Chapter ninety one

Chapter ninety one
Alora’s POV

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, thumbs sliding clumsily over the screen. I needed him. Right now.

Not in five minutes. Not after someone explained it away. I needed him before my chest split open.

The display flared to life. I tapped his name. Rafaello.

Nothing.

I tried again. It was still dead. A sharp twist curled in my stomach. The phone buzzed once, just enough to give me hope, then went black.
That single vibration felt cruel, like the house itself was mocking me.

“No, no…” My breath came shallow and uneven. I stabbed at his number again, faster, reckless. Silence answered me every time.
Each failed call landed like a punch, knocking the air from my lungs.

“Alora, honey…” Macko’s voice cut in, steady in a way that made my skin crawl. He stepped into the hall and subtly blocked my path. “His phone is off. You will not reach him.”

“I don’t care,” I snapped, the words tearing out of me. “I need to talk to him. Now.”
My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, sharp-edged and breaking all at once.

He shook his head, slow and measured, like this was a problem he had already solved. “You are spiraling, take a moment, this will not help.”

The word spiraling hit wrong. My legs felt heavy and useless. Why now, why today, why did everything feel like it was collapsing at once?
That word wasn’t concern. It was a dismissal. A quiet way of telling me I could not be trusted with my own reality.

Santino came up behind me, reaching for the phone with forced gentleness. “Alora, please, this is not going to work, step back.”

I jerked away. “Do not touch it.” My voice cracked as I turned on him. “Do you even understand what this means?”
My grip tightened until my knuckles burned, feeling like the phone was the only thing anchoring me upright.

He hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. “We do not. That is why we are here. To protect you.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Protect me?” My chest burned. “My husband is engaged to Victoria and you are calling this protection?”
The word husband tasted bitter now, heavy with implication.

Maria’s hand brushed my shoulder. I flinched before I could stop myself. “Alora, sweetheart, you are shaking. Just breathe—”

“Do not.” I pulled away, blinking hard. The tears were there, threatening, but anger held them back. I did not want comfort. I wanted answers. Comfort felt like sedation, something meant to keep me quiet.

I paced the front hall, gripping the useless phone, my thoughts unraveling. Last night. His voice. His hands. The way he looked at me. None of it fit anymore.
He had kissed me like nothing was wrong. Like there was no other woman waiting in the wings.

The beach came back to me without warning. The salt air. The tightness in my chest as I had asked, “Were you with her?”

He had said no without hesitation or cracks. He had not even blinked.

Had I chosen to believe him because it was easier than doubting him? Because loving him had always felt safer than questioning him?

'Engaged'. The word scraped at my insides. I had not even signed divorce papers. How had you jumped from marriage to an engagement like it was a formality?
Like I was already erased.

Manipulation. Control. Secrets stacked so neatly I had not seen the edges.
This house. These people. This timing. None of it was accidental.

“Alora.” Macko followed me, voice firm now. “Step away from the door. He is not available.”

“I do not care!” I slammed my palms into the wall, the sound echoing too loudly. “I need to hear it from him. Someone needs to tell me what is going on.”
The impact rattled through my arms, grounding me in pain when everything else felt unreal.

Santino moved again, blocking the hallway completely. “You are not thinking straight.”

I laughed, brittle and sharp. “No. I am thinking clearly for the first time. He is engaged to his ex and you are asking me to pause?”
My laugh fractured halfway through, breaking into something close to a sob.

Luka stood behind them, silent, eyes avoiding mine. The tension rolling off him thickened the air. The house felt smaller, closer, pressing on me, making every breath harder to catch.

I could not breathe. Every wall, every person between me and the truth felt intentional.
Like they were holding the line until he arrived. Or until I broke.

I yanked the phone back and kept calling, over and over, stubborn and desperate, as if willpower alone could force a signal. Nothing. Just empty ringing and silence.
My thumb ached, but I did not stop. Stopping felt like surrender.

My hands trembled violently now, my chest locked tight, panic cresting hard enough that my vision blurred. What if he is hurt? What if someone took his phone? What if this is real? What if this is who he has always been and I was the last to know?

Maria tried again, her voice soft and careful. “We are here. You are not alone. This will be okay.”

I laughed through the tears this time. “Okay is not a word that means anything anymore. None of this feels real. I need him.”
My voice collapsed inward, thin and wrecked.

I turned for the stairs, ignoring Macko and Santino calling my name. Every instinct screamed to run, to confront him face to face, and tear the truth out if I had to.
If he was going to destroy me, he would at least have to look at me while he did it.

Then.

The door gave a soft click. My heart lurched as the handle turned, inch by inch.
The sound sliced through the room, clean and precise.

And he walked in.

Rafaello.

The room shifted, charged and heavy. He did not rush to me. He did not explain. He simply stood there, composed and unreadable, his presence swallowing the space around him.
Like he had stepped into control the second his foot crossed the threshold.

I stared, unable to speak. Every emotion collided at once—fear, rage, relief, betrayal—too much to separate. He was here. Nothing could be taken back now. This was the moment everything split in two: before him, and after the truth.

“Alora,” he said at last, his voice low and controlled, carrying weight enough to buckle my knees.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes as the rest of the world faded away. Everyone else ceased to exist. There was only him. Only us. Only the wreckage waiting between us.

And in a voice that barely survived the ache in my chest, I whispered,

“Tell me this is not true.”