Chapter 50

Mila

Lance hasn’t said a single word to me since we got into the car.

Not a word.

Not even a glance.

The silence is loud, thick, suffocating, pressing against my ears until I feel like screaming just to break it. His presence beside me is colder than the air conditioning blasting through the car, and that’s saying something.

After vomiting all over his shoes , I suppose I deserve it.

He had been even colder than usual afterward, if that was even possible. I still remembered how calmly he had ordered the staff to burn the clothes the moment we landed. Burn them.

As if they were contaminated evidence from a crime scene.

In my opinion, it was just his shoes. He was being dramatic.

But I kept quiet throughout the ride. I knew better than to anger Lance, especially not when I was clearly at fault. There were some things you simply didn’t poke at if you wanted to survive, Lance Moretti’s temper being one of them.

Still… a small, wicked part of me couldn’t help the flicker of excitement dancing in my chest.

Maybe this was payback for all the harshness he’d thrown at me since we got married. Maybe the universe finally decided to tilt slightly in my favor.

“Stop looking at me.”

Lance’s voice sliced through my thoughts like a blade.

I blinked, startled, realization crashing down on me all at once. I had been staring at him, lost in my head, completely unaware of how long my eyes had lingered.

I shifted awkwardly, adjusting my position, my cheeks heating up as I looked away.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

He turned to me then, slowly. Too slowly.

“If sorry fixed everything,” Lance said coolly, “I would have snapped your neck on the plane.”

My breath hitched.

His eyes, dark, empty, merciless...locked onto mine. It felt like he was looking straight through my skin, straight into the mess of fear and guilt I was trying so hard to hide.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, the words tumbling out faster than I intended.

“Snapping your neck would have been cleaner,” he continued, his voice dangerously calm.

“I’d apologize to Elena and Cassie, and I’m sure they wouldn’t make much of a fuss. In fact, they’d probably be happy for me.”

Every word was deliberate.

Every word was meant to hurt.

My expression changed despite my best efforts. His words struck something raw inside me, and I felt the heat rise, anger, humiliation, pain, all boiling beneath my skin.

But I said nothing.

Tonight, I was the guilty one. And guilty people didn’t get to talk back. I let him vent, even though each sentence felt like a knife carving deeper into me.

The car finally slowed, pulling to a stop. Lance got out immediately, slamming the door shut without so much as a glance in my direction, walking ahead as though no one else existed behind him.

I followed silently.

The house was… massive.

Not as enormous as the mansion back home, but still impressive in a way that made my chest tighten. Wealth clung to the walls, to the floors, to the air itself. Every detail screamed Lance, cold elegance, sharp edges, control.

I still had no idea where we were.

And I couldn’t ask anymore. Lance was far too angry, and I wasn’t brave, or foolish, enough to poke that fire again.

A lady walked in, dressed in the same uniform I’d seen the maids wear back at the mansion. She smiled warmly and bowed lightly.

“Good day, ma’am. I am Viola. Please follow me.”

Her accent was strong, musical. My idle brain immediately began trying to place it, scanning countries and continents without success.

I followed her, my curiosity growing with every step. The house was stunning, tasteful, expensive, familiar. This wasn’t just a vacation home. This was his.

I hesitated, my lips pursed, torn between asking and staying silent.

It felt strange, not knowing where I was in the world, like a parcel delivered without an address.

Eventually, I gave in.

“Um… Viola,” I called.

She turned, smiling politely again. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Where are we?” I asked.

She glanced around briefly. “This is the art room,” she said, gesturing toward a closed door beside us.

“No… I mean..where are we?” I repeated, slower this time, hoping she’d understand.

“Oh,” she said softly, realization dawning.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” She bowed slightly again. “We are currently in Sicily.”

“What?” My mouth fell open.

“You mean… Italy?” I whisper-yelled, suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings.

She nodded.

All the way from New York to Sicily...for a honeymoon.

I shook my head in disbelief as we continued walking. It really was good to be filthy rich.

Viola stopped in front of a door, opening it for me. The room was unmistakably mine...the decor mirrored my room back at the mansion almost perfectly, as though Lance had copied and pasted it here.

I sat on the bed, sinking into the softness, taking everything in.

“Your belongings will be brought up shortly, ma’am,” Viola said kindly. “You may call me if you need anything.” She gestured to the landline on the bedside table

“Okay,” I replied, watching her closely.

She smiled once more before quietly closing the door behind her.

Italian.

No wonder she was so beautiful.

I lay back on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge, swinging slowly as my hands rested behind my neck. My gaze fixed on the ceiling, my thoughts drifting despite myself.

Mary.

The worry returned, heavy and familiar. Mary had always talked about traveling together, about escaping, about starting over somewhere far away. We never got to do any of that.

When she woke up, maybe we could. Maybe we could leave New York behind, leave Elena and Cassie behind, and finally breathe.

I sighed deeply and closed my eyes.

My legs felt like lead when I woke up.

I must have fallen asleep awkwardly because they were sore from hanging off the bed. I rubbed my eyes and stood, walking toward the window.

The view stole my breath.

The ocean stretched endlessly before me, the water shimmering under the sunlight. People walked along the beach below, laughing, talking, living so freely it hurt to watch.

Then my eyes caught something else.

Lance.

He was walking along the shore...shirtless, wearing loose bohemian shorts, which I found weird on him, he looked really handsome. Some girl would be there daydreaming about the guy walking on the beach shirtless not knowing how cold and uncaring he is.

My breath caught when he I looked at his muscles, even from this distance it looked perfect

And then I saw her.

A lady walking beside him.

My brows furrowed as I leaned closer to the window, my heart beginning to race. The familiarity hit me like a punch to the chest.

My eyes widened.