Chapter 11
Carmen sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the window. A breeze pushed through the slightly open glass, stirring the pale curtains. Outside, the sprawling countryside stretched endlessly, golden under the soft afternoon sun. It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of stillness that let memories creep in without warning.
A firm knock on the door pulled her back. She turned as it opened.
“Is this what you wanted?” Vincent Rossi’s voice carried the faintest edge of mockery as he entered the room. He held a glass of water and a bowl of soup, setting them on the small table near her. “Peace and quiet? You look miserable.”
Carmen met his gaze. “It’s more than I’ve had in weeks.”
Vincent leaned casually against the wall, his sharp blue eyes studying her. He looked so different from Marco—where Marco’s presence burned with fire and heat, Vincent’s was cold steel. He was handsome, though, in a way that always made people uneasy.
“And yet you come here, to me,” he said, his voice low. “You must be truly desperate.”
Carmen flinched at the word. “I didn’t have a choice, Vincent. You know that.”
“I know you ran.” He shrugged, the movement careless, but his tone wasn’t. “From him. After everything, you end up on my doorstep.”
Carmen looked away, her fingers twisting the fabric of her sleeve. “I didn’t come for a fight. I needed… somewhere safe.”
“Safe,” Vincent repeated, pushing off the wall and moving closer. “You think this place is safe? You think I’m safe?”
“You’re not Marco,” she said quietly, but her words hung heavy between them.
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “That’s right. I’m not him. I wouldn’t have let it get this far.”
The silence after that was sharp. Carmen didn’t look up. She felt him staring, waiting for her to break, to say something—anything—that would explain why she’d turned up uninvited, carrying secrets like landmines.
“Why are you really here, Carmen?” Vincent’s voice softened, but the edge never fully disappeared. “Does he know where you are?”
“No.”
“Is he looking for you?”
“…Yes.”
Vincent smirked bitterly and turned toward the door. “Of course he is. Marco Venetti doesn’t like losing.”
She didn’t reply. What could she say? Everything she might have answered felt like betrayal—of Marco, of herself.
Vincent paused at the doorway. “Don’t expect me to play savior, Carmen. I don’t forget the past as easily as you seem to.”
“I don’t expect anything,” she said softly, finally meeting his gaze. “I just want a little time to breathe.”
Vincent hesitated, his eyes flicking over her tired face before he disappeared down the hall. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Carmen alone with the soup that had already gone cold.
The room felt too big. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but her mind drifted to a different place entirely—a night bathed in soft lamplight and laughter.
“You don’t think I’ll do it?”
Carmen’s younger self, years ago, sat on the edge of the Venetti estate’s fountain. Her white dress rippled in the summer air. Marco stood in front of her, grinning like a boy half his age.
“I don’t,” she teased, laughing softly. “You’re too proud to act like a fool in front of everyone.”
“You underestimate how much of a fool I’ll be for you,” he said, his grin widening. Without warning, he kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and stepped straight into the fountain, splashing water everywhere.
“Marco!” Carmen gasped, jumping back as water sprayed her dress.
He laughed loudly, the sound rich and warm, as he spun in the shallow water. “You dared me! And I’ll have you know—” he slipped slightly, catching himself with a hand on the fountain’s edge—“a fool for you is a noble title!”
“You’re insane,” she said, but she couldn’t stop laughing.
Marco looked at her then, the smile on his face softening. Water dripped from his dark hair as he reached out a hand. “Come in. I’m not standing here alone.”
Carmen hesitated, staring at his outstretched fingers.
“Trust me,” he said.
She did. She always did.
Carmen let him pull her into the fountain, shoes and all. The water was cold, but Marco’s hands around her waist were strong and sure as he spun her once, making her squeal. She clung to him, breathless and laughing, as water rippled around them.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured, her lips near his ear.
“And you’re mine,” he replied softly. “Always.”
Always.
The word echoed through her mind now, in Vincent’s quiet house where Marco’s warmth had no place. Carmen turned on her side, clutching the pillow to her chest as tears burned her eyes.
Where had that love gone? When had their promises turned to ashes?
Back at the Venetti estate, Marco paced the length of his study, his movements sharp and restless. The air in the room felt heavy, though no one would dare mention it. Across the desk, Luca stood with his arms crossed, watching Marco with guarded eyes.
“Have you found her yet?” Marco snapped.
Luca shook his head. “No sign of her. We’re looking, Marco, but if she doesn’t want to be found…”
“She can’t hide forever,” Marco said, his voice low. He stopped, leaning heavily against the edge of the desk. “Where would she go?”
“Somewhere safe,” Luca replied, his tone careful. “Somewhere far from here.”
“Safe,” Marco repeated bitterly. “She doesn’t trust me anymore.”
“You don’t think Arianna has something to do with this?” Luca asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing.
Marco straightened. “What are you saying?”
“You’ve been listening to her more than anyone else lately,” Luca said bluntly. “Some of us are starting to think Arianna’s influence isn’t as harmless as it seems.”
Marco’s gaze turned cold. “What are you accusing me of, Luca?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Luca said, though his words carried weight. “But people are starting to doubt you. Sofia can barely look at you without shaking her head.”
Marco’s jaw tightened. “They don’t understand the choices I’ve had to make.”
“And Carmen?” Luca pressed. “What choice did she make, Marco? Why did she leave?”
Silence. Marco turned away, his hands clenching into fists. He wouldn’t answer, because he didn’t have an answer—not one he could live with.
“Find her,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
Luca nodded, though he lingered a moment longer. “And Arianna?”
Marco didn’t reply. He stared out the window as the sun dipped lower, casting shadows across the estate. Somewhere, out there, Carmen was hiding from him. And Marco was beginning to wonder if she had been right to run.
