The first thing Elena felt when she opened her eyes was the weight.
Luca was still there. He had fallen into a heavy, exhausted sleep, his head resting awkwardly against her lap. In the pale, pre-dawn light, the sharp lines of his face had softened, replaced by the shadows of a man who had spent the night mourning a life built on lies.
Elena looked down at him, her heart twisting with a strange, heavy guilt. I can't stay, she thought. I'm a reminder of everything he lost. I don't want to ruin his life even further.
With agonizing slowness, she began to move. She held her breath, sliding a soft pillow beneath his head as she untangled herself from the sheets. Her heart hammered against her ribs—a frantic, rhythmic warning—but Luca didn't stir.
She reached the bedroom door and eased it open. It didn't make a sound.
The mansion was waking up. As she tiptoed down the grand staircase, the air felt cold and clinical. In the distance, she saw a maid polishing the silver in the dining room. Their eyes met for a fleeting second. Elena froze, her pulse leaping, expecting a shout or a question.
But the servant simply looked away. There was no respect in that gaze, only a deep, cold indifference. To the staff, she was the manipulative woman who had trapped their master. They didn't like her; they didn't even care enough to wonder why she was wandering the halls barefoot at dawn.
Elena didn't have time to care about their judgment. She hurried past, her shadow stretching long and thin against the polished marble, until she reached the heavy side door.
Then, she hit the perimeter.
The street lights outside the gate flickered to life as she reached the main road. To anyone else, they were just lights. To Elena, they were predatory. They reminded her of the headlights from the night of the crash—the blinding, white-hot glare that had ended one life and stolen another.
The adrenaline was a roar in her ears, louder than any voice. She reached the edge of the asphalt, her eyes darting. She just needed to cross. She just needed to disappear into the dark on the other side.
SCREECH.
The sound of tires burned through the air. Elena froze in the middle of the road, her body locking up as the artificial orange glow of the street lamps bathed her. She looked like a ghost caught in a spotlight.
"SARAH!"
The voice was a jagged blade.
Before she could move, a shadow collided with her. Luca's weight slammed into her, dragging her back toward the sidewalk just as a car sped past, its horn blaring a long, angry note.
They fell onto the concrete together. Luca didn't let go. He scrambled up, pulling her with him, his hands gripping her shoulders so hard she winced.
"Are you insane?!" he roared. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. He was shaking—more than she was. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that the final game? To make me watch you die twice?"
Elena's mouth opened. Her chest heaved. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't the woman who tricked his grandmother. She wanted to tell him that the lights were hurting her.
But her throat remained a tomb.
"Answer me!" Luca shouted, his voice cracking. He shook her, desperate for the sting of her insults—anything but the hollow silence she was giving him. "Scold me! Tell me you hate me! Just... say something!"
Elena's eyes flooded with tears. She shook her head violently, her hands coming up to grasp at his wrists. Her movements were frantic, her fingers dancing in the air—signing a desperate, silent *'No'—*but Luca didn't understand.
He stared at her, his breathing becoming uneven. The harsh, overhead light caught the curve of her face. Sarah's face. But the expression was all wrong. Sarah was a woman of a thousand words, most of them lies. But the woman in his arms was making a sound he had never heard before: a tiny, broken huff of air that went nowhere.
"Sarah?" he whispered. His grip loosened. "Why aren't you fighting back? Why is your voice...?"
He reached up, his thumb brushing her lower lip. Her mouth moved, her vocal cords strained, but the air just whistled through her teeth.
"You're not..." Luca's voice was barely a breath. The confusion in his expression was so deep it looked like pain. "What did they do to you in that crash? Where did you go?"
Luca didn't pull her back toward the house with anger. He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her as if she might shatter. He was lost. Because for the first time, he realized the woman he had been punishing wasn't the woman he knew at all.
"Who are you?" he whispered into her hair, his voice trembling. "If you're not her... then who have I been holding?"
Elena leaned into him, her forehead resting against his racing heart. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell him anything.
The walk back to the mansion was not a walk; it was a retrieval. Luca's hand was a shackle around Elena's wrist, his grip so tight she feared her bones might actually snap. He didn't look at her. He didn't speak. He simply dragged her through the gates, his stride long and furious, forcing her to stumble behind him on her bruised, bare feet.
As they crossed the threshold into the grand foyer, Luca's voice exploded through the silence of the house.
"Everyone! In the hall! Now!"
The command echoed off the high marble ceilings like a gunshot. Within minutes, the house was no longer empty. The servants filed in, their heads bowed, standing in a trembling line. Then came the family, the people whose names Elena had only heard in whispers.
His Aunt, dressed in silk even at this hour, watched with narrowed, judgmental eyes. His Mother looked on with a face like stone, her lips pressed into a thin line of disappointment. His Grandpa, leaning heavily on a cane, watched the scene with a pained, weary expression, while his Cousin leaned against a pillar, a smirk of pure malice playing on his lips. The only one missing was the Master of the house, Luca's father…who was away on business, leaving Luca to rule the estate with an iron fist.
Luca stood in the center of the room, still holding Elena's arm as if she were a captured prize.
"Look at her," Luca hissed, his eyes raking over the servants. "Look at your Mistress."
The air in the room turned to ice.
"I was told this house was secure. I was told she was being watched," Luca's voice dropped to a dangerous, low vibrato. "And yet, I found her in the middle of the street. If she so much as breathes near that gate again…if any one of you closes your eyes for a second while she is in your sight, I will make every last one of you pay. Do you understand?"
A chorus of "Yes, sir" rippled through the staff, their voices shaking. Elena felt the heat of their collective hatred. They didn't see a victim; they saw a woman who was going to get them all fired.
Without another word, Luca spun her around and dragged her up the stairs. He threw open the bedroom door, shoved her inside, and slammed it shut, the sound of the lock turning felt like a finality.
"Sit," he commanded, pointing to the edge of the bed.
Elena collapsed onto the mattress, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with terror. Luca didn't wait. He moved toward her like a predator, his hands reaching out. Elena flinched, pulling back, but he grabbed her ankles, pulling her legs toward him.
He began to check her body. He checked her feet for glass, his fingers rough as he turned her soles upward. He checked her knees, her elbows, her arms…searching for a scratch, a bruise, a mark from the car that had almost hit her.
When he found nothing, when he realized she was physically whole…the relief in his eyes was instantly replaced by a scorching, jagged rage. He stood up, towering over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"What were you thinking?" he screamed. The vein in his neck was pulsing. "Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn't reached you? You wanted to die? You wanted to leave me with this mess? With the lies? With the debt you owe this family?"
Elena shook her head, her hands flying up to sign, her fingers trembling so much the movements were blurred. 'I just wanted to leave. I don't belong here.'
"Don't!" Luca snapped, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Don't you dare give me that silent act! You think because you can't speak, I'll forget who you are? You think your silence makes you innocent?"
He stopped in front of her, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. She could smell the scent of rain and adrenaline on him.
"You are Sarah," he whispered harshly, his voice dripping with venom. "You are the woman who lied to a dying grandmother. You are the woman who faked a pregnancy to trap a man. And until I decide you have paid for every single one of those lies, you are not going anywhere. You will stay in this room. You will eat when I say. You will sleep when I say. You don't get to die, Sarah. I won't let you."
He turned on his heel, heading for the door.
"Try to run again," he said, his hand on the handle, "and I'll make sure the gates are the least of your worries."
The door slammed. The lock clicked. Elena was alone in the dark, the orange glow of the street lights still flickering through the curtains, reminding her that even the light was now her enemy.