Twisted Veil of Devotion

Part 16

Zane POV:

I slammed the door to my chambers behind me, the echo rattling through the empty hallway. My steps were heavy, my breath sharp and uneven as I leaned against the cold stone wall. My chest felt tight, like something was trying to claw its way out.

Damn it.

I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as I tried to steady myself. Her cries still echoed in my head, soft but relentless, like they were carved into my skull. I shouldn't care. I've made people cry before—hell, I've made people beg for their lives without flinching. But this? Her? It was different.

The sound of her sobbing was cutting through me in ways I couldn't explain. I was furious—at her, at myself, at the damn world for making this harder than it needed to be. She wasn't supposed to fight me like this, wasn't supposed to make me feel like this.

I pushed off the wall and started walking, my pace quickening as the tension in my chest grew. Two of my men were stationed near the hallway. They stiffened as I approached, their gazes dropping.

"Go," I ordered, my voice sharper than I intended.

They didn't hesitate, disappearing down the corridor without a word. Good. I didn't need anyone looking at me like I'd lost my edge.

I needed to think.

I strode into my study, closing the door firmly behind me. The room was dim, the only light coming from the dying fire in the hearth. I poured a glass of whiskey from the decanter on my desk, my hand tightening around the crystal as I brought it to my lips. The burn of the liquor was nothing compared to the fire already raging inside me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I slammed the glass down onto the desk, watching the amber liquid spill over the rim and pool onto the wood. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Stella was supposed to be mine—mine to protect, mine to hold, mine to love. But instead, she fought me at every turn, her defiance like a knife in my side.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as I tried to make sense of the storm inside me. I wasn't used to feeling this way—off balance, unsure. Stella was testing me, pushing me in ways no one ever dared.

And yet, I couldn't break her. Not completely.

The image made my chest ache in a way I didn't want to acknowledge. I'd left her there broken, and part of me knew she deserved it for defying me. But another part of me—a part I didn't want to admit existed—hated the thought of her tears.

Without thinking, I was already moving, my feet carrying me back toward my chambers. The pull I felt toward her was maddening, a restless ache that wouldn't let me go.

The Order

The three men sat in the exclusive lounge, their voices low, their eyes sharp, each aware of the power dynamics at play. Juan Vicente, the leader of their small but influential group, leaned forward, his gaze steady as he spoke first.

"He finally got her back," Juan said, his tone laced with both admiration and concern. His eyes flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of the fine furnishings that adorned the space. "But we all knew he wouldn't stop until he had her back in his grasp."

Ismael Amado, leaned back in his chair, swirling the scotch in his glass. He took a slow sip before responding, his words casual, yet laced with understanding. "Yeah... we all knew Zane was obsessed. But now that he's back in Italy with her... we need to figure out how to get to her."

The server, a young woman in a tight black dress, approached the table with a fresh bottle of scotch. She poured Ismael a generous amount before quickly retreating. Without thinking, Ismael slapped her behind as she passed, earning a startled yelp from her. Roberto Ramon, the third man at the table, chuckled at the interaction.