Chapter 2 Two

Aminae

I didn't remember walking back up the stairs.

I just remembered the feeling. Of fabric sticking to my back. Of my cheeks aching from polite smiles. Of the silence that followed me like a second shadow.

I shut my bedroom door behind me quietly. Not slamming. Not rebelling. Just... quietly. Because loudness had no place in this house unless it was a man's voice.

The dress was suffocating. I pulled the zipper down with shaking hands, the metal teeth catching on lace. I almost tore it. Almost let it rip all the way through just to feel something snap. But I didn't.

I folded it neatly. Like a good daughter.

My body sagged onto the mattress in a soft, exhausted fall. I stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, chest still tight with everything I hadn't said.

"'You're pretty. That'll help,'" I whispered mockingly into the dark, mimicking Giovanni's voice. I felt stupid the second it left my lips.

What the hell was I doing?

I hated that I wanted him to look at me. Not just see me-look. Really look. And I hated even more that when he finally did, it felt like being evaluated, not admired. He looked at me like something that came with an instruction manual.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or scream or vanish entirely.

A knock came at the door.

I jolted upright, hair falling loose from the clip. My heart didn't race. It pounded. A dull, warning thud.

I wrapped a robe around myself, suddenly feeling too bare, too vulnerable. "Yes?"

"It's me," Yasmin's voice came through, muffled but warm. "Open up."

I cracked the door and let her in. She had already kicked off her heels again, makeup slightly smudged, and hair loosening around her shoulders.

"You look like you just got diagnosed," she said softly.

"Feels like it."

She dropped beside me on the bed, legs folded, her fingers instantly going for the clasp of my necklace. "You were incredible tonight. Controlled. Poised. I could tell you were screaming inside, but damn, you held it together."

"I don't want to be incredible," I murmured.

"I know."

She was quiet for a second. "You saw the way he looked at you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Like a business acquisition?"

"No. I mean the other one."

I paused. "What other one?"

She squinted. "You didn't see him? Stood near the hallway? Leather jacket. No smile. Looked like he just murdered someone and lit a cigar after."

My skin tightened. "No."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. He was watching you. The whole time."

Something inside me curled. Cold and electric.

"What did he look like?" I asked too quickly.

She grinned. "Now you're curious."

"No, I just... I don't remember seeing anyone like that."

"Tall. Dark hair. Pale knuckles. Pretty face, but the scary kind. Like, I'd let him ruin me if I had good health insurance."

"Yasmin-"

"I'm just saying," she shrugged. "He didn't speak. Just stood there. Silent. Like he didn't belong, but didn't care. You know that kind of man? Dangerous, but detached?"

No.

Yes.

She stood up and walked to the window. "Want to sneak out and get milkshakes?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You look like you need sugar. And serotonin. And possibly a shovel to bury this entire engagement under."

A tiny laugh escaped me. The first real one all day.

"I can't," I said. "If my parents catch me-"

"I'll take the blame."

"No, you won't."

"I will. I'm the fun cousin. They expect me to be reckless."

I hesitated.

She tilted her head. "Come on, you've been acting like a ghost for weeks. Let's do something alive for once."

I wanted to. God, I did.

But I was also afraid. Afraid of what was waiting out there.

Afraid that freedom, even in small doses, would remind me how little of it I had.

"Next time," I whispered.

She gave me a disappointed look but didn't push. "Alright. But if you start writing poetry and wearing turtlenecks, I'm staging an intervention."

She left with a dramatic sigh and a flip of her hair, and I locked the door behind her.

My room felt heavier once she was gone. Like it knew I was alone again.

I walked to the window. Parted the curtain.

Outside, I could see the Romano cars still parked. Black. Polished. Expensive. I couldn't tell if anyone was inside them. Probably drivers. Maybe security.

Maybe someone else.

For a second-just a breath-I thought I saw someone standing near the trees across the drive.

Not moving. Not walking. Just standing there.

But when I blinked, the space was empty.

I shut the curtain and stepped back.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something-or someone-was out there. Watching. Waiting. But for what, I didn't know.

I walked to the vanity and stared at my reflection. My robe was knotted too tightly around my waist. My hair was messy now, pins sliding loose, strands sticking to the gloss still clinging to my mouth. I looked... used. Not in a sexual way. In a ceremonial way. Like a dress that had done its job and would be hung back in the closet to collect dust.

I wiped the gloss off. Took down my hair. Rubbed the liner from beneath my eyes until my face was bare again.

I didn't want to look like anyone else's version of beautiful.

Not tonight.

I sat back on my bed and grabbed the journal hidden beneath my pillow. It was old, worn, pages soft with ink and secrets. I flipped past doodles and half-finished thoughts, past poetry I'd never show anyone, until I landed on a blank page.

And I wrote:

"I don't know who I am when no one is watching.

But I know I don't want to be the girl I am when they are."

I stared at the words. Underlined them. Then closed the book like sealing a wound.

I turned off the lamp and lay back down again. But I couldn't stop thinking about what Yasmin said.

He was watching you. The whole time.

It shouldn't matter. I didn't know him. I hadn't even noticed him. But now, that detail was stuck in my head like a splinter. Not just because someone had watched me-but because someone saw me when I wasn't trying to be seen.

And maybe that terrified me more than anything else.

Because I hadn't prepared a face for him.

There was a thump outside. Distant. Maybe the sound of a car door. Maybe nothing.

I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket higher.

My mind kept looping, rewinding-like a scratched record:

Giovanni's voice.

Yasmin's warnings.

My father's cold pride.

That man. By the trees. Still.

And my own silence through all of it.

I'd spent so long trying to be quiet, trying to be small, that now... I didn't know what to do with my own thoughts. They felt too loud. Too sharp.

A sob caught in my throat but never escaped.

I swallowed it. Like every other feeling I wasn't allowed to have.

The last thing I remembered before sleep finally dragged me under was the taste of salt on my lips. I wasn't sure if it was from tears or from everything I hadn't said.