture frame from my bedside table goes into my bag first. Then it’s off to the bathroom to add essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few toiletries. I don’t take too much. The goal is to look normal, not like I’m running for my life.

Underwear goes in next, followed by my credit card—a measly three hundred bucks daily limit, but it’s enough for today. I’ll drain it and ditch it before they can use it to track me down.

Okay. That’s it.

Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I take one final look around and feel… nothing. No regrets. No sadness. Just a cold, determined resolve. The dress Carlo sent lies sprawled across my bed like a funeral shroud. A grim reminder of the fate waiting for me if I stay.

---