Page 39 of His to Destroy

The mansion is quiet tonight—eerily so. Luca’s asleep. The staff have gone to bed. And somewhere down the hall, Gaspare is probably reading through documents, strategizing his next move like he always does. Calm. Cold. Collected.

I’ve come to look forward to the nights he spends here, unlike before when I tried to discourage him from thinking about it. I tell myself that I feel more comfortable and secure when he’s around now, but I know that’s a lie.

I just feel better knowing he’s here than in some other lady’s arms. I have no reason to think Gaspare is like that. He hasn’t given me reason to.

But after that gala? I’m double-guessing a lot.

I should be in bed, too.

But my mind won’t shut off.

It hasn’t stopped replaying the gala. That night. The way the entire room seemed to tilt on its axis the moment we walked in together. The way Gaspare’s hand fit perfectly at the small of my back, and how every woman in that room looked at him like he belonged to them—and then turned to me with quiet, venom-laced curiosity.

And the worst part?

The worst part was that I cared.

I hated how I cared.

I hated how I wanted to claw my nails into the arm of the blonde in the sequined dress who laughed just a little too loudly when she leaned in to talk to him.

I hated how I felt like I’d been claimed—and how I didn’t entirely hate that either.

It’s madness. This whole arrangement. This man.

And yet… I’m still here.

I sit curled on the edge of the balcony, a blanket wrapped tightly around me, staring out at the gardens. The night air is cool, scented with jasmine and stillness.

But my heart isn’t still. It’s loud. Erratic.

Another scent fills my nostrils. Dandelions. I should plant more of those soon.

I don’t go to the shop as often as I used to before, because I now live very far away from it. But one of the staff Gaspare gave me runs it now. And she’s doing a very good job at it. Even better than I did if I do say so myself.

The building even looks different from what it used to be when I was there. A good kind of different.

It helps that she enjoys it too. From the daily report she gives me, we should be hitting our first million in sales by the end of the year. I make a mental note to go there more often in the coming month.

I touch the chain of the necklace I wore the night of the gala, absentmindedly rolling the pendant between my fingers, my thoughts drifting away from my shop. It was a gift from Gaspare. Not a bribe, not a threat. Just… a gift. One he gave me without ceremony, just a quiet box left on my vanity with a note in his handwriting:

For you. Just because I see you.

That note did something to me.

I’ve tried not to think about what it meant. I’ve tried not to imagine what his eyes might’ve looked like when he wrote it.

But the walls I’ve spent so long building around myself? They’re cracking.

And I can’t tell if it’s him… or me.

I remember the way he looked at me across the ballroom on the night of the gala. That quiet intensity that always made me feel like the only person in the room. But also like a target. Like I could be either adored or annihilated.

And when another woman touched his arm—just a simple touch—I felt something flare in my chest. Possession.

Jealousy.

Not the sick kind. Not the twisted envy I’d seen in others. This was something sharper. It felt like the kind of jealousy that comes from having bled for someone.

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