Page 138 of Stolen Vows

My father reclines on a chaise, Giovanni Baldini and his father next to him. Two unfamiliar men in chairs on the other side of the room. Florence stands in the corner of the room, hands clasped in front of her and face pale.

My traitorous sister won’t even look at me.

Betrayal seeps out of my lungs in a long, slow, controlled exhale. My fingers curl into fists at my sides, and I turn back to face my mother. She’s the real predator in the room.

Her lips curve into a satisfied smile. And just like that, I understand exactly what this is: a trap.

A carefully constructed snare designed to lure me back into the gilded cage of my old life. And I walked right into it.

Like an idiot.

My mother tilts her head, lips curving into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Francesca, darling. So good of you to finally join us.”

Her voice is smooth as silk, dripping with false warmth. It sets my teeth on edge, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I know that tone, the subtle warning beneath the honeyed words.

I force my spine straight, my shoulders back, every inch of me radiating a calm I don’t feel.

I force myself to meet my mother’s gaze head-on, refusing to cower or flinch under the weight of her stare. “Mother,” I greet evenly. “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I was hoping I wouldn’t see you.”

My mother’s smile sharpens, her eyes glinting like shards of ice. “I see your time away hasn’t helped.” Her gaze slides over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gio dear, I’m sure a strong hand will do wonders for her will.”

Giovanni leans back in his chair, watching me with that same smug, detached expression I’ve hated since I was seventeen. “I’m not worried, Mrs. Ashburn.”

I grit my teeth, my nails biting into my palms as I fight to keep my expression neutral. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not. You’re going to sign an annulment,” my mother continues, like I wasn’t talking. She gestures with her fingers, and my father pushes to stand, extending a folder to me.

I stare at my father with an arched brow, folding my arms across my chest. “No.”

Giovanni exhales sharply, shaking his head like I’m an inconvenience. “You’re going to correct your mistake, Chessa,” he says smoothly. “Your father already spoke with the lawyers. All it takes is your signature.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, my eyes flicking between my mother and Giovanni. “You can’t be serious.”

My mother’s smile doesn’t waver. “Oh, but we are. This little rebellion of yours has gone on long enough. It’s time to come home and fulfill your obligations to this family.”

I shake my head in disbelief, anger and indignation warring in my chest. “My obligations?” I repeat incredulously. “I have no obligations to you or anyone else in this room. I made my choice.”

The words hang in the air between us, sharp and defiant. I’ve never sworn in front of my mother before. I never dared. But standing here, in this room filled with people who want to control me, to bend me to their will, something inside me snaps.

I glare at my mother. “And I’m already fucking married.”

A thrill rushes through my veins, electric and intoxicating. It’s the high of finally, finally pushing back against the gilded cage they’ve tried to keep me in for so long. The shackles of expectation and obligation, rusted and confining, start to crack and splinter.

My mother’s right eye twitches as the silence stretches, thick and charged.

“Right. About that.” She sighs, soft and almost full of pity. “See, the thing is, the Carters will suffer for every hour you delay your annulment.” Her voice is gentle, almost amused, but I know better. I know that tone.

The breath in my lungs turns to stone. I feel it in my ribs, heavy and suffocating. I force myself to keep my expression neutral, but my pulse jackhammers beneath my skin. “That’s a bold threat,” I say, voice steady. “Even for you.”

Catherine swirls the amber liquid in her glass, watching the way the light catches the cut crystal. “You think Graham Carter is untouchable?” Her voice is almost amused. “A man with enemies like his?” Her lips curve in mock sympathy. “It would be tragic, wouldn’t it? A car accident. A home invasion gone wrong. A bullet meant for someone else.” She tilts her head. “These things happen every day, darling. And no one ever asks the right questions.”

My stomach clenches, a sick, twisting feeling taking root. I force myself to meet my mother’s gaze head on, refusing to let her see even a flicker of the fear coursing through my veins. “My husband isn’t like you, Mother. He helps people.”

She laughs, the sound cold and brittle. “Is that what he told you? Oh darling, you really are naive.” She stands gracefully, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her impeccable suit. “I’m afraid the Carters are about to learn a very harsh lesson.”

My pulse pounds in my ears, hot and frantic. The room tilts for half a second before I force myself to lock my knees. I know how this works. My mother doesn’t make empty threats. She lays groundwork, quietly, methodically. By the time you realize the walls are closing in, it’s already too late.

My pulse hammers in my ears, a sickening, off-kilter rhythm.

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