Page 218 of The One
The silence in the room is deafening, my pulse thundering in my ears.
I scan the space. The bed is untouched, the air undisturbed, as if she was never here.
Did she leave me?
Did she think I’d let my wrath take her too, along with the man who took my brother?
Did she run because she’s afraid of me?
I can’t fucking breathe.
Whirling around, my feet move before my mind catches up. I rush down the stairs and down the hall, shoving open the door to her old bedroom.
Empty.
The bed is neatly made, her scent barely clinging to the air. The hollow feeling in my chest expands.
Before her, I had a life. A routine. Work, sex, power. I thrived in it, convinced that I was content.
But Mari changed everything.
She is the light in the darkest corners of my soul, the fire that makes my blood run hotter, the calm that keeps me from losing myself completely. Without her, everything seems muted, colorless. Lifeless.
I yank my phone from my pocket, dialing the guards at the gate.
“Has Mariella left?” I bark into the phone.
“No, sir. She hasn’t come through.”
The response makes my knees go weak. She’s still here. But where?
I hang up the phone and turn sharply, heading toward my office.
The door is slightly ajar, and when I push it open, she’s in there.
Curled up on the sofa, my sweatshirt swallows her frame, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.
My whole body exhales in relief, my pulse slowing for the first time since coming home. It’s like breaking the surface after being trapped underwater.
I step closer, careful, as if even the air shifting might wake her. She’s curled in on herself, fingers lightly clutching the fabric of my sweatshirt as if it’s a lifeline.
My scent must be surrounding her, grounding her, and fuck, something primal in me surges at the sight. She wearsmyclothes. Clings tomeeven in sleep.
Fierce possession rushes through my veins.
I crouch beside her, unable to look away. Each breath she takes lifts her ribcage slightly, the delicate rise and fall hypnotizing.
She’s exhausted. Even in sleep, her brow is faintly furrowed, her body tense, as if the weight of everything hasn’t loosened its grip even now.
My gut twists.
I did this.
My absence. My anger. She must have spent hours spiraling, consumed by worst-case scenarios.
Did she think I would have her killed? And her family?
The idea makes me sick.
