Page 23 of Chains of Obsession

I hesitate. A month ago, I would’ve hidden this from him. Matteo would’ve been the last person I’d trust with something so deeply personal. But now... everything is different.

“You read it,” he says, his voice low and cautious.

I don’t respond at first. My fingers tighten around the edges of the papers, crumpling them slightly. Finally, I look up, and the anger bubbling inside me spills over.

“You knew. You knew what Luca did, and you said nothing.”

Matteo doesn’t flinch. Instead, he closes the door behind him and leans against it, his dark eyes steady on mine. “Yes.”

The simplicity of his answer stuns me. No denial, no excuses, just cold, hard truth that makes my blood boil.

“How could you?” My voice breaks, and I hate the vulnerability it reveals. “You let me think—”

“I didn’t let you think anything,” he interrupts, his voice sharp. “I protected you from a truth that would have destroyed you.”

“Destroyed me?” I stand, the papers slipping from my hands as I close the distance between us. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to find out your own brother betrayed you? That the man I trusted—loved—had a hand in my father’s death? And you knew, Matteo. You knew!”

He steps forward, towering over me, his expression unreadable. “I knew, and I waited. Because I needed proof, Amelia. Proof that would stand against him. Do you think I wanted to hurt you?”

I shake my head, backing away. “You didn’t care about sparing me. You cared about your power, your empire.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe even regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“This isn’t just about power,” he says, his voice softer now. “It’s about you.”

“Me?!. Don’t pretend this is about anything other than controlling me.” I laugh bitterly.

He closes the distance between us in two strides, his hands gripping my arms, forcing me to look at him. “You think I don’t care about you? That I don’t feel it every time you look at me with those accusing eyes, every time you push me away?”

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, not painfully, but enough to make me stop. “Let go of me,” I whisper.

“No,” he says, his voice rough. “Not until you understand something. You are the only thing in this godforsaken world that I can’t control and it terrifies me.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I see the cracks in his armor, the man beneath the ruthless exterior. It’s that glimpse of vulnerability that undoes me.

“Matteo…” My voice wavers, and I hate myself for the way my body responds to him, even now.

“Let me help you. Let me fix this. For you. For us.” he says, his forehead resting against mine.

The intensity of his gaze, the raw emotion in his voice, it’s too much. I close my eyes, trying to shut him out, but he’s everywhere. His scent, his touch, his words, they consume me.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

His lips brush against my temple, his hands sliding down to my waist. “Then hate me. Fight me. But don’t shut me out.”

The next few days blur together. Matteo moves swiftly, using his power and connections to dismantle Luca’s alliances and expose his betrayal. It’s calculated and ruthless, a side of Matteo I’ve seen before but never fully understood until now and yet, amidst the chaos, there are moments that catch me off guard.

The way he pulls me close when I wake up from nightmares. The way his touch lingers, not out of control but out of something deeper. I make my way to the destroyed garden; the one Luca’s men had trampled in their last desperate attempt to send a message. The roses that once stood tall and proud are now nothing but broken stems and scattered petals. It’s a mirror of how I feel—fractured, but not entirely destroyed.

My fingers brush against a wilted bloom, its soft petals still holding a faint trace of their former vibrance. I crouch down, my heart aching for what’s been lost. This garden had been my sanctuary, a place where I could escape the storm of my life. Now, it’s a battleground, a reminder that nothing in this world is safe.

“I’ll have it rebuilt,” Matteo’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady.

I glance over my shoulder to see him standing at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets and his dark eyes locked on me. He looks every bit the king of his empire—imposing, confident, and untouchable. But there’s something softer in his expression now, something almost hesitant.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, standing and brushing dirt from my hands.

“I do,” he replies, stepping closer. “For you.”

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