Chapter 184

Chapter 184

"I was seven, you were four." Jocelyn pointed at the photo of us in the water, his eyes bloodshot. "The lake at the Colonna estate was freezing. I slipped and fell in. You jumped in after me and held on until the adults came. You saved my life."

He flipped to the last page—a photo of two children wearing rings woven from grass, hands clasped together.

"You told me then that when you grew up, you'd marry me." Jocelyn looked up, his gray-blue eyes brimming with desperate tears. "You promised me, Selena. You said you'd become my wife."

He stared at me, as if searching my face for even the faintest trace of recognition or emotion.

But I simply looked at those photos with detached calm.

No stirring in my heart. No memories, no connection—just a vague sense of absurdity.

"Are you finished?" I raised my head, my gaze cold and indifferent.

Jocelyn froze. He stared at me in disbelief, as if I'd just dumped ice water over his head.

"Jocelyn, you live in the past. I live in the present." I took half a step back, creating an unmistakable distance. "That four-year-old girl died the day she was kidnapped twenty years ago."

I met his eyes and delivered each word like a blade, shattering his last shred of hope.

"Stop clinging to the past, Jocelyn." My voice was steady, devoid of emotion. "Twenty years is more than enough time to change everything. I don't remember any of it, and I don't want to. I have a partner now. A child. A new life. Your obsession is nothing but an intrusion to me—an insult, even."

The last flicker of light in Jocelyn's eyes died.

He closed the album stiffly, his fingers trembling, knuckles bone-white.

He said nothing more. Didn't even look at me again. He simply turned and walked out of the sitting room.

His silhouette was painfully desolate, as though all the life had been drained from him in an instant, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

Vincent stepped in from the terrace, bringing with him the faint scent of tobacco and the chill of the night air.

He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin in the crook of my neck.

I turned and slipped my arms around his solid torso.

"He's gone," I murmured.

Vincent let out a cold snort and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then he scooped me up and carried me toward the wide European-style bed.

"Sleep. And stop thinking about other men." He pulled me possessively into his arms, his large hand instinctively settling over my still-flat stomach.

That night, I slept deeply—no nightmares from the slums, no jolting awake to phantom gunfire.

The next morning, I came downstairs after washing up to find the dining room filled with a lavish breakfast spread.

My mother, wearing an apron, was personally carrying a tray of freshly baked croissants to the table.

My father sat at the head, and the moment he saw me, he set down his financial newspaper and stood to pull out my chair.

"Selena, come try this." My mother's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "This was your favorite flavor when you were little. I made it just like I used to. I hope you still like it."

I sat down and took a bite of the croissant—flaky, buttery, sweet.

In the slums, I'd never tasted food like this: warm, made with care, made with love.

Seeing their hopeful, tentative expressions, I felt something crack inside me—a fissure in the hard shell I'd built around my heart.

This kind of pure, uncomplicated affection was foreign to me. But it was warm.

"It's delicious. Thank you," I said quietly.

My mother's eyes welled up again, tears threatening to spill.

My father quickly handed her a tissue, then turned to Vincent and me with a solemn expression.

"Selena, your mother and I have discussed it." His tone carried the authority of a man who'd led one of Europe's oldest dynasties for decades. "We're going to throw you the grandest homecoming gala imaginable. I'm inviting every power player in Europe. I want the world to know that the Colonna family's daughter has returned—that you're no one's pawn. You are our sole heir."

I met my father's resolute gaze and didn't refuse.

This would also be the perfect announcement for the Lucas family and the Corleone empire.

I wanted everyone who'd ever looked down on me—who'd tried to control me—to know exactly what kind of hand I was holding now.

The preparations for the gala were elaborate, but my parents handled everything.

That afternoon, my mother suggested we visit Zurich's most exclusive haute couture salon to choose my gown.

Vincent, naturally, came along.

The salon was located in the heart of Bahnhofstrasse, the entire building secured by Corleone guards.

I'd just finished trying on two dresses when Vincent's phone rang—an encrypted call from the New York branch.

"I need to take this." Vincent squeezed my hand and stepped out onto the salon's terrace.

My mother checked her watch and smiled. "Selena, you rest here. I'm going across the street to pick up some chestnut mousse for you—I know you love it. I'll be right back."

Once they'd both left, I sat on the leather sofa in the VIP lounge, flipping through a lookbook.

That's when the door was violently shoved open.

The sharp click of high heels shattered the quiet.

I looked up.

Alberta strode in wearing an aggressively red haute couture gown, flanked by three other European socialites dressed just as ostentatiously.

The swelling on Alberta's face had gone down, but the look she gave me was venomous.

"Well, well. If it isn't the little gutter rat who clawed her way out of the slums." Alberta sneered, her entourage closing in around me. "What's the matter? Your mafia sugar daddy not here to protect you today?"

I closed the lookbook and leaned back against the sofa, watching her coldly.

What rotten luck. Clearly, the lesson I'd taught her at the jewelry store hadn't been thorough enough.

"Get out," I said flatly, not even bothering to stand.

Alberta's expression twisted, the malice in her eyes deepening.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she spat, jabbing a finger at me. "Last time, I didn't have my security with me—that's the only reason you got the upper hand. But today? Jocelyn's not here. Vincent's not here. Let's see who's going to save you now. Girls—rip that seductive little face of hers apart. Teach her a lesson."

At her command, the three socialites rolled up their sleeves and lunged at me like feral cats.

My eyes narrowed. Pregnant or not, dealing with a handful of pampered heiresses was child's play.

I didn't stand. The moment the first woman got close, I lifted my leg and drove my heel precisely into her kneecap.

She shrieked and crumpled to the floor.

Without missing a beat, I grabbed the crystal ashtray from the side table and swung it backhanded into the second woman's forehead.

Blood gushed instantly. She staggered backward, screaming and clutching her head.

The third woman froze in place, too terrified to move.

I rose to my feet, smoothed out my dress, and walked slowly toward Alberta.