The walk back to the estate felt endless. Each step dragged, pain radiating through my entire body. The road blurred in and out of focus, but I kept moving, driven by nothing more than habit. The iron gate of the Bellandi compound rose against the dark sky long before I reached it, flanked by cameras that watched everything and forgave nothing.
By the time I reached the house, they were already there.
The two of them walked in together, close, intimate, as if the world existed only for them. His hand rested protectively on her, his posture soft in a way I had never seen directed at me.
I stepped forward to follow.
But the house steward blocked my path.
His expression was awkward, almost apologetic, but he didn't move aside.
"I'm sorry, signora," he said hesitantly. "The young master said Miss Russo can't stand the smell of blood."
Before I could react, a high-pressure water hose was turned on me.
The force hit like a blow. Ice-cold water slammed into my wounds, tearing through already damaged flesh. Pain exploded instantly, sharp and merciless, ripping a broken cry from my throat.