Page 108 of Twisted Devotion

Before I know it, I’m back in the kitchen, yanking open cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, eggs. My hands tremble as I measure ingredients but I force myself to focus. The rhythmic scrape of the whisk against the bowl. The scent of vanilla filling the air.

It should be soothing.

It usually is.

But today, it isn’t enough.

I keep glancing at the clock. Every tick sends another pulse of panic through me. My mind conjures images I don’t want to see—Nicolas bleeding, alone, broken beyond repair. Dead.

I squeeze my eyes shut.He’ll come back. He has to.

He promised me.

The timer beeps, but I barely register it. My stomach churns as I pull the cookies from the oven, the scent of warm chocolate filling the room. But I can’t taste them. I can’t eat.

I shove the tray aside and sink into a chair, my hands gripping the table's edge.

I hear it just as I’m about to do something reckless—like order the driver to take me straight to wherever Nicolas is.

The low rumble of engines outside.

Then… footsteps.

My body moves before my mind catches up. I dash towards the door. I run like my life depends on it.

I don’t bother with shoes. My bare feet slap against the cold marble as I race through the house, my breath coming in short gasps. I skid to a stop when I get outside, just as the car doors swing open.

Matteo steps out first. His face is hard, unreadable. His suit is wrinkled, his hands stained red. His shirt is bloody.

There’s so much blood. Too much. His face is so pale that if he lay on the ground right now and played dead, I would believe it.

My breath catches. My legs feel numb. The world tilts.

No. No, no, no?—

“Matteo,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

My body moves before my mind catches up. My steps are slow at first, hesitant. Then faster. More desperate. My vision blurs. My throat tightens.

“Is Nicolas—” My voice cracks. “Where is he?”

Matteo just stares at me.

I shake my head, my breath hitching. “Matteo.” My voice rises, my hands curling into fists. “Tell me where he is!”

Still nothing.

Tears spill down my cheeks. I grab his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fingers, my knuckles white. “Where is he?”

Silence.

And then?—

A cough.

A weak, ragged sound that makes my whole body freeze. My head snaps up, my eyes darting toward the open car door.

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