The things we never had

Chapter 11

I went downstairs, and it was just me and Rome. No one else was around. The air felt heavy, like something was off, and a strange voice inside my head was telling me to run—to get away. But I ignored it. He's my brother, I reminded myself. He wouldn't hurt me, right?

We stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only about thirty seconds. He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. He didn't care that I saw him doing it. In fact, it seemed like he wanted me to see. His gaze roamed over me, not in a casual way, but like he was searching for something—an imperfection, a mistake in my appearance.

Then he smiled.

A chill ran down my spine, and goosebumps erupted across my skin. Something was wrong. The voice in my head, the one that had been whispering to me before, was now screaming. Run. Get out.

His smile wasn't warm or friendly. It was cold, calculated, and dark. It wasn't the smile of a brother—it was the smile of someone who wanted me dead. His eyes gleamed with something sinister, something I couldn't fully understand but recognized as dangerous. There was a murderous glint in his gaze that I'd never seen before.

He took a step forward.

Without thinking, my body reacted. I automatically began to back away, my heart pounding in my chest. Every instinct I had was telling me to leave, to get out of this room before it was too late.

Before I could run, Christian stepped into the room. He glanced at me, dressed casually in linen trousers and a polo shirt, sunglasses perched on his head, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. His presence, calm and collected, immediately shifted the tension in the room.

"Where are you going, Sophia?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with an underlying curiosity.

I gulped, trying to steady my breath, but my voice came out weak. "To my room... I forgot something."

His expression didn't change. He didn't look concerned, but there was something in his eyes, something that made it clear he knew something was off. "Go get it," he said simply.

I didn't need to be told twice. I rushed up the stairs, my legs shaky beneath me. My heart was still racing, and my ears were ringing from the sudden rush of adrenaline that had coursed through me. I reached my room and slammed the door shut, my back pressed against it as I tried to catch my breath. My chest heaved, and I could feel the aftershocks of the encounter with Rome settling in, the fear still lingering like a cold shadow.

When the ringing in my ears finally began to fade, I heard something else—shouting. I froze, straining to listen. The voices were muffled, but there was no mistaking the angry tones. The words were in a different language, thick accents making it nearly impossible to decipher who was speaking or what they were saying. The voices echoed through the house, filled with aggression, and I had no idea what had just erupted downstairs.

I pressed my ear to the door, my heart pounding in rhythm with the shouts, but I still couldn't make out anything clearly. The unknown language only added to my growing fear, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. What had just happened? Why were they shouting?

I stood there, my back pressed against the door, the shouting below echoing up the stairs. My heart pounded in my chest as I debated what to do. Every instinct told me to stay in my room, to lock the door and wait for everything to calm down. But the curiosity, the need to know what was happening, pulled me forward.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned the door handle and stepped out into the hallway. My legs felt shaky as I descended the stairs, the shouting growing louder with each step. The unfamiliar words hit my ears, but I couldn't understand any of it. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating, and my skin prickled with unease.