Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Alexander's POV
She arrived at my penthouse just after midnight. The city lights stretched below us, cold and indifferent, but she walked past me like they didn’t exist. Her coat wrapped tight around her small frame. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes were tired. Dark circles underlined them, but she held herself tall, unyielding, as if she could carry the weight of the world alone.
I closed the door behind her and locked it. “We need to talk,” I said, though the words felt hollow.
She didn’t answer. She walked straight to the windows, pressed her hands against the glass, and stared out at the city like it had the answers she was looking for.
I moved closer, watching her reflection in the window. Beautiful. Distant. Unreachable. “Anna and Yvonne are getting close. Too close. They found something.”
Her voice was flat. Cold. Detached. “I know.”
“They found the death certificate. No body. No proof. They are comparing photos. Looking for evidence that could undo everything.”
Her shoulders didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just kept looking out. “Let them look,” she said softly.
I stepped closer, my hand hovering near her shoulder. “They found physical similarities. Same height. Same build. Same mannerisms. They are building a case. Evidence that you are Lucia.”
Her voice came out sharper now, sharper than I had heard in months. “Good for them.”
“Isabella. Lucia. Whatever name you are using. This is serious. They are going to David. They will show him everything. They will try to stop the wedding.”
She turned slowly. Her eyes met mine. Hollow. Dark. Exhausted. Empty almost. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said.
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“I’ve already won. Taken everything. The mansion. The cars. The jewelry. The investments. Controlling interest in his company. Over one and a half billion dollars. All in my name. All legally mine. All transferred. Done. Complete.”
I took a step back, feeling the weight of her words. “That is not winning. That is just taking money.”
She moved past me, sliding onto the couch, curling her legs under her. “It is not just money. It is everything he stole from me. Everything he took. Everything Lucia lost. Now it is mine again, plus interest. Plus revenge. Plus justice.”
I sat beside her, careful not to touch her. Just close. “Then stop. Walk away. You have the money. The company. Everything material. Just disappear. Start over. Be yourself again.”
She laughed softly. Bitter. Dry. Broken. “Which self? Lucia died two years ago. Isabella is a ghost. I do not know who I am anymore. I cannot find her. Cannot find myself. Maybe Lucia was always this dark. Always capable of destruction. Always monstrous.”
“You are not a monster.”
“Am I not?” Her eyes flashed with something raw, something feral, something I had never seen before. “Look at what I have done. Destroyed Anna. Broke Yvonne. Bankrupted David. Made them suffer like I suffered. That is not redemption. That is not justice. That is cruelty.”
I reached for her hand. Cold. Trembling slightly. She let me take it. “It is karma,” I said. “It is them paying for what they did. It is justice.”
She shook her head slowly. “Is it? Or is it just me? Becoming what they made me. Becoming the villain. The thing they feared. Becoming exactly what they deserve but also exactly what I hate. I am trapped in it. I cannot escape.”
I cupped her face in my hands. Thumbs stroking her cheeks. Feeling the skin beneath my fingers. Feeling the person she was before all this. Before revenge. Before Isabella. Before the mask. “Then choose now. Cancel the wedding. Come with me. Disappear. We can start over. Forget all this. Forget them. Forget David. Forget revenge. Choose love now. Choose us now. Choose real now.”
Her eyes welled with tears. A single drop ran down her cheek. “I cannot abandon the plan. Cannot stop now. It is too close. Too near. Five more days. That is all. Then the altar. Then abandonment. Then it is done. Then it is over. Then I am free. Then we are free. Then everything is complete.”
“You will not be free. You will be more trapped than ever. Trapped by what you have become. Trapped by what you have done. Trapped by who you have destroyed. Including yourself.”
She stood suddenly, walking back to the windows. I followed. “What plans?” I asked. “What are you planning after the wedding? After the abandonment? After everything?”
She didn’t turn to face me. She stared at the city lights. “You. Us. Together. After revenge ends. After everything finishes. Then you. Then love. Then real. Then everything we talked about. Everything I swore. Everything I want. You.”
I stepped closer, pressing my hand to her back. “Then cancel the wedding. Leave now. We can start the future tonight. Tonight. Forget the revenge. Forget the plan. Forget David. Forget everything else. Just you and me. Just us. Now.”
Her shoulders stiffened. Her fingers pressed into her palms. “I cannot. Five more days. That is all. Then you. Then always. Then forever. Then everything we promised. Everything sworn. Everything we wanted. Everything we needed. Everything we deserved. Five more days.”
I tried to hold her. She let me touch her, but her eyes told me she was elsewhere. Already plotting. Already calculating. Already rehearsing the perfect moment of destruction. “I am afraid,” I whispered. “Afraid I will lose you. Afraid this revenge will consume you. Afraid you will stand there at the altar and feel nothing. Just emptiness. Just loss. Just regret. Afraid you will be too broken to rebuild. Too destroyed to find yourself. Too lost to save, even for me. Even for love. Even for us.”
She turned slowly, resting her forehead against my chest. “Trust me. Trust that I know what I am doing. Trust that five days will not destroy us. Trust me. Trust us. Trust everything.”
And then she kissed me. Hard. Desperate. Needing. Wanting. Clinging. I kissed her back. Felt her melt into me. Felt the real woman beneath the mask. Felt her breathing match mine. Felt her heart beat against mine. Felt the old Lucia surface beneath Isabella’s carefully constructed exterior.
We moved to the bedroom. Hands exploring. Mouths tasting. Bodies entwined. Urgent. Needing. Desperate. Every touch, every gasp, every tremble an affirmation of being alive. Being human. Being together. Everything real. Everything true. Everything us.
Hours passed. I lost track of time. Sleep came eventually, heavy, deep, restorative. Her head rested on my chest. My arms wrapped around her. Peaceful almost. Like the war inside her paused. Like revenge rested. Like Lucia existed again. Just for this moment. Just for me. Just for us.
Morning came harsh and unforgiving. The bed beside me was empty. The sheets held her scent. The pillow still showed the indentation of her head. The bedroom had the evidence of her existence, but she was gone.
I searched the penthouse. Bathroom. Kitchen. Living room. Every corner. Empty. She was gone. No note. No text. No message. No explanation. Just vanished.
I picked up the phone. Typed message after message. No reply. Voicemail. Nothing. It was as if she had never been there. As if everything last night had been a dream. A perfect, fleeting dream.
The reality hit me. She had gone back to the plan. Back to Isabella. Back to David. Back to the wedding. Back to revenge. She had left me with memories of a night that had been real, filled with love, but now all I had were ghosts.
Four days until the wedding. Four days until the altar. Four days until David waited. Four days until she abandoned him. Four days until revenge was complete. Four days until everything she promised was fulfilled.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Fingers clutching the sheets. Breathing shallow. Heart pounding. Every minute stretching into hours. Every thought circling. Every scenario replaying in my mind.
Would she come back to me? Or was she lost to Isabella completely?
Would she fulfill the plan perfectly? Or would a part of her fracture under the weight of what she had become?
Would she look at David and see the man who had wronged her, the man she had plotted against for two years, and feel nothing? Or would she falter?
I replayed every touch. Every kiss. Every whispered word from last night. Felt her body next to mine. Remembered the way she had clung. The way she had been real. The way she had been mine.
And then the absence. The void. The emptiness of the room. Of the bed. Of my arms. Of everything.
I could not stop thinking about David. About what she was planning. About how precise she could be. About how perfectly cruel she could be. About how it would feel to watch him wait at that altar, knowing she would never come.
Four days. Every hour a countdown. Every minute a reminder. Every second a beating drum in my chest.
I went through the penthouse like a man possessed. Living room. Kitchen. Office. Bedroom. Every corner, every window, every space checked. Nothing. Silence. Emptiness. Proof that she had existed only in memory. Only in the brief time that had been ours.
I sat back down. Fingers tracing the sheets she had slept on. Smelling her faint perfume. Feeling the warmth she had left behind. Feeling the echo of her presence.
Four days.
Then everything. Or nothing.
Us or alone.
Love or loss.
Real or ghost.
Forever or never.
Everything or empty.
Four days.
Starting now.
Alone.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Trusting.
Four days.
The penthouse was silent. The city outside moved. Unaware. Indifferent. Cold. But I could not stop thinking. Could not stop fearing. Could not stop waiting. Could not stop hoping. Could not stop trusting.
Four days.
Then everything.