Within seconds of her collapse in the muddy courtyard, the machinery of the Venzagrase estate reasserted its control. The orderlies hurried her back through the window, and before she could gather the strength to resist, they restrained her again. The leather straps slapped shut against her raw wrists.
Later, the bedroom door swung open once more.
Luca stepped inside, his presence cutting through the stagnant air. Elena sat quietly on the edge of the mattress, her posture slumped, her gaze on the floor. Something caught his attention immediately. His eyes dropped to her legs.
Mud. Dark, slick stains covered her skin, tracking the path she'd carved through the courtyard.
Luca's expression hardened. "What happened?"
The staff exchanged nervous glances. "Sir, she tried to escape," one of the nurses said. "We had to secure her for her own protection."
Silence claimed the room.
Luca stepped closer to the bed, his gaze locked on her. He was about to unleash the temper that kept the entire Venzagrase empire in submission.
But then she looked up.
Her eyes were bloodshot, flooded with fresh, silent tears. There was no defiance in them. No calculated rebellion. She was just afraid.
The reprimand died on his tongue. Luca exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders dropping a fraction.
"Leave," he said, quiet but absolute.
The staff didn't wait for a second warning. They filed out, closing the door behind them.
Luca stood in the silence, studying the line of her shoulders. Then he walked toward her and crouched in front of her.
Elena flinched at his proximity, but she didn't pull away. She had nowhere left to run.
He reached out, his hand wrapping gently around her ankle. She stiffened, braced for a harsh grip, but he didn't hurt her. He helped her stand, supporting her weight as her legs trembled beneath her.
"Come," he said quietly.
He led her to the master bathroom, where the marble gleamed under the vanity lights. He turned the tap, and warm water began to fill the basin.
Luca knelt on the tile and began washing the mud from her legs. His movements were slow.
Elena stared down at the crown of his dark hair, confusion filling her. This was not the man her family had whispered about in fear.
"Who did this to you?" he asked finally, his voice low.
Silence. She couldn't answer.
His hands paused briefly over a scratch on her calf, then continued their slow rhythm.
"Who made you afraid like this?" His jaw tightened. His grip on her leg firmed, a dangerous, protective heat radiating from his palms. "Tell me. And I will kill them all."
The water kept flowing, filling the quiet bathroom with its steady sound. The mud washed away into the drain, revealing bruises and scratches beneath.
What made you think I am Sarah? Elena's chest tightened so painfully she could barely breathe. I am not her. How could you forget the face of your own fiancée?
A bitter feeling rose in her throat. My name is Elena. Not Sarah.
Memories surfaced without warning — her parents' cold faces, Adrian's hollow promises, the lies that had led her to that cliffside road. I have been betrayed by everyone who was ever supposed to love me.
A tear formed at the corner of her eye and spilled over, tracing a silent path down her face. Then another. And another.
Luca saw it.
He didn't hear the thoughts screaming inside her head. He didn't know the truth of who she was. But he saw the wreckage in her eyes.
His hands slowed against her skin, then stopped. He looked at her — really looked at the person standing in his bathroom. This wasn't the fiery anger of the woman who had defied him at the altar. This was someone who had been broken long before she ever set foot on that mountain road.
Something shifted inside Luca. First came uncertainty. Then an instinct he rarely questioned: protect.
Elena's shoulders trembled again as another tear hit the floor.
Luca stood, his frame eclipsing the light, and pulled her into his arms.
"It's okay," he said, his voice lower than she'd ever heard it.
Elena froze in his embrace, her eyes wide, her body rigid against his suit. She didn't move. She didn't resist, but she didn't respond either — unsure whether this warmth was real or another cruel illusion.
His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her damp hair. "It's okay," he repeated. "You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
Her fingers twitched against his shirt, then slowly came to rest there, holding onto his jacket. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, someone was holding her like she mattered.
He wasn't holding Elena. He was holding a woman who didn't exist.