I let out a light laugh and said to Lorenzo, “It’s just a wedding dress. If she likes it, then let her have it.” Then I left the two of them where they stood. “I’ve got business to see to. I’ll head out now.”
Lorenzo froze, watching me walk away without another word.
Later that evening, Lorenzo came to collect me himself for the first time in months. He brought a small mango cake with him, holding it out like a peace offering.
But the problem? I’m allergic to mango.
It’s Sabina who loved mango, not me. After eight years bound by the pact between us, he still didn’t know the difference.
“I figured you’d forget to eat while you were buried in work, so I brought this for you,” he said, as though a box of pastry could settle a debt. He wanted me to take the bait, to play along the way I always did.
So I did. I smiled brightly, pretending to be touched. “Thank you so much.”
Lorenzo looked surprised that I didn’t argue or complain.
On the drive back through the territory, the city lights sliding past the tinted glass, he glanced over at me. “Adriana, are you angry with me?”
My thoughts were elsewhere. Closing out my affairs, putting my ledgers in order, making sure I left clean instructions for the young associate who came up under me. I didn’t catch his words properly, so I let out an ah.
I offered a small apology. “Sorry. I got lost in thought. What were you saying?”
Perhaps my tone came out too cold.
He braked hard and turned his head to look at me. “Are you still sore about that wedding dress?”
“Hmm?” I blinked, genuinely confused. “Why would I be? No. Of course not.”
Lorenzo studied me for a few seconds, searching my face for anger. But all he found was calm indifference. His hand tightened on the wheel as he eased the car forward again. His voice, though, came out hoarse. “You’ve changed. You’re not like this. Not the way you used to be.”
He wasn’t wrong.
A year ago, after Sabina finished her schooling and came back to our city, both Lorenzo and I changed. We fought without end because of her. He always swore he treated Sabina as nothing more than a little sister and told me to stop being unreasonable.
“She’s like a little sister to me. Stop making something out of nothing!” he’d snap, defending her every single time.
The worst of it was the night he lost his temper completely and leveled a finger at me.
In that moment he said, “Adriana, listen to yourself. If there were anything between me and Sabina, would I still be standing here with you? You came to me with nothing. No name left, no protection, no cash flow of your own. If I cut you loose, how would you even survive?”
We held a cold war for a month after that. In the end, I swallowed my pride and begged his forgiveness.
But love doesn’t die all at once. It fades, bit by bit, like ice melting under the sun. Over the past year, the endless fighting and Sabina’s smug presence drained whatever feeling I had left for him.
Now I couldn’t even summon a reaction.
I smiled faintly. “You’re right. I wasn’t very mature before. But I’ve grown up now. I’ll do better.”
Because soon I won’t be here at all, I thought. I felt the small ring turn once against my knuckle.
Before bed that night, while Lorenzo was in the shower, I saw Sabina’s newest post surface on her feed.
Nine photos.
She wore my wedding dress, smiling radiantly as she clung to the man I was pledged to.
[Marrying the one I love! Xixixi!]
Dozens of their circle liked it. Friends from the clubs, soldiers’ wives, the whole social orbit that revolved around the Family.
Someone even commented, [Wait, isn’t that Lorenzo in the background?]
Sabina’s reply came quick and smug. [Yes! My brother favors me the most!]
I quietly tapped like on the post, set my phone down, and got ready for bed.
I had only just lain down when the mattress dipped beside me. Lorenzo’s cool skin pressed against mine as he slid an arm around my waist.
“Adriana…” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my nightgown, fingers trailing along my skin.
I shifted, putting space between us. Then I gently caught his hand and said, “Lorenzo, I’m tired tonight. I don’t want to.”
In all the years bound to him by the pact, I had never once refused him.
In the past, whenever tempers flared, it was almost always settled here, in the dark. Lorenzo loved taking his time, teasing and coaxing me into surrender until I was the one asking. And afterward he would hold me tightly, whispering that everything was fine, asking me not to be jealous anymore.
But tonight, I felt nothing.
