Page 80 of Ruined By Protection
I cut off a delivery truck, ignoring the blaring horn as I accelerate through a gap that barely fits the bike. The mansion is just ahead, its wrought iron gates already open as if expecting me.
I skid to a stop in the circular driveway, gravel spraying beneath the tires. I'm off the bike before it fully stops, not bothering to properly park it as I take the front steps two at a time.
The heavy front door slams against the wall as I burst in. "Hazel!" My voice echoes through the marble foyer.
Lucrezia appears at the top of the grand staircase, her face tense. "Matteo?—"
"Where is she?" I demand, already moving toward the stairs.
Lucrezia descends quickly, blocking my path with surprising determination for someone half my size. "Stop. She doesn't want to see you."
I freeze, her words hitting me like a physical blow. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"She specifically asked that you not go to her room." Lucrezia crosses her arms, her dark eyes studying my face. "She was very clear about it."
The rage and confusion must show on my face because Lucrezia takes a small step back. "Get out of my way, Lucrezia."
"No." She stands her ground, chin lifted. "You need to respect her wishes."
"Something happened. She called Fabio asking for a car, wanting to leave New York. Now you're telling me she's locked herself in her room and doesn't want to see me?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you." Her voice softens slightly. "She's upset, Matteo."
"No shit." I pace the foyer like a caged animal.
CHAPTER 25
Hazel
Islam the door behind me and lean against it, my chest heaving. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the phone that's just destroyed whatever fragile thing was building between Matteo and me.
"Breathe," I whisper to myself, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.
I glance back at my phone, the screen still open to the Facebook—I wanted to check on whether Eliott had made any post after I left—message that arrived fifteen minutes ago. From a profile with no picture and a generic name—Jane Smith. Real original.
Stay away from him. He's not yours. He never will be.
And attached—a photo that burns into my retinas even with my eyes squeezed shut: Matteo, his muscled back bare lined by white sheets, sleeping next to a stunning redhead whose arm is draped possessively across his torso. The timestamp shows 4.17 a.m. This morning. Right after he left my bed apparently.
I'm such a fool. Last night I thought we had something real—the way he looked at me, touched me, how he listened to my story about Elliott.
But I was just another conquest. He left my bed to go straight to hers.
I stare at the phone in my hand, the screen now dark. Part of me wants to hurl it against the wall but it's my only lifeline right now. The message makes it clear I'm not the only woman in Matteo's life. Not even the only woman in his bed on the same night.
I'm not even angry at him, not really. He never promised me anything. We both agreed to keep things casual. I'm angry at myself for believing, even for a moment, that I might be special to him.
My lungs ache with humiliation. I thought I was reclaiming my power, my sexuality, after Elliott's abuse. Instead I've just found another way to be used.
A soft knock breaks the silence and I jerk my head up, quickly wiping at my eyes.
"Hazel? Can I come in?" Lucrezia's voice filters through the door.
I hesitate, not wanting anyone to see me like this, but I need someone right now. Someone who isn't Matteo.
"Yeah," I call out, my voice cracking. I scoot away from the door, pulling myself up to sit on the bed.
The door opens and Lucrezia slips in holding a steaming mug. Her dark eyes soften when she sees my face.
