Chapter 20
Staring at the man before her, his expression hovering between devotion and derangement, Ariana felt nothing but bitter irony.
“You stand there claiming you love me,” she said, each word razor sharp, “but where was this love when Leila accused me? Where was it during those ninety-eight humiliations? Where was it when you literally left me to burn alive?”
Her voice remained controlled despite the fury building beneath. “Don’t bother with excuses. I gave you a chance that night in the fire when I asked if you were coming back for me. I thought… if he turns around right now, if he pulls me out—I could forgive everything. Every single thing you did to me.”
She held his gaze unflinchingly. “But what did you choose, Luigi?”
Her accusations were met with uncomfortable silence. The fire had happened so long ago that Luigi struggled to recall the specifics. Yet, one memory remained crystal clear—that critical moment when he’d hesitated at the door, then walked away without looking back.
“You left me in the flames without a second thought,” Ariana concluded quietly. “So explain to me why you think I’d stay with you now?”
She attempted to step around him, but this time Luigi’s reflexes were faster.
“Block the gates,” he instructed the security team, his voice unnervingly calm.
Ariana spun back toward him, genuine shock registering on her face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She had actually believed that some vestige of basic human decency might prevent him from physically forcing her to stay.
Luigi approached slowly, his fingers finally making contact with her cheek in a gentle caress that made her skin crawl.
“Every mistake I made, I acknowledge them all,” he said softly, as though speaking to a frightened animal. “I’ve spent a year in hell without you. Why can’t we move forward together? I know you’re angry—you have every right to be. Just give me the chance to make amends. That’s all I’m asking.”
“No.”
She jerked away from his touch as if burned, disgust and disappointment making her voice crack.
“You systematically destroyed my life once. Are you really so self-absorbed that you want a second attempt?”
Her eyes met his directly. “Do I need to actually die before you finally leave me in peace?”
Pain flashed across Luigi’s face, quickly hardening into unnerving resolve. “I will never let you go again. Not in this lifetime.”
Following that confrontation, Ariana found herself effectively held captive, albeit in the most opulent prison imaginable. To legitimize her sudden reappearance to Boston society, Luigi orchestrated an elaborate press conference at the Maggiore corporate headquarters.
He calmly explained to the assembled media that Ariana had never actually died—she had merely staged her death after a relationship dispute, needing space and time for perspective. After more than a year of persistent devotion on his part, he’d finally convinced her to return.
Throughout this performance, Ariana sat beside him on the stage, wearing a designer dress she hadn’t chosen. She watched with clinical detachment as he delivered his romantic fiction with Oscar-worthy emotion, the reporters hanging on every word of this epic reconciliation story.
For one fleeting moment, she considered grabbing the microphone and exposing everything—the calculated revenge plot, the deliberate attempt on her life, her current imprisonment.
In the end, she remained silent, recognizing the futility. After a year’s absence, her credibility was microscopic compared to the Maggiore empire’s influence. The press would interpret any outburst as evidence of their tumultuous passion, further proof of their storybook reunion.
Following the press conference, Luigi seemed determined to rewrite their narrative through public displays of devotion. For the next month, she accompanied him everywhere, a silent accessory to his rehabilitation. On his yacht, he celebrated her “homecoming” with custom fireworks that cost more than most people’s homes, illuminating the entire harbor in a spectacle visible from three states. At auction houses, he casually outbid collectors for items she had once mentioned admiring, dropping eight figures without blinking. In private shopping suites of flagship boutiques, entire collections were brought for her selection, price never mentioned.
Standing before a three-way mirror in the most exclusive atelier in Boston, Ariana watched with empty eyes as Luigi held up couture pieces against her reflection, seeking opinions she refused to give.
Her confirmed silence didn’t anger him. He simply handed everything to the boutique director with instructions to process it.
The director had encountered wealthy clients before, but never someone who spent millions in a single visit without hesitation or negotiation. Her professional smile transformed into genuine warmth. “What a blessing to witness such devotion,” she said to Ariana. “In fifteen years in this business, I’ve rarely seen a man so completely in love.”
“I hope you enjoy decades of happiness together.”
Luigi had heard countless flattering remarks throughout his business career, but something about this sincere sentiment penetrated his satisfaction. In his elevated mood, he noticed Ariana’s gaze momentarily fixated on a particular jewelry display. “Include that collection as well,” he instructed without checking the price.
The boutique director’s expression brightened further as she directed her staff before escorting Luigi to complete the transaction.
Left momentarily alone, Ariana stirred from her statuesque stillness. The thought that had been forming in her mind for weeks crystallized with new clarity. It was time to escape—no matter the cost.