Page 12 of I'm sorry, Princess

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I let her be.

Back in my room, I peel off my clothes like they’re made of cement.

My skin feels too tight, my chest too heavy.

I remove my makeup carefully, layer by layer, wiping away the mascara, the foundation, the fake smiles.

I step into the shower, letting the water scald my skin. Maybe it’ll burn away the ache in my chest too, but it never does.

When I finally crawl into bed, I grab my favorite book, the one I’ve read a thousand times, and sink beneath the covers.

This is my heaven.

A book in my lap, my hair still damp from the shower, and the illusion of another life to escape into.

Because in this one?

There’s nothing but silence.

And locked doors.

Chapter Four

Serena

Ican’t stop myself.

Curled under the covers, phone in hand, the soft glow of the screen is the only light in the room. Midnight thoughts even though it’s morning, dangerous thoughts, ones I shouldn’t feed, but here I am, searching Lorenzo Moretti.

I scroll, faster than I should.

Breaking News: Giovanni Moretti Has Passed Away.

My stomach clenches.

His father. Giovanni, the man who built the Moretti Empire from scratch and ruled it like a king, dead at 56.

Heart attack, they say.

Right.

When men like him die, there’s always more to the story.

I scroll further.

Paparazzi photos flood the feed, most of them of him.

There’s one from the beach. His dark brown hair is wet, curling slightly at the ends from the saltwater. His skin bronzed, tattoos trailing down his arms and disappearing beneath swim trunks that sit low on his hips. I swallow, cheeks burning.

Another photo catches my eye.

An event. Black suit, crisp shirt open just enough to reveal his chest, just enough to tease.

A woman is on his arm.

She’s gorgeous.

Tall, model body, long legs. Her lips are painted red, like a warning sign: mine.

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