Page 40 of Twisted Devotion

“It’s… fine,” I say, unsure of what else to say.

“Fine?” She arches an eyebrow, tilting her head, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t sound convinced.”

I force a small smile, my throat tightening slightly. “It’s just… new. A lot to get used to.”

Her expression softens, just a fraction, She sighs, as if reflecting on something deeper. “That’s understandable. Marriage is… complicated, especially in our world.”

I nod, not sure how to respond. What does she mean by ‘our world’? Is she married too? I don’t even know her last name.

Elena leads me back into the restaurant, her heels clicking softly on the floor, and gestures toward the bar at the far end of the room. “Want to grab a drink? I could use the company.”

I hesitate, but her tone is so effortless and inviting that it feels impossible to say no. Plus, when I glance at our table, I notice Nicolas is no longer there. “Sure,” I say, my voice sounding more uncertain than I intended.

We walk toward the bar, and Elena orders a glass of wine with a casual ease. I opt for water, needing the clarity.

“How are you adjusting?” she asks, her tone still light, but I can feel her eyes studying me closely, reading me in a way I’m not used to.

I take a sip of my water, stalling for time. “It’s different,” I admit, my voice hesitant. “But I’m managing.”

She leans casually against the bar, her arms folded with a nonchalant air, but her eyes stay sharp. “Nicolas must not be the easiest man to live with.”

I let out a small laugh, surprising myself. “You can say that again.”

“I heard he’s not as bad as he seems. Just… complicated.”

I nod, unsure if I agree. To be honest, I have no idea why I even agreed to have this drink with her or why we’re having this conversation.

I’m just tired of being surrounded by people who don’t actually care about ‘how I’m adjusting,’ like Elena just asked. They only care about what I can give them and nothing more.

Elena finishes her wine and glances at me. “You’ll be fine, Aria. You’re stronger than you think.”

Her words catch me off guard, unexpected in their sincerity. But before I can respond, she straightens. “We should get back before your husband starts wondering where you are.”

When we return to the table, Nicolas is there, exactly where I left him—sitting, almost as if he never moved. But he doesn’t look at me.

He’s leaning back in his chair, fingers lightly tapping on the armrest. His face is unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on something across the room, distant.

I sit down quietly, smoothing the fabric of my dress, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

And though I try to ignore it, the weight of Marco’s words gnaws at the back of my mind. This is just a game. Nothing more.

After a few more introductions, dinner finally ends, and we head home.

The house is silent when we return. The quiet pressing down on me. The dinner left me drained, and I don’t remember much after crawling into bed.

But now, I’m awake, my eyes snapping open in the dead of night. The air in the room is cold, and it settles in my bones, a chill I can’t shake.

I turn my head.

The space beside me is empty. The sheets lie untouched, cool to the touch. Nicolas isn’t here.

My stomach tightens, unsure of how to process his absence. It's a strange mixture of curiosity and unease as I glance around. I throw back the covers and stand, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. The room is dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains.

I grab the robe draped over the chair, slipping it on as I move.

I check the bathroom—Nicolas isn’t there either.

The house is eerily quiet, and I can’t help but hope he’s not around. The guards will most likely be stationed outside, leaving me the perfect opportunity to search the house for any clues.

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