That evening, Luca took me to one of the city's most exclusive Italian restaurants. Everything about the place was flawless, from the elegant décor and perfectly plated dishes to the breathtaking skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
It should have felt romantic.
Instead, I felt absolutely nothing.
Luca sat across from me, appearing as calm and composed as ever, but I noticed the subtle glances he kept stealing at his phone. He wasn't distracted by work.
He was waiting.
Waiting for a message from her.
Because she was his wife.
The moment his phone rang, he answered so quickly it was obvious he'd been anticipating the call. In his haste, his thumb slipped onto the wrong button.
The speakerphone turned on.
Celeste's terrified voice echoed across the table.
"I... I've been kidnapped! I don't know where they're taking me..." she cried between shaky breaths. "But maybe it's for the best. If I disappear, Miss Hart won't have to be upset anymore. Ah...! Someone, please help me!"
The call abruptly disconnected.
The color drained from Luca's face.
He immediately dialed her number.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
No answer.
Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet mine.
His voice was controlled, but the strain beneath it was impossible to miss.
"Camille... where did you send her?"
I stared at him in confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"If you're angry, tell me." His tone grew harder with every word. "I'll deal with it myself. You don't have to dirty your own hands. Why would you do something this reckless?"
I slowly placed my fork on the table.
"I'll say this one more time," I replied evenly. "I had nothing to do with it."
Without warning, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.
"So you're really going to deny it?" he snapped. "Celeste isn't mentally stable. She can't handle something like this."
My heart lurched.
"Camille," he continued impatiently, "can you stop for just a minute? I know you lost your hand, but she's suffered too. Haven't you done enough? Just let her go."
For several seconds, I couldn't even breathe.
She had suffered?
A bitter laugh almost escaped me.
She had attacked me with an axe.
Someone had protected her from facing prison.
She got to marry the man she'd always wanted.
She spent four years hidden away, cherished and cared for.
And now...
She had her freedom.
So who exactly was the victim here?
Who had spent all those years fighting alone?
I swallowed the lump in my throat and met his gaze.
"I already told you it wasn't me." My voice remained calm despite the tears burning behind my eyes. "And whether this hand was transplanted or not... it still feels pain."
Luca froze.
His eyes dropped to my wrist, where angry red marks had already begun to form beneath his grip.
"Damn it..." He immediately let go, guilt flashing across his face. "Camille, I'm sorry. I thought you were acting impulsively. I didn't mean to hurt you."
After a moment, he frowned.
"Where are the rings I gave you? Why aren't you wearing them?"
I nearly laughed.
"You accidentally gave me the men's ring," I reminded him. "It was too big, so I took it off."
He blinked in surprise before giving a small nod.
"Alright. We'll switch them back once we get home."
Just like that, the conversation ended.
It was as though Celeste's disappearance had never happened.
...
Three nights later, long after midnight, Luca's phone rang again.
He stood up immediately and headed for the door.
Just before leaving, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at me.
I remained exactly where I was, quietly reading, making no attempt to question him or ask where he was going.
For a brief moment, uncertainty crossed his face.
It was almost as though he didn't know what to do with this quieter version of me.
He hesitated.
For one second, I thought he might stay.
Then his phone rang again.
"Something came up at the company," he said hurriedly before walking out.
He never returned that night.
Instead, a single message appeared on my phone.
[Camille, work's keeping me late tonight. Don't wait for me. Get some sleep. Love you.]
I looked at the screen for several seconds before locking my phone.
Those words no longer meant anything.
The following morning, one of the maids informed me that someone had come looking for me.
As soon as I stepped outside, something struck the back of my head.
Everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, my wrists and ankles were tightly bound, and tape sealed my mouth shut. I found myself inside a private room at a nightclub, where the distant thump of music seeped through the walls.
Someone had changed my clothes.
I was wearing the same servant's uniform and mask Celeste had worn before.
My hair...
It was gone.
The long hair Luca had always loved had been hacked away, leaving it uneven and barely reaching my ears.
The door suddenly burst open.
"Wife," Luca said in a dangerously quiet voice, "is this the woman who imprisoned you and tortured you for three days?"
"It's her!" Celeste sobbed without hesitation. "She said Miss Hart ordered her to make my life miserable... to make me beg for death. She locked me up, tortured me, and even brought men in to humiliate me." Her voice cracked as she buried her face in her hands. "I... I barely escaped alive..."
I struggled desperately against the ropes, trying to scream.
The tape reduced every sound to muffled cries.
Luca's expression darkened.
"Camille has gone too far this time." His voice was cold enough to freeze the room. "I won't lay a hand on her... but someone has to pay for what she's done."
He held out his hand.
"Bring me the salt whip."
Fear swept through my body.
Celeste wasn't simply framing me anymore.
She wanted Luca to believe I was a monster.
Someone deserving of punishment.
Luca accepted the whip before walking slowly toward me.
For the briefest moment, he paused.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Something about me seemed familiar.
Perhaps it was my eyes.
Perhaps it was instinct.
The room was dimly lit, and I thought...
For one impossible second...
That he might recognize me.
Then Celeste wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"Honey..." she whispered tearfully. "Thank you for protecting me. That woman hurt me so much..."
In that instant, I understood why he hadn't recognized me.
I had never worn a servant's uniform.
I had always kept my hair long because he loved it that way.
The woman kneeling before him now had uneven, cropped hair, a cheap uniform, and a mask hiding half her face.
In his mind, she couldn't possibly be Camille.
I watched the last trace of hesitation disappear from his eyes.
The warmth I'd once known vanished completely, replaced by the ruthless man everyone else feared.
"If anyone dares lay a finger on my wife," he growled, lifting the whip, "I'll make them suffer a thousand times worse. Do you hear me? I'll make you regret the day you were born."
The whip cracked through the air with a deafening snap.
A split second later, it tore across my back.
Pain exploded through my body as the salt-soaked barbs ripped into my skin, leaving burning trails that felt as though they had been carved open by claws.
