Chapter 90

Chapter 90
Cindy's POV

Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since I woke up in this beautiful room, and finally, I felt like a human being again. My body was no longer weak and shaking. I could walk around without feeling like I might fall down. I could eat solid food without my stomach hurting. The terrible headaches were gone, and the dark circles under my eyes had faded.
These two weeks had been the strangest time of my life. I spent most of my days in this room, watching movies on the big TV that hung on the wall, reading romance novels that Maria brought me from the mansion's library, and thinking. Always thinking about everything that had happened to me, everything that had changed.
The room had become my safe place. It was decorated in soft cream and gold colors, with a huge bed that felt like sleeping on a cloud, and big windows that showed the beautiful gardens outside. Sometimes I would sit by the window for hours, watching the gardeners take care of the flowers, watching the birds fly around the fountain.
But even in this peaceful place, my mind was never quiet.
During these weeks, John had brought the maids from the mansion to help Maria and Sarah. There were now five women working in the mansion, and they took turns bringing me my meals, cleaning my room, and checking if I needed anything. They were all very kind to me, but I could see the curiosity in their eyes. They wanted to know who I was, why their boss had brought me here, why I was so important.
It was from these new maids that I heard whispers about John's life. They talked while they cleaned my room, thinking I was sleeping or not paying attention. But I heard everything.
"Mr. John is so different since he came back from Italy," one of them said while dusting the furniture.
"Yes, he's more serious now. More focused on business," another replied.
"But did you see the lady he brought back with him?" the first maid whispered. "She's so beautiful. Like a movie star."
My heart stopped beating for a moment.
"Oh yes, Miss Bianca," the second maid said. "She's from Italy too. They seem very close, very comfortable together."
"I heard them laughing together in the garden yesterday," a third maid added. "They looked so happy."
I had pretended to be sleeping, but their words felt like knives cutting into my chest. John had brought a woman from Italy? A beautiful woman who made him laugh, who made him happy?
The thought made me feel something I didn't want to feel. Something hot and painful in my chest. Jealousy.
But why should I be jealous? I didn't like John. I couldn't like him. He had hurt me too much. He had promised to save me and then disappeared, leaving me to suffer in that terrible club. He had made me believe he was dead while he was living his life in Italy with some beautiful woman.
I wanted to confirm if I was really free from Big Jim's debt, and then I wanted to leave all of this behind me. I wanted to start a new life somewhere far away from all these painful memories.
But where could I go? That was the question that kept me awake at night.
I couldn't go back to my family. They probably didn't want me anymore after everything that had happened. After all the things I had been forced to do at the club. After the shame I had brought to their name. And honestly, I didn't have it in my heart to forgive my father and my family for what they did to me. My father had owed Big Jim a huge debt to save his bakery, but when he couldn't pay, Big Jim took me as collateral. And what hurt the most was that my family - my mother, my sister, everyone - they had abandoned me after that. They never checked on me. They never tried to visit me or see if I was okay ever since big Jim took me from the safehouse. They just let me disappear from their lives like I meant nothing to them.
So where could I go? What could I do with my life? Before all of this happened, I had been in college studying nursing. I had dreams of becoming a nurse, of helping people, of making something good out of my life. But now all those dreams were down the drain. I had no money, no way to go back to school, and after everything that had happened to me at that club, I felt like I wasn't the same person who had once dreamed of wearing scrubs and saving lives. The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit.
These dark thoughts had been going around and around in my head for days. I was tired of being stuck in this room, tired of thinking about things I couldn't change, tired of hearing about John's perfect life with his perfect Italian girlfriend.
That morning, I woke up feeling different. Stronger. More determined. I decided I needed to get out of this room. I needed to walk around the mansion, stretch my legs, and breathe some fresh air. And I was craving a glass of cold milk.
I took a long shower, washing my hair with the expensive shampoo that smelled like flowers. I put on one of the simple but beautiful dresses that Maria had bought for me - a soft blue cotton dress that reached my knees and made me feel almost pretty again.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked so different from the broken girl who had collapsed on the stairs two weeks ago. My skin had color again. My eyes were bright. I looked healthy, almost normal.
But inside, I still felt lost.
I made my way downstairs, walking slowly through the hallways of this magnificent mansion. Every corner was decorated with expensive art, every room was more beautiful than the last. The morning sun was coming through the big windows, making everything look magical and golden.
I found my way to the kitchen, which was bigger than my family's entire house used to be. Everything was modern and shiny - stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, fresh flowers in crystal vases.
I opened the huge refrigerator and found a carton of fresh milk. As I poured it into a glass, I could smell the breakfast that someone had been cooking - bacon, eggs, fresh bread. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten yet.
I was taking my first sip of the cold milk when I heard footsteps behind me. Heavy, confident footsteps that I somehow recognized.
"Good morning," came a deep, masculine voice that made my whole body freeze.
I turned around slowly, and nearly dropped the glass.
It was John.
And he looked... incredible.
He was wearing a black tank top that was slightly damp with sweat, showing his muscular arms and chest. His hair was messy, like he had been running his hands through it. His skin had a healthy glow, and I could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of his workout. He looked like he had just come from the gym, and he was so handsome that it literally took my breath away.
For a moment, I forgot everything. I forgot how angry I was with him. I forgot how much he had hurt me. I forgot about the beautiful Italian woman. All I could do was stare at him, feeling my heart beat so fast that I thought it might jump out of my chest.
Our eyes met, and I saw something in his dark gaze that made my knees weak. Intensity. Longing. Something that looked almost like... love?
No. I couldn't let myself think that. I couldn't let myself hope.
"Good morning," I managed to say, my voice coming out much quieter than I intended.
Neither of us moved. Neither of us looked away. The air between us felt electric, charged with all the things we weren't saying. I could see him fighting with himself, like he wanted to step closer but was forcing himself to stay where he was.
Then I heard the sound of high heels clicking on the marble floor, and the moment was broken.
A woman entered the kitchen, and I felt my heart sink all the way to my feet.
She was absolutely stunning. The kind of beautiful that made you stop and stare, the kind that made other women feel invisible. She had long, blonde hair that fell in perfect waves down her back, bright blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds, and flawless skin that looked like porcelain. She was tall and elegant, with curves in all the right places, wearing a white designer dress that probably cost more than most people made in a year.
This had to be Bianca. The woman from Italy. The woman who made John laugh.
She walked straight to John like she owned him, like she had every right to be there. She placed her perfectly manicured hand on his arm in a gesture that was casual but possessive at the same time.
"Who do we have here?" she said, looking at me with a smile that seemed friendly but felt cold. Her voice had a slight Italian accent that made everything she said sound sophisticated. "The sleeping princess is finally out of her cage."
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. The way she said it made me sound like some kind of pet that John kept locked up. But I tried to keep my face calm, tried not to let her see how much her words hurt.
She stepped toward me, her heels clicking on the floor, and extended her hand. Every movement she made was graceful, confident, like she was walking on a runway instead of in a kitchen.
"Nice to meet you," she said, her smile getting wider. "I'm Bianca."
I looked at her perfect hand with its expensive rings and flawless nail polish. This was my competition. This was the woman who had John's attention, who shared his secrets, who made him happy.
"I'm Cindy," I said, accepting her handshake awkwardly. Her hand was soft and warm, and her grip was firm and confident.
Bianca's smile became even brighter, and she glanced at John before looking back at me. "So you are the mystery Cindy that Marco talks about so much."
I frowned, confused. "Marco?"
"Oh, sorry," Bianca said with a laugh that sounded like music. She looked at John with an expression that was intimate and knowing. "That's the name I gave him in Italy. He's Marco to me."
She said it so casually, so easily, like giving someone a pet name was the most natural thing in the world. Like they were so close that she had the right to call him whatever she wanted. Like they shared a history that I would never be part of.
The jealousy hit me like a physical blow. It was hot and sharp and painful, spreading through my chest like fire. I hated feeling it. I hated that this woman's casual words could hurt me so much. I hated that I cared.
But I did care. Despite everything John had done to me, despite all the pain and betrayal, despite my determination to hate him, I still cared. And seeing this beautiful, confident woman touch him, hearing her talk about their time together in Italy, watching how comfortable they were with each other... it was torture.
"Nice meeting you," I said stiffly, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.
I looked directly at John, trying to read his expression. He was watching me with those dark eyes, and I thought I saw something like guilt there. Or maybe regret. But maybe I was just imagining what I wanted to see.
I couldn't stay there another second. I couldn't watch this perfect woman touch the man I... the man I used to love. I couldn't listen to her talk about their intimate moments together. I couldn't pretend that it didn't hurt to see how right they looked together.
Without another word, I turned around and walked quickly toward the stairs, leaving my glass of milk abandoned on the counter.
"Wait, Cindy!" I heard John call behind me, but I didn't stop.
"She seems... interesting," I heard Bianca say, and there was something in her tone that made it clear she didn't mean it as a compliment.
I didn't wait to hear John's response. I couldn't bear to hear him defend her or, worse, agree with her.
I practically ran up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. When I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath.
Why did it hurt so much to see them together? Why did I care if John had moved on with someone else? I was the one who didn't want to see him, the one who didn't trust him anymore, the one who wanted to leave and never come back.
But seeing them together, seeing how beautiful and perfect she was, seeing how she touched him like she owned him... it made me realize something I didn't want to admit.
Despite everything he had done to me, despite all the pain and betrayal, despite my determination to hate him and move on with my life, I still had feelings for John.
And that scared me more than anything else in the world.
Because if I still had feelings for him, it meant I was still vulnerable. It meant he could still hurt me. It meant that no matter how far I ran or how hard I tried to forget, a part of me would always belong to the man who had broken my heart.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. Tears that I had been holding back for weeks finally started to fall.
I was supposed to be free now. John had supposedly paid my debt to Big Jim. I was supposed to be able to start over, to build a new life for myself.
But how could I be free when my heart was still trapped by feelings I couldn't control?
How could I move on when seeing him with another woman felt like dying inside?
And how could I trust him again when he had already proven that he could disappear from my life without warning, leaving me with nothing but broken promises and shattered dreams?