The Countdown Above My Fiancé

By morning, the migraine had eased, but my body still felt hollow. Lucian hadn’t come home all night. At six, his message arrived.

[The repair crew never showed. I let her stay in a family safe house for the night. I’m back at the hotel now to handle the dock books. Remember to eat.]

I stared at the words. A family safe house.

The Bellandi safe houses were not hotels. They were not favors. They were the most private shelters the family owned, reserved only for people the Don had personally decided to protect.

I didn’t believe they’d slept together. Lucian had lines he wouldn’t cross. But those words still hurt to look at.

That afternoon, I went to the Bellandi Hotel. Ava had borrowed my car the night before and said she’d drive it to the hotel for me. She also asked me to bring over a few contracts Lucian had left at the penthouse.

The frosted-glass door to the top-floor office opened into silence. Lucian was downstairs in a casino meeting. Mia sat at the assistant’s desk, sorting through a stack of chip ledgers. The second she saw me, she stood.

“Miss Vale. What are you doing here? Are you feeling better?”

Her smile was bright, her eyes clean, as if nothing strange had happened at all. She wore a gray wool skirt and a black cashmere scarf around her neck.

I knew that scarf. Lucian wore it every winter because it had belonged to his father before the old Don died. Everyone in the family knew no one touched Lucian’s personal things unless his eyes gave permission first.

Mia followed my gaze and stroked the edge of the scarf with her fingertips. “Please don’t misunderstand, Miss Vale. Last night was chaos, and my coat got soaked. Mr. Bellandi said the casino floor was freezing, so he lent me the scarf. I’ll have it dry-cleaned later.”

“He’s such a good man. Nothing like the monster people make him out to be.”

I walked over and placed the contracts on her desk. “Is that so?”

My eyes moved past her to the space beside her monitor. A Venetian crystal hourglass sat there.

The glass was clear, and fine blue sand slid through its narrow middle in a slow, shining stream. I had bought a pair during a work trip to Venice. One sat on my bedroom desk.

The other I had sent to Lucian’s office. I told him I hoped that every time he looked at it, he’d remember to leave a little time for me. Now it was on Mia’s assistant desk.

Mia noticed me looking and tapped the hourglass lightly. “Oh, this? Mr. Bellandi saw me losing track of meeting times this morning, so he gave it to me. It’s gorgeous. You have great taste, Miss Vale.”

She wasn’t taunting me. She didn’t even sound malicious. That was what made it worse. It was a dull blade grinding slowly into my chest.

I didn’t answer. I pushed open the door to Lucian’s office. It was empty.

On his desk, where the hourglass used to sit, only a faint round mark remained. Ten minutes later, Lucian came back from his meeting. He froze when he saw me sitting on the sofa.

“Why are you here? I told you to rest at home.” He came over and reached for my forehead out of habit.

I turned my face away. His hand stiffened in midair before he slowly lowered it.

“Still angry?” He sighed and sat in the armchair beside me. “Last night was a special case. Her building boiler blew, and South Dock was a mess. I couldn’t leave her standing in the street alone.”

I lifted my eyes to him. “You once said no one but me could touch that scarf.”

Lucian frowned, the apology in his eyes cooling into impatience. “Elena, don’t make it sound ugly. Her coat was wet. What was I supposed to do, let her freeze through a workday?”

“And the hourglass?” I cut in. “Was that another casual little favor?”

For once, something unnatural flickered through his eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by the same righteous calm.

“It was just sitting on my desk. She has to track my schedule from her side. It was useful there. If you like it that much, I’ll have a whole crate shipped from Venice. You never used to be this petty, Elena.”

“Making a scene in front of staff over a scarf and an hourglass—is that really worth losing your dignity?”

I looked at the numbers above his head.

[89 days, 12 hours, 5 minutes.]

From a hundred and twenty days to less than ninety. When a relationship had already been sentenced to death in someone else’s heart, even breathing could become a crime.

I stood and picked up my bag. “You’re right. It’s not worth it.”

I had once feared the countdown hitting zero. But in that moment, I stopped being afraid.

Because I finally understood that waiting for someone to leave was more pathetic than leaving first. When the elevator doors closed, I messaged Rosalind, my lawyer.

[I’m done with Lucian. Help me remove my name from every Bellandi account and private arrangement. Fast.]