Page 134 of The Devil's Thorn
But pain is loud. And when it’s loud for too long, something inside you reaches up and pulls the plug.
That’s what I did. I pulled the kill switch.
I still remember the moment—fifteen years old, fists clenched, heart pounding like it was trying to break its way out of me. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that grief wasn’t going to eat me alive. That emotions weren’t going to be my weakness.
So I shut it off.
Not everything. Not completely. But enough. Enough to stop feeling like I was drowning. Enough to starthunting.
I slide the bracelet onto my wrist and fasten it. It feels heavier now. Or maybe I’m just remembering too much.
I lean forward, my palms flat on the marble, and close my eyes. I need answers. And there’s only one man I know who might be arrogant enough to dig into hell and still keep his white shirt clean.
My thumb rubs over the small, engraved clasp again and again until the skin beneath it feels raw. I stare out at the skyline, but I don’t really see it. Not the blinking lights. Not the moonlight dancing on the glass. Not the city that kept moving while my entire world stopped fifteen years ago.
It would’ve been her birthday today.
I don’t remember the sound of her voice anymore. Not clearly. I remember the way she said my name that night though. A whisper. Sharp and breathless, like the word alone could shield me from bullets.
The way she pressed a kiss to my forehead, her lips trembling against my skin.
“Stay here, Isa. No matter what happens… don’t come out. Do you hear me?”
I hadn’t known what fear smelled like until that moment. I hadn’t known what goodbye really meant.
My jaw tightens as I push off the counter and start pacing the kitchen. The floor is cold against my bare feet, but I welcome it. I need something to ground me. Something real.
The pain isn’t what it used to be. It’s not a storm now—it’s a quiet hum beneath the surface. Controlled. Contained. A shadow I’ve taught to stay leashed.
But sometimes… like tonight… it stretches. And I let it. Just enough to remember why I started this war in the first place.
My eyes flick to my phone on the counter. The screen lights up, waiting.
Rafael. A man with too many secrets behind his eyes. One I don’t trust. One who looked me dead in the eye and called my bluff—and who’s probably still trying to figure out what game I’m playing.
I don’t think he knows anything. But thinking isn’t knowing. And I’m done playing cautious.
I pick up the phone and type out a short message. No fluff. No explanation. Just coordinates. Directions to my penthouse.
“Come alone. Midnight.” I hit send.
He’ll come. Because in his world, I didn’t just save his life—Ibrandedit. And now I want to see what he bleeds when I press on the wound.
I slide the phone across the counter and let the silence settle back in. This time, it doesn’t feel so quiet. It feels like the start of something. Something I can’t take back.
I sink into the couch with the weight of too many ghosts, my knees pulled up close, arms draped loosely around them. The city keeps breathing outside the glass, indifferent. I watch headlights blur below, tracing lines like arteries across the skyline. Everything in motion. Everything pretending it’s alive.
Half an hour passes. Maybe more. I don’t check the time. My mind won’t stop circling back to that night. To my mother’s voice. Her eyes.
I clench my jaw, lean forward, and rest my elbows on my knees, phone in hand. The screen stays dark. No new messages. No calls.
Until it lights up and buzzes once.
Reception. Right on time.
I stand and walk to the counter, pressing the green icon. “Yes?”
A pause. Then the receptionist’s voice crackles through the speaker—professional but cautious. “Ms. Morelli, there’s… a gentleman here. Says he’s expected. Asks to be sent up.”
