Chapter 49 Chapter 49

Chapter 49 Chapter 49

DOMINIC'S POV

The grave was quiet.

The cemetery was empty. The sky was grey. The wind was cold. My mother's name was carved into the stone. The dates were faded. I had not visited in years. I did not know why I was here now. Maybe because I was about to do something she would hate. Maybe because I needed her permission. Maybe because I needed someone to tell me to stop.

I stood in front of the grave. My hands were in my pockets. My shoulders were hunched. The rain had stopped an hour ago. The grass was wet. My shoes were soaked. I did not care.

"I am sorry," I said. "I know you would not want this."

The wind blew. The trees moved. No one answered.

I heard footsteps behind me. Soft on the wet grass. I did not turn around. I knew who it was.

A hand landed on my shoulder. Heavy. Cold. Familiar.

"Son."

I did not respond.

"The reason behind your misery is him," my father said. "If you want to make your mother happy, destroy him."

My mother. Happy. Destroy him.

The words echoed in my head. They had echoed for years. Since the night in the study. Since the kiss. Since the beating. Since her tears.

"Dominic," my father said. "Look at me."

I turned around. His grey eyes were on me. His grey suit was pressed. His grey hair was combed. He looked like a statue. Cold. Unmovable.

"This is what you wanted," he said. "This is what you planned. Do not lose your nerve now."

"I am not losing my nerve."

"Then why are you standing here? Why are you not in Italy? Why are you not finishing what you started?"

I looked at my mother's grave. At her name. At the flowers that had wilted and died.

"I am going," I said. "Tomorrow."

"Good."

My father turned. Walked away. His footsteps faded into the distance.

I stood alone in the cemetery. The wind was cold. The sky was grey. My mother's name was carved into the stone.

"I am sorry," I said again.

The wind blew. The trees moved. No one answered.

\---

The wedding was lavish.

Too lavish. Everything was white. The flowers. The tablecloths. The dress the bride wore. I did not know her name. I had not asked. My father had chosen her. A family friend. Someone from a good family. Someone who would not ask questions.

The ceremony was in a chapel. Old stone walls. Stained glass windows. The priest spoke in Italian. I did not listen. I was looking at the door. Waiting for someone who would not come.

The bride kissed my cheek. Her lips were cold. Her perfume was too sweet.

"Congratulations," she whispered. Her voice was hollow. She did not mean it.

"Thank you," I said.

We posed for pictures. The photographer told us to smile. I smiled. She smiled. We looked happy. We looked like we were in love. We looked like we had a future together.

That was the plan. The plan was to look happy. The plan was to make Cassian see. The plan was to make him suffer.

I knew he would see. The tabloids would cover it. The social media pages would share it. The videos would circulate. He would see the photos. He would see the smile. He would see the bride.

He would feel what I felt five years ago. The betrayal. The abandonment. The loneliness.

I should have felt satisfied. I should have felt vindicated. This was what I wanted. This was what I had planned for years.

But my chest ached.

I did not understand why. It was just a game. A game where I made Cassian fall for me. A game where I made him desperate for my love. A game where I left him. That was the plan. That was always the plan.

So why did it hurt?

The reception was in a ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. Gold trim. A string quartet played classical music. People danced. People laughed. People congratulated me on my marriage.

I smiled. I thanked them. I pretended to be happy.

The bride sat next to me. She did not talk. She did not look at me. She knew the terms. She knew this was not real. She was getting paid. That was all she cared about.

When the wedding ended, she went back to her house. Her family's house. A different estate. A different city. I did not ask where.

I stayed in Italy. I should have gone back. I should have faced him. I should have watched him fall apart.

But something stopped me. Someone stopped me.

Him.

I could not face him. I did not know why. I had spent five years planning this. Five years dreaming of this moment. Five years wanting to see the look on his face when he realized I had left him.

But now that the moment was here, I could not do it.

\---

Two days passed.

I did not leave the apartment. The apartment in Italy. The one that belonged to my grandmother. The one with the thin curtains and the cold stone floors and the bed that was too soft.

I lay in that bed and stared at the ceiling. I thought about Cassian. About his hands. About his mouth. About the way he said my name.

I thought about the ring. The one I had put on his finger. The one he was probably still wearing. The one I had taken off before the wedding ceremony.

I thought about his face. The way it would look when he saw the photos. The way it would crumble. The way his eyes would fill with tears.

I should have been happy. I was not happy.

I got up. Walked to the balcony. The rain was coming down hard. The sky was black. The city lights were blurred behind the curtain of water.

I leaned against the railing. The rain soaked my clothes. My hair. My skin. I did not move. I did not care.

My gaze wandered. Across the street. Down the block. To the figure standing in the rain.

A man. Drenched. His shoulders were hunched. His hands were at his sides. He was looking up at me.

His glasses were fogged. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His clothes were soaked through. He looked like he had been standing there for hours.

His eyes.

Those eyes.

The ones I had seen in my dreams. The ones I had kissed. The ones I had lied to.

They were looking at me with hurt. With betrayal. With something that looked like a broken heart.

Cassian.

He was standing in the rain. In front of my balcony. In Italy. He had found me. He had come all this way. He had seen the wedding. He had seen the photos. He had seen everything.

And he was looking at me like I had destroyed him.

My heart stopped. Then started again. Faster. Harder.

I could not move. Could not speak. Could not breathe.

He stood there. Drenched. Broken.

I stood there. Frozen. Watching.

The rain fell between us. The city hummed in the distance. The world kept turning.

Neither of us moved.