Chapter 2

Sabrina moved in the next day.

Her excuse was renovation—burst pipes, she claimed. That was all it took for Orion to hand her the guest suite on the second floor. The one directly beneath our bedroom.

"The Rossis have backed this family for three generations," he'd said when I opened my mouth to object. His tone left no room for discussion. The Don had spoken. As if that settled it. As if that made any of this normal.

I didn't argue. What would be the point?

Now she owned the place. Lounging poolside while Orion's soldiers pretended not to stare. Throwing wine tastings for women who whispered behind my back. Appearing out of nowhere the second Orion and I found ourselves alone—a talent she'd perfected within forty-eight hours.

Tonight, I found them in the study again.

They stood shoulder to shoulder over architectural blueprints. Heads bent close. Her hair grazing his jaw. Her pinkie brushing the edge of his hand.

Neither of them moved apart.

"Helia!" Her smile was blinding. "We're laying out my new screening room. Come tell us what you think."

"I've got lab reports to review." I pulled my robe tighter, fingers twisting the silk belt.

Sabrina laughed. "God, you're always buried in those textbooks!" She turned to Orion. "Remember cramming for finals in your father's office? You practically spoon-fed me trigonometry."

Something shifted in Orion's expression. "Trig was easy. Try explaining untraceable compounds to the Feds."

His gaze slid to me. Watching. Gauging.

I kept my face blank and studied the hardwood floor. How sweet—decades of history between them. And here I stood, the outsider counting hours until I could flee this heartwarming reunion.

But the guest suite wasn't enough for her.

The next afternoon, I walked past the east wing. The door to my old study was wide open.

The room had been gutted.

My desk—gone. The bookshelves—stripped bare. In their place stood a mahogany wardrobe and a gold-trimmed mirror. Racks of designer gowns lined every wall. Sabrina's perfume hung so thick I could taste it on my tongue—sickeningly sweet, claiming everything it touched.

She'd turned my sanctuary into her walk-in closet.

I stood frozen in the doorway. This room held everything. The corner where Orion used to sit with me during thunderstorms. The windowsill where we'd started a puzzle together—a thousand-piece image of the Icelandic Northern Lights—and never finished.

All of it. Erased.

"Ah, there you are." Sabrina appeared behind me, arms loaded with shopping bags. "Isn't it divine? The natural light is perfect for getting dressed."

I couldn't speak. My throat had sealed shut.

Orion's footsteps echoed down the corridor. He stopped beside me, glancing into the transformed space without a flicker of reaction.

"Orion." My voice splintered. "This was my room."

"She needed more space." He didn't even look at me. "The guest suite closet couldn't fit her wardrobe."

Sabrina brushed past us, hanging a cashmere coat on the rack. "Don't fret, sweetie. I had the staff box up your old things. They're somewhere in the basement."

The basement. Where we stored holiday decorations and broken furniture waiting for disposal.

I turned and walked away before either of them could see my face crumble.

Over the next two days, Sabrina's touch spread through the estate inch by inch.

The white peonies in the foyer—replaced with her calla lilies. My Tuscan dinnerware—swapped for her French porcelain. The linen curtains I'd chosen—torn down for her velvet drapes.

Every trace of me, methodically wiped clean.

And in that moment, I understood with brutal clarity: it wasn't just furniture being replaced. It wasn't just my place in this house.

It was the weight of memories. The warmth of every promise he'd ever whispered in the dark.

All of it—exchanged for her.

I said nothing. Kept my head down. Counted the hours.

On the third night, I woke at 2 AM with a parched throat.

The hallway stretched dark and silent. Halfway down the staircase, I heard it—voices drifting up from the wine cellar. Low. Intimate.

The door stood ajar. Warm amber light pooled across the stone floor.

I should have turned around.

Instead, I crept closer. Pressed my palm flat against the cold doorframe and looked.

Orion had Sabrina wrapped in his arms. Her spine pressed against the wine rack. Her fingers clutching his collar. His forehead rested against hers.

They swayed slightly, like they were dancing to music only they could hear.

"Do you remember?" Sabrina whispered. "That night during the blackout—you held me exactly like this. You wouldn't let go until morning."

Orion didn't answer. But he didn't release her either. His palms flattened against the small of her back, drawing her closer.

The same hands that once cradled my face like I was something precious.

Something cracked open inside my chest—quick and clean, the way bones snap.

I stumbled backward. My heel caught the edge of a step—I grabbed the banister just in time, but a strangled breath escaped before I could swallow it.

Neither of them turned.

I ran.

Back in my room, I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. Tears traced wet lines down my cheeks, dripping onto my collarbone. The fresh sunflower tattoo glistened under the lamplight.

What a fool I'd been. Inking over one wound while gathering a hundred more.

My laptop sat open on the desk. The MIT chemical engineering acceptance email still glowed on the screen—a lifeline I'd reached for months ago.

I pulled up the airline website. My fingers shook so badly it took three tries to type in the destination.

One-way ticket. Boston. Seven days from now.

The cursor hovered over the confirmation button.

Seven days. I just had to hold on for seven more days.

I clicked Purchase.

The confirmation landed in my inbox within seconds. I stared at it until the letters swam, then closed the laptop and curled into the dark.