The bond was a living thing inside her—
writhing, constricting, slithering through her veins like a parasite.
Fia clawed at her own skin some nights, desperate to tear Viktor's influence out of her chest, to rip him free from where he lurked like a splinter in her soul.
But it only got worse.
Whenever Emiliano came near, it felt like drowning in two different oceans—
one pulling her toward him with desperate, aching love,
the other shoving her away with mindless, rabid rage.
Some nights, she wanted to bury her face in his chest and weep.
Others, she knew—knew—that if he got close enough, she would tear his throat out without blinking.
And Emiliano... gods help her, he fought for her even when she fought him.
He stood between her and Viktor's invisible chains, shielding her with his body, his strength, his will.
He never raised a hand to her, not once.
Even when her claws grazed his cheek.
Even when her wolf snapped her jaws an inch from his throat.
He held her like a man cradling a sword that could gut him at any moment—
carefully. Reverently. With a kind of broken hope that shattered her heart.
And thank the gods, he wasn't alone.
Mia was there too—
steady, fierce, relentless.
When Fia's mind slipped and the world blurred into rage and despair, Mia was the voice cutting through the noise, sharp as a blade:
"Hold on, Fia! Look at me—LOOK AT ME!"
And somehow, Fia did. Every time.
She owed her best friend her sanity.
But it came at a cost.
Fia no longer left her room unless dragged.
The Bianchi manor, grand and sprawling, felt like a beautiful prison.
Her assigned bedroom was cavernous and cold—full of heavy, antique furniture she hated, dark velvet curtains that blocked out the sun, and ornate gilded mirrors that showed a version of herself she barely recognized anymore.
She missed her tiny apartment with the peeling wallpaper.
She missed the chipped coffee mug with a stupid cat printed on it.
She missed her father—gods, she missed him so much it hurt.
Mia told her she'd been checking in on him every few days. That he was fine. That he kept asking about Fia, worried he'd done something wrong, worried she was angry at him for treating her like a grown woman instead of his little girl.
The guilt gnawed at Fia worse than anything Viktor could send through their twisted bond.
But she couldn't call.
Couldn't risk Viktor's men tracing it back to her father.
Couldn't risk anything happening to him.
So she stayed in her dark room, cocooned in self-loathing and fear.
Until Mia stormed in like a goddamn hurricane.
The door banged against the wall as Mia flicked on the light, the sudden brightness stabbing into Fia’s eyes like knives.
"Up," Mia barked, already yanking clothes from the dresser. "Shower. Dress. You're coming with me."
Fia groaned, dragging the pillow over her head.
"Mia, I'm not—"
"Not a request, princess." Mia dropped a pile of jeans and t-shirts onto the bed. "You stink like sadness and despair. Get your ass up. I’m not leaving without you."
Fia peeked out from under the pillow, scowling.
"Where are we even going?" she muttered.
Mia shrugged.
"Anywhere but here."
That was enough.
Twenty minutes later, they were tiptoeing down the back stairs like teenagers sneaking out for a party, dodging the Bianchi guards and Emiliano’s hawk-eyed second-in-command, Luca.
Mia’s battered old Jeep was waiting just outside the gate, and the moment they hit the highway heading toward the city, Fia felt her lungs finally fill properly for the first time in days.
The farther they got, the lighter she felt.
Mia noticed.
"You're breathing again," she said, throwing Fia a sidelong glance. "Good sign."
Fia laughed weakly and changed the subject.
"Tell me about Cristiano," she said, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.
Mia groaned, thunking her head dramatically against the headrest.
"Ugh. Don't remind me."
"C'mon," Fia teased, nudging her with an elbow. "Spill."
Mia sighed, her voice lower now.
"It's complicated," she said. "Cristiano’s basically... married. Not legally, but... he’s been with this woman for years. Raised her kids. He's their provider, their protector. He can’t just leave them. It wouldn’t be right."
Fia’s stomach twisted.
"But you're his mate," she said softly.
Mia gave a hollow laugh.
"Yeah. And every night, I get to imagine him holding someone else. Sleeping beside her. Touching her."
Fia shook her head sharply.
"No," she said fiercely. "Cristiano’s not sleeping with her. He couldn’t. The bond would make it unbearable for him. For both of you."
Mia’s eyes filled with pain.
"Still hurts like hell," she whispered.
The car went quiet for a long, heavy moment.
Then Mia snatched the radio dial and twisted it until loud, familiar music filled the Jeep—
one of their old favorite songs, cheesy and upbeat and ridiculous.
Mia immediately started singing in an over-the-top, nasally voice, making faces at Fia.
Fia burst into laughter, and when Mia pointed dramatically at her during the chorus, she joined in—screaming the lyrics off-key, laughing until her sides hurt.
For a minute, it felt like they were seventeen again.
Young. Free. Invincible.
But the moment shattered when both their phones started ringing at the same time.
The ringtone was Emiliano’s.
Fia didn’t even have to check.
Mia cursed under her breath and lunged to mute her phone.
"Don’t answer it," she said urgently, glancing over.
Fia hesitated, the phone vibrating in her lap.
And that was when it hit—
a wave of yearning so sharp it nearly folded her in half.
Through the mate bond, she felt Emiliano’s panic, his desperation, his hunger for her.
Her wolf howled back—aching, clawing, desperate to be with him.
Fia’s hand shook over the phone.
She needed him. Gods, she needed him so badly.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not with Viktor’s hooks still embedded deep in her soul.
Tears blurred her vision.
Mia reached over, covering Fia’s hand with her own.
"Breathe, Fia," she said softly. "Just breathe."
And somehow, Fia did.
Barely.
But she did.