The rain came without warning, beating against the tall windows of Aria's bedroom as if the sky itself had chosen this night to rage. She sat curled on the edge of her bed, the silk sheets crumpled around her fists, tears running freely down her face. For days she had held herself together with sheer will, building walls inside her chest, convincing herself she could withstand everything—the threats, the secrets, the suffocating pressure of living as Lorenzo's wife. But now the note from her old friend lay open on the nightstand, the words etched into her mind like a wound that refused to close. Don't trust him. Her past had found her, and with it came a truth she didn't want to face. Maybe she was a fool, maybe every softened look, every protective touch, every glimpse of the man behind the monster had been nothing more than another trap in his world of power and lies.
The sob that tore from her throat was ugly, raw, the kind of sound she hadn't allowed herself since the first night they had taken her from her father's house. She pressed her palms against her eyes, shaking her head as if she could blot out the memories, the doubts, the hunger she felt for a man she was supposed to despise. She thought of her friends, of who she used to be, and for the first time she wondered if she had already betrayed that girl beyond redemption.
The door opened quietly, without a knock. She stiffened, her breath catching, ready to snap, to scream, to build her defenses. But it was Lorenzo who stepped inside, his tall frame silhouetted by the light from the hall. He didn't speak at first, just watched her, his eyes narrowing as he took in the trembling of her shoulders, the brokenness she couldn't hide.
"I told them not to disturb you," he said finally, his voice low, edged with something softer than command. "But I couldn't stay away."
She turned her face away, angry that he was seeing her like this, raw and shattered. "Go," she whispered hoarsely. "I don't want you here."
But he didn't leave. He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, and when he reached the bed, he knelt beside it, lowering himself so that he was level with her. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before settling lightly on her arm. The touch was warm, steady, not demanding—an anchor offered to a storm.
"What did they say to you?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers. "Who hurt you?"
Aria shook her head, choking back another sob. "Everyone," she said bitterly. "You. Them. My father. Myself. I don't even know who I am anymore."
Something flickered across his face, a shadow of pain he rarely allowed to surface. He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're mine. That's who you are. But you're also still you—the fire that burns when everyone else bows. Don't let them take that from you."
The words undid her, not because they were possessive but because beneath them she heard a truth he hadn't meant to expose: he was terrified of losing her. Before she could stop herself, she collapsed against him, burying her face in his shoulder. His arms closed around her instantly, strong and unyielding, and for the first time she didn't resist. She let herself sink into him, let the weight of her grief rest in his embrace.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in silence broken only by the rhythm of the rain. He didn't push her to speak, didn't demand explanations or promises. He simply held her, his hand stroking her hair, his breath steady against her temple. The man who ruled with fire and fear had become a shelter, and she hated herself a little for how desperately she needed it.
When her sobs finally quieted, he shifted slightly, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen, not with rage but with something raw, almost fragile. "I can't fix what's already broken," he said, "but I can hold it together with you, if you'll let me."
The confession startled her more than any threat ever had. She felt herself leaning into him again, her lips parting as though words might come, but none did. Instead, the silence between them turned heavy with something new, not the sharp tension of anger or desire, but a deep ache that felt almost like tenderness. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, and for the first time she didn't see the monster the world feared. She saw the boy who had grown up under cruelty, the man who had learned to wear fire as armor, and the soul beneath it all, desperate to be seen.
That night, they didn't ignite with flames or consume each other in anger. They lay side by side, fully clothed, her head on his chest, his arm around her waist. She listened to the steady drum of his heartbeat, stronger than any lullaby, and he traced circles against her back as though reminding himself she was real. For the first time since her world had shattered, Aria slept without fear, cocooned not in silk sheets or locked doors, but in the arms of the man who had stolen everything and somehow given her back a piece of herself she thought she'd lost.
But peace in this world was always an illusion. Morning came too soon, light spilling across tangled sheets and quiet breaths. Aria stirred, feeling his warmth before she opened her eyes. She thought, for a fleeting second, that maybe this could be something real. That maybe she could belong in his arms without losing herself completely.
The knock at the door shattered it.
A maid stepped in, pale and hesitant, her gaze flickering between them before she lowered her eyes. "Signore," she murmured, "you have… a guest."
Lorenzo stiffened, his body going rigid beside her. He rose swiftly, pulling his jacket back on, his face already hardening into the mask of the man the world feared. Aria watched him, her chest tightening, something uneasy curling in her stomach.
Then the guest entered, uninvited but unstoppable. A woman—beautiful, composed, with the kind of grace that spoke of both confidence and calculation. Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped into the room, her eyes finding Lorenzo instantly before sliding to Aria with a cold smile.
"Lorenzo," she purred, her voice like silk laced with poison. "I thought you'd want to hear it from me directly." She placed a hand over her stomach, her painted nails gleaming in the morning light. "I'm carrying your child."
The words hung in the air like a dagger poised above Aria's heart, and all the warmth of the night before drained away, leaving only ice and fire clashing violently inside her.