Captive Princess

Vincent drove me back to his mansion in Manhattan.

I sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the passing neon lights, a gaping void in my chest.

"We're here." Vincent parked the car and walked around to open my door.

Why was it always like this? He didn't love me, but he slept with me, and he was still so damn considerate.

A lump formed in my throat.

I got out of the car and followed him, dragging my suitcase behind me.

I knew this house all too well. Every corner held a memory of our bodies tangled together.

Vincent reached for my suitcase, about to take it to my usual bedroom.

"Don't," I said, heading straight for a guest room. "I'm only staying for twelve days. This is fine."

Vincent stopped in his tracks. "You can stay as long as you want."

I put my suitcase in the guest room and closed the door.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Twelve more days, and I would leave New York forever.

The next morning, I went downstairs. Vincent was already in the dining room. He saw me and gestured to the seat across from him.

I sat. A maid brought me milk and toast.

"Vincent," I began.

He looked up, his gaze calm behind his glasses.

"Did you know Isabella is Maria's daughter?"

"I found out yesterday," he said, his face unreadable, showing no hint of guilt.

I gave a bitter smile. "What is Isabella to you?"

Vincent put down his coffee cup. "A high school classmate. She took a bullet for me once, saved my life. She's been recovering in Europe ever since."

"Really? Just a classmate? A savior? Is it that simple?"

Vincent's brow furrowed slightly. "Sophia, I don't want you targeting her just because she has returned to the Romano family."

I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Is that a warning?"

"It's a reminder," Vincent's tone was cold. "Isabella's health is fragile. She can't handle any trouble."

I nodded, saying nothing more.

Vincent was more direct in his defense of Isabella than I had ever imagined. What else was there to ask?

"I understand," I said, getting to my feet. "I'm going upstairs."

I stayed in the guest room all day. The maid brought lunch and dinner to my door. I didn't go down.

That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Usually, Vincent would open the door around this time, push me down without a word, and grip my waist while calling me Principessa.

But tonight, the hallway was silent.

Of course. His first love was back. Why would he be thinking of me?

The next day was Saturday. Vincent didn't go to the compound.

At ten in the morning, he knocked on my door.

"Sophia, there's a party tonight. You're coming with me."

I opened the door. Vincent was already dressed in a sharp black suit.

"What party?"

"A gathering between the families."

Not wanting to be alone in this house full of our memories, I nodded.

At seven that evening, Vincent's car pulled up to a private club.

I followed him inside and found the place lavishly decorated with flowers and streamers.

It didn't look like any mafia gathering I'd ever been to.

Before I could ask, I heard a familiar voice.

"Vincent! You're finally here!"

Isabella, in a white evening gown, fluttered over like a butterfly. She saw me, and her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she plastered on a sweet smile.

"Sophia's here too! That's wonderful!"

I glanced around and saw a large banner that read, "Welcome Home, Isabella."

It was a welcome party. For her.

Vincent had brought me to Isabella's welcome home party.

I turned to leave, but Isabella stopped me.

"Sophia, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. "I heard you moved out of your house. Is it because of me? I'm so sorry, I had no idea Uncle Romano would let me stay in your room."

Her voice was soft and gentle, but loud enough for everyone around us to hear. A few guests looked my way with questioning eyes.

"It's fine," I replied curtly. "It's just a room."

"But Uncle Romano said you even disowned him." Isabella's eyes welled with tears. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't come back..."

"Isabella," I cut her off. "The reason I disowned him has nothing to do with an outsider like you."

Isabella's tears began to fall. She looked pitifully at Vincent.

Vincent walked over, shot me a warning look, then said gently to Isabella, "Don't cry. Your eyes will get swollen."

He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. Isabella's tears turned to a smile. She blinked her wet lashes and said, "You're so good to me, Vincent."

I stood to the side, watching this tender tableau unfold.

A sharp pain pierced my heart.

In ten days, I would be gone for good, and I knew I would never be on the receiving end of that kind of tenderness from him.

I turned and walked to the bar, grabbed a glass of champagne, and downed most of it in one go.