Sylvia and Luke appear to have the perfect life. A thriving fashion startup, a beautiful four-year-old daughter, and a love that began when they met at Harvard Business School. But beneath the surface, Luke hides a dark secret-he's the heir to one o...
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I wish I could leave Luke. If I can magically get back to New York and get on with my life like he's just some terrible ex, I would. The things I've known about him for years seem like lies. He married me and took my last name-did he do that because he loves me, or was it just a way to stay undetected?
But he's not some terrible ex. He's my husband. He's the father of my daughter. He's seen me go through some of the worst moments of my life and chose to stay with no second thoughts. He's helped me go through some of them. He's helped me heal, piece by shattered piece. Helped find joy in the mundane. We built a life together, a messy, beautiful life filled with takeout nights and inside jokes and the ever-present chaos of raising a toddler. And now, with one revelation, the foundation of that life feels like it's crumbling beneath me.
I knew what Giana wanted when she showed me her ring. She probably thought if she can make me decide to stay here permanently, she won't have to lose her son. And I understand her desperation. I can't even imagine if Lyria just suddenly disappeared because she wasn't happy.
But I have a life. I also have responsibilities back in New York. I have a career, friends who are like family, and a world that makes sense to me. The thought of abandoning it all, of uprooting Lyria from everything she's ever known, fills me with dread. I don't want to raise Lyria here. Where she'll probably be treated the same as Luke was before he decided to run away.
This place, with its grand halls and opulent rooms, is a prison disguised as a palace. Luke grew up under the weight of expectations, his every move scrutinized, his every failure magnified. And I can't even imagine the things he was exposed to and went through. I can see the ghosts of his past in the way he carries himself. I don't want that for Lyria. I want her to grow up free, to chase her dreams without any trauma like Luke and I went through.
Giana's ring, beautiful and ancient, is a symbol of all the things I fear. It represents a life of control, of being molded into something that fits the Biancchi mold. I can see the longing in Giana's eyes, the hope that I'll be the key to keeping Luke here, tethered to this place. But I can't let that happen. I won't let Lyria be another link in a chain of unhappiness.
I sink into the plush armchair, its worn leather the only familiar comfort in this cavernous library. I've spent the majority of the last few days here with Lyria ever since Luke was summoned for those meetings with his father since we got here a few days ago. Everywhere I turn, there's a flurry of activity - staff scurrying around with meticulously ironed tablecloths, florists arranging extravagant bouquets, and caterers unloading mountains of exotic ingredients. The impending wedding between Alessandra and Matteo seems to be the sole focus in this house, it's easier to hide.
Sunlight streams through stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the Persian rugs. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that thrums through the rest of the manor. Needing an outlet, I grab a sheet of paper and a pencil, the familiar feel grounding me. My mind, desperate for escape, latched onto the next collection of Muse. Sketches begin to form on the paper, each stroke a desperate attempt to drown out the roar of unanswered questions echoing in my head.
Across from me, Lyria on the floor, engrossed in a pretend tea party with her teddy bear - the one Giana had given her, a small concession I'd allowed myself. Giana hasn't been threatening, at least for now.
A sigh escapes my lips, a tiny sound that seemed to hang heavy in the vast silence of the library. Looking at Lyria, so innocent and oblivious to the storm brewing around her, a fierce protectiveness surged through me. This life, this tangled web of lies, wasn't what I'd signed up for. But for her, for my daughter, I would face it all. The anger at Luke, the fear of the unknown, the gnawing sense of betrayal - they all paled in comparison to the fierce love I have for her.
The sound of my daughter's happy squeal, a beacon of light in the growing darkness, was the only answer I needed. For now, this was enough. For now, I would focus on my daughter, on the life we'd built together, on the uncertain future that stretches before us. And then, when I had the strength, I would deal with Luke and the monumental fuck up he brought us into.
Suddenly the library door creaks open, shattering the fragile peace I'd constructed. My breath hitches, the pencil posies over the paper dropping with a clatter. Alessandra walks in. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she carries herself with an air of casual elegance that seems out of place in this old mansion. Her blue eyes scan the room before settling on me.
She offers a polite, but guarded, smile. "Hi, Sylvia," she says, her English is broken, but her voice is smooth and confident with a tint of concern. "How are you?"
I force a smile, trying to match her composure despite the unwelcome jolt of her arrival. "Hello, Alessandra. I'm... I'm doing alright, thank you for asking." My voice sounds small in the vast library, the silence after her question heavy with unspoken tension.
Her eyes flick to Lyria, who's still engrossed in her tea party, oblivious to the tension radiating from the adults in the room. "Your daughter is beautiful," she says, her voice softening. "She reminds me of Luca when he was her age."
The mention of Luke's real name sets my teeth on edge, but I try to keep my composure. "Thank you. She's our world."
Alessandra nods, her gaze lingering on Lyria for a moment longer before turning back to me. "I know this must be overwhelming for you," she says, her tone genuinely sympathetic. "Luca's return has stirred up a lot of old memories, for everyone."
'Yeah I bet' I swallow hard, not trusting myself to speak. The air between us feels charged, like a storm waiting to break. Alessandra seems to sense my discomfort and takes a step back, giving me space.
"I don't want to intrude," she says gently. "But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I've known Luca and Matteo for a long time, and... well, I understand how complicated his life can be."
Her offer is unexpected, and it takes me a moment to process it. I nod slowly, not quite ready to trust her but appreciating the gesture nonetheless. "Thank you, Alessandra. I might take you up on that."
She smiles again, this time a bit more warmly. "I hope you do. In the meantime, I want to invite you to join me for lunch in the garden. I thought it might be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better."
Lunch in the garden. It sounds so civilized, so normal, in stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside me. But maybe normal is what we need right now. Maybe a semblance of normalcy can help us navigate this mess. I just hope that she doesn't try to pry too much into my life.
"Alright," I agree, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We'll be there."
Alessandra's smile widens. "Great. I will see you out there."
As she turns to leave, I glance back at Lyria, who's now carefully arranging her stuffed animals in a neat row. I feel a pang of guilt for dragging her into this complicated web of family secrets and lies. But then I remember why we're here - to protect her, to keep her safe. And for that, I'll endure whatever it takes.
When Alessandra's footsteps fade down the hallway, I turn my attention back to my sketches, trying to focus on the familiar lines and patterns. But the image of the emerald ring Giana showed me lingers in my mind, a constant reminder of the fact that I never really knew Luke before this.
Taking a deep breath, I call out to Lyria again. "Come on, sweetie. Let's get ready for lunch. We're going to the garden."
She jumps up, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yay! I love the garden!"
Her joy is infectious, and for a moment, it chases away the shadows. As I help her tidy up her tea party, I remind myself that I'm not alone in this. I have my daughter, my strength, and my resolve.
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