Chapter 5
Sofia's POV
The king card pressed against my thigh through my pocket, heavier than it had any right to be. My fingers wouldn’t leave it alone. I traced the edges again and again, as if I could rub the meaning into dust, as if the weight of it might lessen if I kept touching it. But it only grew heavier, as though it carried all the secrets I had tried to bury.
It wasn’t just a card. It was a message. A warning. A promise.
I know why you left.
The words still burned in my mind, etched deeper than the ink itself. Whoever left this card wasn’t guessing. They knew. And that truth terrified me more than anything Luca could do.
I forced myself to focus on Luca’s room, on the work in front of me. Straighten the sheets. Fluff the pillows. Fold the corners tight. A simple rhythm, one I could drown in if I tried hard enough. But my mind wasn’t quiet. My hands trembled with every tug of fabric. The card pulsed in my pocket like a second heartbeat.
I caught sight of the photograph on his nightstand. Me, younger, smiling, my hair wild in the breeze. He’d kept it all these years. My throat tightened. He didn’t throw things away. Not pictures. Not jewelry. Not memories. And not me, either. At least not completely.
But someone else had left me a reminder. Someone wanted me to remember what I’d spent three years trying to forget.
The door opened.
I froze, hand tightening around the edge of the blanket.
Luca.
He filled the doorway, tall and steady, his black shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal strong forearms. His presence swallowed the room whole, leaving no space for me to breathe.
“You’re jumpy,” he said, voice smooth, casual in tone but sharp in intent.
“I’m just tired,” I managed.
His gaze swept across the room—the bed, the nightstand, the corners. Searching. Calculating. “Or hiding something.”
My pulse stumbled. I shoved the card deeper into my pocket, nails biting into the paper through the fabric. “Just dust.”
His mouth curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. “You were always a terrible liar, Sofia.”
He crossed the room in unhurried steps, each one heavy enough to send vibrations through the floor. He stopped at the bed, eyes never leaving mine, then slid his hand beneath the pillow I had just straightened. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment.
I held my breath.
When his hand came up empty, something flickered across his face—suspicion, frustration, anger—but only for a heartbeat. He straightened and studied me, silence more suffocating than any accusation.
“Stay out of my things,” he said finally, his voice soft but laced with steel.
I nodded too quickly, too eager to appease. I hated myself for it.
“Dinner tonight,” he added, turning toward the door. “Family only. Don’t wander.”
And then he was gone.
The silence he left behind was crushing. My knees weakened, my back damp with sweat. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm of my heart. The card in my pocket burned hotter, as though it might reveal itself at any second.
Family only. Those words carried weight in this house. They meant war hidden behind crystal glasses. Strategies carved into whispers. Betrayals dressed in suits and ties. And if I was right—if the cards and the intruder and the familiar eyes were all connected—then dinner wasn’t just family business. It was a storm waiting to break.
The day dragged on, each hour heavier than the last. I scrubbed until my knees ached, polished until my reflection warped in silver. But the handwriting haunted me, looping through my thoughts: I know why you left.
By the time evening came, exhaustion wrapped around me like chains. The staff kitchen hummed with clinking dishes, murmured prayers, and hushed warnings. Marta slid a bowl of soup toward me, her gaze sharp with unspoken advice: Stay quiet. Stay small. Stay safe.
I barely managed two spoonfuls before a shadow darkened the doorway.
“Sofia.”
The room stilled instantly. No one spoke. The air tightened like a held breath.
I turned. Luca stood there, his gaze locked on me as if no one else existed.
“Come with me,” he said.
I hesitated. “I’m eating.”
“You can eat later.”
The weight of the staff’s silence pressed down. Marta’s eyes warned me not to argue. I set my spoon down and stood. Luca’s gaze lingered on me as I passed, and for a terrible moment I thought he could see the card burning a hole in my pocket.
He led me through the narrow corridors until we reached his office. Dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and the scent of whiskey clinging to the air. He shut the door and leaned against it, deceptively relaxed.
“Why was Alessandro in my room with you?” His tone was calm, but danger threaded through it.
“He came in while I was cleaning,” I said quickly. “That’s all.”
“About what?”
“None of your business.”
“Everything in this house is my business. And you’re in my house.”
“I’m not your possession.”
He pushed off the door, closing the distance between us. His cologne curled through the air, expensive, sharp. “You were mine once. That doesn’t vanish because you ran.”
My throat tightened. “That was years ago.”
“Speak for yourself.”
The silence stretched until I thought I might break beneath it. His eyes locked on mine, searching, unrelenting. My fingers twitched toward my pocket, but I forced them still.
Then he turned, moved to the bookshelf, and pulled out a small box. Inside lay a thin silver chain with a pendant I recognized instantly. My necklace. The one I had worn the night I left him.
“You kept this?” My voice cracked.
“I told you,” he said, his gaze steady. “I don’t throw things away easily.”
The card burned hotter in my pocket. Someone else hadn’t thrown things away either. Secrets. Memories. Lies.
Before I could answer, the door opened. Alessandro stepped inside, smooth and controlled as ever. His eyes flicked from me to the necklace, then back again.
“The west wing is ready,” he said, his voice cool.
Something unspoken passed between the brothers, heavy and sharp. Luca closed the box and set it aside. “We’re done here,” he told me.
I slipped out, my legs unsteady, the air thick with tension. Alessandro’s gaze followed me into the hall, steady and unreadable, pressing against my back like a hand.
By the time I reached the staff quarters, I was trembling. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and leaned against the wood. My breaths came shallow and quick. I pulled the card from my pocket, staring at the king’s face until the lines blurred.
My chest tightened. My hands shook. Whoever left it wanted me to break. Wanted me to remember.
And maybe I already did.