Mixed blood

Chapter 31: So am I now

The mansion loomed in silence as Luana stepped inside. She walked upstairs like a ghost on autopilot. He didn't come after me. Not a call. Not a message. Nothing.

She pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside. It smelled faintly of her perfume and his cologne—a mixture that used to make the space suffocating. 

She moved like a machine, undressing piece by piece until the cold air kissed her bare skin. The shower was scalding, and yet she still felt cold.

She scrubbed harder than usual, as if she could peel away the image burned into her mind.

He had his entertainment. His favorite blonde. Why would he care to explain anything to the woman he was forced to marry?

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, skin pink from the heat, hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. She dried off slowly, wrapping herself in a silk pjs, and moved to her vanity, eyes dull.

And then she saw it.

The wedding ring, exactly where she'd left it. She stared at it for a long moment. Her fingers reached out almost unwillingly, closing around it.

Luana lifted it up, inspecting it between her fingers.

This is stupid.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

It's not a symbol of love. Not even respect. Just a contract.

A way to merge two names and control two empires.

Her throat tightened, her eyes burning, but she blinked quickly, forcing the tears back. She wouldn't cry. Not over him.

With a sharp inhale, she set the ring back down on the table and turned away. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers around herself.

He's probably laughing right now. Drinking something expensive, maybe shirtless, letting her run her hands all over him.

And I'm here. In our bed. Alone. Not like he used to sleep with me but still.

What will I do now?

Ask for a divorce?

No, not yet!

She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine the sound of his voice.

Sleep hadn't come easily.

The next morning, she got up, slipped into a pair of soft flats, and padded downstairs.

The soft scent of roasted coffee beans greeted her before she even reached the bottom step.

William Antonio Russo, already seated at the breakfast table, looking entirely too calm, sipping his espresso like he hadn't just burned their entire marriage to the ground the night before.

He looked up when he heard her footsteps, and—God help her—he smiled.

"Good morning," he said, voice smooth, casual.

She didn't reply. Just walked past him with her head held high.

"Gloria," she said, gently but firmly, eyes still on the coffee pot. "My coffee, please."

Luana sat down across from him, folding one leg over the other. She didn't so much as look at him, choosing instead to tear a croissant delicately with her fingers, placing the pieces on her plate with grace that was almost surgical.

William watched her for a moment. Then leaned back, smirking slightly. "So... about last night, it wasn't like you think—"

"Save it."