Anastasia climbed the stairs, her mind a blur. This wasn't her father's house, or Matteo's... it was Dylan's.
She looked around the master bedroom, taking in the furniture and the decor, wondering how much of this life was bought with the blood money her father had paid him to break her heart.
She opened the closet and found a few female pieces hanging among his shirts... dresses, a silk blouse. He obviously had a girlfriend.
Someone who, much like Matteo, probably had no idea that he was already married. But unlike the possessive, hot jealousy she felt whenever she imagined another woman near Matteo, she felt nothing there.
She didn't care if Dylan was fucking someone else on these sheets or if he had a second wife in another state. That was the difference. Matteo owned her soul. Dylan was a stranger who happened to have her signature on a dusty piece of paper.
She stripped off the white silk robe, the last piece of Matteo's world, and let it fall to the floor.
