14 days gone

14 days gone
~ KAIA’S POV ~

Waking up to the lavender scent of freshly brewed flowers.

The fragrance fills my nostrils, soft, sweet, but strong enough to pull me out of sleep. It doesn’t feel artificial. It’s not the usual room spray type; it’s deeper, purer.

Maybe it’s an air freshener.

I sit up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The scent grows stronger the more I inhale, wrapping around me like a gentle pull. My curiosity wins over the sleep still clinging to my eyes. I slide off the bed and let my nose guide me.

The scent leads me to the balcony.

When I open the glass doors, the cool morning air rushes in, brushing against my skin.

“Wow…” I breathe out, the word barely leaving my lips.

I gasp softly. The view steals the rest of my breath away.

It’s beautiful.

From where I stand, I can see a side view of the garden inside the villa. The flowers are a sea of purple, swaying lightly with the wind, bathed in the soft glow of early sunlight. The air feels alive here, fresh, delicate, untouched.

The lavender field looks almost unreal.

I rest my hands on the railing, leaning forward slightly. “A perfect place to sit and let nature clear my mind,” I whisper to myself.

The words feel too small for what I’m seeing.

A woman in a simple uniform walks into view, her steps calm and practiced. She bends to water the flowers, her movements so careful it feels like she’s tending to something sacred. A gardener, obviously, but the way she works makes her seem like more, like a keeper of calm.

I stand there, silent, watching her.

There’s something hypnotic about the routine, pour, trim, fix, move. I can’t tear my eyes away.

The flowers look even more beautiful up close. Their colors seem deeper, like the petals were dipped in twilight. I’ve never seen anything so pure. The scent lingers thick in the air, sweeter than perfume, but not heavy.

Their fragrance… oh boy.

It’s out of this world.

The morning breeze drifts past, light and playful. It lifts my hair gently, tangling a few strands across my face. For a brief second, I let myself enjoy it, the quiet, the peace, the illusion of freedom.

But peace never lasts long with me.

The image of Kai’s sleeping face flashes through my mind, his calm, his stillness.

My smile fades instantly. The peace shatters.

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, blurring the soft purple in front of me. My throat tightens. I blink hard, forcing the tears back before they fall.

“Don’t get carried away,” I whisper to myself, voice trembling slightly.

Ninety days. That’s what I have. Ninety days to complete what I came here for. And fourteen of those are already gone, faster than I expected.

“Fourteen days already…” I mutter. My fingers clutch the hem of my pyjamas, holding it tight like it’ll hold me together.

Each day is a ticking clock. Each morning, another reminder that time isn’t waiting for me.

I can’t waste it.

It’s a new day, another chance to move forward.

“Elena is his heart,” I think quietly, repeating the plan that’s been running in my head since I arrived. “So I’ll get to her first. Then… I’ll have a way into his heart too.”

It sounds simple when I say it in my mind, but I know it won’t be. Nothing about Vittorio is simple. Still, I have to try.

I turn away from the balcony and back into the room. The bed is still messy, the blanket half on the floor. I straighten it with my right hand, slow and careful. My left arm makes it harder, it’s stiff, wrapped in bandages, heavy with discomfort.

Still, I do it.

I’ve always done things alone.

When the bed looks decent enough, I head for the shower. The mirror catches me on the way, and for a moment, I study the faint bruises still visible on my shoulder. The bandage covers most of the injury, but I can feel the tingling underneath, the pull of healing skin.

The warm water hits me, and I flinch at first, it stings where the skin is still raw. My left arm feels suffocated beneath the wraps, but I manage. I take slow breaths and let the water wash off the heaviness of yesterday.

After a few minutes, I towel off carefully and open the wardrobe. My fingers brush against the fabric until I pull out a milkmaid-style dress—soft cream with faint lace at the sleeves. It’s simple but decent enough for the house.

I slip it on and stand before the mirror again.

My hair, of course, decides to be a problem.

I try to brush and pin it to one side, but the effort is awkward with only my right hand. The more I try, the messier it gets. Strands fall out of place, mocking every attempt.

I sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I stare at the reflection, half neat, half chaos. “Perfect,” I mutter sarcastically.

I need help.

I step out into the hallway, hoping to find one of the housekeepers. Maybe someone can help me fix my hair. The hall is quiet, though. No one’s around yet.

“Maybe they’re downstairs,” I whisper. “It’s morning after all.”

The scent of coffee drifts faintly from the lower floor, mixed with bread and butter. That’s a good sign. They must be preparing breakfast.

I start walking, my bare feet soft against the marble floor. The staircase comes into view. I adjust my balance and place one foot forward, ready to go down.

Almost a step in, my eyes betray me.

For a split second, it looks like there isn’t a step at all. My foot slips into the air, and my body jolts forward.

I gasp, arms flailing instinctively, though my left arm fails me entirely. The world tilts, and for a terrifying second, I feel the floor rushing toward me.

But before I hit the ground, something hard, strong, and warm catches me.

A hand.

Large, steady, firm.

My heart stops.

The grip pulls me upright in one swift motion, the strength behind it unmistakable. I land against a chest, a solid, unyielding. My breath catches somewhere between my throat and my lungs.

I lift my head slowly.

Vittorio.

His name echoes in my mind like a heartbeat.