A sudden gust of wind cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold, snapping me back to the present. My body swayed slightly, but I steadied myself and climbed out of the trunk. My legs felt heavy, each step an effort, but I forced them forward.
I had barely taken a few steps when his voice rang out behind me, cold and sharp as a blade.
"Did you forget something?"
I stopped.
For a moment, I said nothing. Then, quietly, almost mechanically, I replied, "…Sorry."
Every time I came back, this was what he demanded.
An apology to Celeste.
For making her nauseous.
For dying in front of her.
For existing at all.
The words came out calm, stripped of any emotion. I straightened my back, as much as my battered body allowed, and continued walking without looking back.
Perhaps it was my obedience this time that pleased him. Or perhaps he simply hadn't had enough.
"This car is dirty," Dominic said after a pause. "Clean it. We'll ride back with the steward."
I heard the car door open and close behind me. When I turned slightly, I saw him stepping out, one arm carefully shielding Celeste's belly, his brows drawn together in concern, every movement gentle, protective. Two soldiers materialized from the follow car and flanked them without a word, hands loose at their sides, eyes scanning the road.
I had been pregnant once too.
But at three months, the dog I had raised barked at Celeste, startling her.
That was enough.
Dominic had unleashed two mastiffs on me without hesitation. Their teeth tore into my flesh, ripping through skin and muscle alike. I could still remember the pain, sharp and endless, the way my body collapsed under their weight.
And the child inside me…
Didn't survive.
He had looked at me afterward, expression cold, almost bored.
"Children can come again," he had said flatly. "But if I don't teach you a lesson, you'll never learn your place."
Now, I would never bear a child again.
But at least…
I was free.
The walk back to the estate felt endless. Each step dragged, pain radiating through my entire body. The road blurred in and out of focus, but I kept moving, driven by nothing more than habit. The iron gate of the Bellandi compound rose against the dark sky long before I reached it, flanked by cameras that watched everything and forgave nothing.
By the time I reached the house, they were already there.
The two of them walked in together, close, intimate, as if the world existed only for them. His hand rested protectively on her, his posture soft in a way I had never seen directed at me.
I stepped forward to follow.
But the house steward blocked my path.
His expression was awkward, almost apologetic, but he didn't move aside.
"I'm sorry, signora," he said hesitantly. "The young master said Miss Russo can't stand the smell of blood."
Before I could react, a high-pressure water hose was turned on me.
The force hit like a blow. Ice-cold water slammed into my wounds, tearing through already damaged flesh. Pain exploded instantly, sharp and merciless, ripping a broken cry from my throat.
My body gave out beneath me. I crumpled to the ground on the stone courtyard, shaking uncontrollably as the water continued to pour over me, washing away the blood along with what little warmth I had left.
Every second stretched into eternity.
Ten unbearable minutes passed.
By the time it stopped, I could barely feel my limbs.
I lay there for a moment, trembling, before forcing myself to move again. Slowly, painfully, I dragged my soaked, broken body toward the bathroom.
Head lowered.
Clothes clinging to me.
Barely holding together.
There was only one death left.
The final one.
The thought settled in my mind with a strange, quiet clarity, like the last flicker of a dying flame. After everything, after all the pain and the countless times I had crossed that line between life and death, there was only one more step left to take.
"Dominic," Celeste whispered softly, her voice light and almost dreamy, "she's survived ninety-nine times. If our child could be like that too…"
Her words floated in the air, gentle on the surface, but heavy with something darker underneath.
"I know a black clinic," Dominic replied, his tone low and shadowed, as if even speaking about it required caution. "They specialize in deprogramming people with… unusual body types."
"Deprogramming?" Celeste tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting in innocent curiosity, as though she were asking about something harmless.
Dominic's gaze flickered briefly in my direction before he lowered his voice even further.
"We'll talk about it later."
