Page 267 of Legacy
It’s still in the bedroom.
Ofcourseit is.
Because we’d dragged the bottle and two glasses in there before he pulled me into his lap and kissed me slow until he slid me on his—
I swallow, setting the bottle down carefully, and pad down the hall, the air cooler against my skin as I step into the bedroom. His scent clings to the sheets, the pillows, the air itself, pulling something warm and painful in my chest.
I spot the corkscrew on the nightstand, next to the box overflowing with the pieces of me he’d kept like some obsessed saint.
I grab it, ready to go, but my eyes catch on the top item in the box.
My journal.
I can’t believe he took that.
I smirk, flipping it open as I turn to leave, expecting to see my bubbly scrawl—
But the handwriting is different.
Neater. Almostdelicate.
Frowning, I tuck the corkscrew under my arm and head back to the kitchen, flipping through the journal as I walk, eyes skimming the page.
Once I’m in the kitchen, I lean against the counter, the journal balanced in one hand, the corkscrew forgotten on the counter as I trace the ink pressed into the page.
It starts like a story, but it isn’t fiction. It’s raw. Unfiltered. Someone scraping their soul into the paper.
Her name is Francesca.
Or itwas.
She was eighteen when she was taken.
Trafficked.
Brutalized.
My throat tightens, my stomach twisting as I flip to the next page. And the next. The words blur, horror pressing against my ribs, each entry harder to read than the last.
And then—
She’s bought.
Purchased.
My heart drops.
By a man namedMassimo.
I keep reading, page after page. Her heart, her pain, her—
Joy?
I pause again, hand frozen over the paper. She marries him. She doesn’t say if it’s love or survival or both. But her voice starts to change after that, less broken, more… steady.
Hope creeps in at the corners.
I don’t know how long I’ve been reading when I see the words.
