Chapter Eight

Walking into the cold room, the bitter air bit at my skin, freezing the wetness on my cheeks; a betrayal of my vulnerability. The heavy door groaned shut behind me, sealing me into the suffocating silence as my breath fogged before me. It mingled with the staleness of death that clung to the air like a shroud.

My eyes don't take long to adjusted to the dim light, they are greeted by a grotesque display; a beheaded moose hung from a hook, its once-majestic form now limp. Beside it, a lifeless gazelle lay frozen in an elegant pose, the grace it once embodied forever lost. This place, his cold room, was a shrine of death, preserved and mounted like twisted trophies.

My husband had a hobby. Giovanni loved to hunt, seeking the most exotic, the most beautiful of creatures. He found pleasure in capturing what should have remained free. With the precision of a seasoned hunter, anything he set his eyes on would end up bleeding on our walls or gracing our table. For him, it wasn't just about the chase; it was about victory—the trophy.

But his most prized hunt? It wasn't the beasts of the wild.

No, Giovanni saved his most predatory gaze for men—rivals, competitors, anyone who dared threaten his pride. His deadliest bullet was far more subtle, more insidious.

What was it, you ask?

A ring. A breathtaking ring.

And I was its centerpiece.

A trophy wife in the truest sense—meant to be admired and envied. Giovanni didn't choose me for love; he chose me to complete his image. I was the perfect touch to his grand collection, the ultimate prize he had captured, polished, and placed on display.

At first, I thought it was love. Maybe it was...once or maybe it was something far more twisted and cruel. The proposal, the adoration, the grand gestures, they meant everything to me but to him, they may have been part of his game. The way his eyes gleamed with satisfaction when others looked at me, envied what he had claimed, was never truly about love, no matter how many times I tried to convince myself otherwise.

It was ownership.

I had been his prize, a rare find but when I failed to give him what he truly wanted, the heir to complete his collection, the shine of his trophy dulled.

I had been hunted too but unlike the exotic creatures that surrounded me, I wasn't dead—not physically. Yet I was branded, maimed and scarred by his control. The cold gnawed at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the numbness of the truth that settled over me like a thick fog.

As I moved toward the far corner, past the hollow, lifeless eyes of the animals, their stares hauntingly familiar, my heart began to race. My breath quickened, each exhale misting in the air with the weight of unspoken fears.

'What if he wasn't here?'

'What if the body wasn't there?'

'What if he got up? What if the bullets weren't enough?'

My heartbeat filled my ears, a deafening thud as irrational thoughts flooded my mind.

'What if this version of him was my redemption, our second chance to resurrect what we once had?'

'Or worse—what if his survival meant my end? Would he come for me, seeking revenge for daring to pull the trigger?'

'Let's just go to the police,' I had thought. 'No, I couldn't. Not after this. Not after him. He deserved it. Didn't he? No, no, he didn't. Yes, he—'

"If only I hadn't snapped," I scolded myself. 'If only I had fallen pregnant.'

Tears streamed down my face as my breathing grew shallow, each exhale painfully chilling my airways. My head raced while my body froze, trapped between guilt and fear.

"Giovanni..." His name slipped from my lips, a whisper that echoed in the icy stillness.

Even though he had been my destruction, he had also been my peace. My heart screamed for him, even as my mind recoiled from the horror of what I had done and what he had done to me. 

I scanned the room frantically, desperate to find what I both dreaded and longed to see. Despite the betrayals, despite the lies, Giovanni was my everything—my comfort, my curse. I had loved him wrongfully, wholeheartedly. He had held me captive with his charm, his gaze, his power. He was my captor, and I his willing prisoner.

I sought him now. I needed him now.

But I had killed him.

'Regretfully—rightfully so.'

It was only fitting that the king of cold should end up in this room, surrounded by the very trophies he had once controlled. In the far corner, his body lay slumped over, nothing more than a shadow now. The predator, the hunter, finally the hunted.

He lay there motionless in a frozen pool of blood, the crimson stain spilling out like an artist's careless stroke, sweeping toward the door. I stared helplessly into his dead eyes, vacant and hollow. Yet, despite their emptiness, a strange calm settled over me.

I waited, secretly hoping—and fearing—that by some miracle, his eyes would light up, that he would come for me.

Yet, the longer I stared, the more that hope dimmed.

I had my chance because...

It wasn't the bullets that killed him.

It was blood loss.

And now...now it was far too late.