Chapter 15: The Acid Kiss

The sound of her breathing was louder than the silence. Cold, shallow gasps—like her lungs were trying to reject the air inside this house. The house that felt less like a mansion and more like a tomb.

The glass of the window beside her caught the morning light, fracturing it into shards that sliced across her cheek. Not literally. Not yet.

He watched her from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, a glass of whiskey in one hand like it was morning coffee. Nico's shirt was halfway buttoned, hair still damp from a shower she hadn't heard. Silent predator.

"You didn't touch your food," his voice cut through the silence like a violin string snapping.

Bianca didn't answer. Her fingers remained clenched on the fork, untouched pancake still steaming. It felt like poison on her plate.

He stepped closer. Each click of his boots echoed like a countdown.

"I asked you something."

She flinched. "Not hungry."

The smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes. "You used to love pancakes."

"That was before I knew who made them."

That landed. Not enough to win, but enough to make him stop two steps away. His jaw tightened. The silence between them turned sharp.

"You think knowing who I am changes what you felt?"

Bianca's eyes flickered to his chest, the ink she once traced with her fingers now looked like maps of a battlefield. "No, Nico. It doesn't change what I felt. It changes what I feel now."

He tilted his head, studying her like a broken piece of art. "Still obsessed?"

"You tricked me. Lied. Married me with someone else's name and now—" Her voice cracked. "Now you expect love like you didn't burn down everything I trusted."

He moved so fast the table jolted. The plate crashed to the floor—pancakes splattered, syrup bleeding like a wound. His hand slammed next to her on the table, but he didn't touch her. Not yet.

"I don't expect love," he whispered. "I expect loyalty."

Bianca's lips trembled. "From someone you kidnapped? From a girl you drugged to get on a plane to this hellhole?"

"You weren't drugged. You were sleeping like a baby." He smirked, too proud. "You even said my name in your sleep."

Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. "You're sick."

"I'm honest."

"And you're a monster."

He leaned in, voice low. "You fell in love with a monster, Bianca. You just didn't know he wore my face."

Then the silence swallowed them again.

She stood, chair scraping the marble, and walked past him—but not without looking him dead in the eyes.

"I'm not yours, Nico."

But his reply was a slow, cruel smile. "You married me. You wear my ring. You live in my house. Whether you like it or not, bella, you've already been claimed."

She stormed down the hallway, locking herself in one of the guest rooms.

Nico remained standing in the kitchen, staring at the syrup spreading on the floor like blood. And then he laughed.

Not a joyful laugh.

The kind of laugh that meant something terrible was about to happen.

---