“How long?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Since the day we were married.”

Since the night you stepped on my heart.

The slap across my face was immediate. It whipped my head to the side and knocked the breath from my lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

“The things you make me do, Gianna,” he growled. “Do you think I want to hit you?”

My bitter laugh carried on the wind.

The sad part of it all was I only knew from TV this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He chucked the pills over the railing. “No more, do you hear me?”

I shook my head.

“No. More. Or, I swear, I’ll cut you off. No more money, no more secret trips to Chicago—and yes, I know you’ve been there.”

My heart froze to ice and shattered.

“You know your papà forbade you from visiting your mamma.” Softness laced through his voice. “I haven’t told him, only because I know what it means to you.”

She’s sick. I couldn’t say the words because I knew they wouldn’t be steady.

“I have to see her.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, the smoky scent of his cologne reaching me. “I know everything about you, Gianna. Where you go, what you do, who you speak with.” He ran a hand into my hair, and I fought the urge to jerk away because he’d only pull the strands. “You’re mine. And I look after what’s mine.”

“If you care about me at all, Antonio, you’ll get your filthy hands off me and give me a divorce.”

“Do you think I would take just anyone for a wife? I wanted you”—he pressed his lips to my ear—“so I took you, and I’m going to fucking keep you.” I tried to pull my head back, but his grip stayed strong. “I allow you free rein, Gianna, but test me, and I will lock you up so fast. Do you understand me?”

“If you think I will even sleep with you now, you are delusional.”

“You’ll cool off.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “And when you do, you’ll realize you want children, too, cara.” His grip found my chin, a rough caress. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not wearing your ring. You’ll put it back on when you get home, or you’ll wake up tomorrow with it glued to your finger.”

The glow of the ballroom highlighted his gray suit as he left through the double doors.

A tremor started in my hands.

The doors closed, and his words came out to swallow me with the shadows.

No more secret trips to Chicago.

No more secret trips to Chicago.

No more secret trips to Chicago.

The tremor moved up my arms, creeping into my vessels and veins. I shook from the inside out. My lungs tightened, and every breath closed them a little more.

Black spots swam in my vision.

I grasped the terrace handrail, the stone like ice beneath my fingers.

In. Out. In. Out.

Light fanned across the terrace, alerting me that someone had stepped outside.

I squeezed my eyes closed, tears escaping my bottom lashes. Gianna, Gianna, Gianna. I tensed and waited for it. I waited for the world to recognize how damaged I was on the inside. To crack me open and see everything my papà had from the beginning. A different part of me, one quiet but strong, wanted to shout, to scream, to let her rule with a steel heart and red hair.

“Do you want to know my favorite?”

My grip tightened on the railing.

In. Out.

“Andromeda.” Allister moved closer. “An autumn constellation, forty-four light-years away.” His steps were smooth and indifferent, but his voice was dry, as though he found my panic attack positively boring.

His attitude brought a small rush of annoyance in, but it was suddenly swayed as my lungs contracted and wouldn’t release. I couldn’t keep a strangled gasp from escaping.

“Look up.”

It was an order, carrying a harsh edge.

With no fight in me, I complied and tilted my head. Tears blurred my vision. Stars swam together and sparkled like diamonds. I was glad they weren’t. Humans would find a way to pluck them from the sky.

“Andromeda is the dim, fuzzy star to the right. Find it.”

My eyes searched it out. The stars weren’t often easy to see, hidden behind smog and the glow of city lights, but sometimes, on a lucky night like tonight, pollution cleared and they became visible. I found the star and focused on it.

“Do you know her story?” he asked, his voice close behind me.

A cold wind touched my cheeks, and I inhaled slowly.

“Answer me.”

“No,” I gritted.

“Andromeda was boasted to be one of the most beautiful goddesses.” He moved closer, so close his jacket brushed my bare arm. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was on the sky. “She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.”

I imagined her, a red-haired goddess with a heart of steel chained to a rock. The question bubbled up from the depths of me.

“Did she survive?”

His gaze fell to me. Down the tear tracks to the blood on my bottom lip. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he looked away.

“She did.”

I found the star again.

Andromeda.

“Ask me what her name means.”

It was another rough demand, and I had the urge to refuse. To tell him to stop bossing me around. However, I wanted to know—I suddenly needed to. But he was already walking away, toward the exit.

“Wait,” I breathed, turning to him. “What does her name mean?”

He opened the door and a sliver of light poured onto the terrace. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. His head turned just enough to meet my gaze. Blue.

“It means ruler of men.”

An icy breeze almost swallowed his words before they reached me, whipping my hair at my cheeks.

And then he was gone.

I grasped the railing and looked to the sky.

My breath came out steady.

The knot in my chest loosened.

The tremor in my veins became the hot buzz of an electric line.

And then I did it for everyone who couldn’t.

I did it for every bruise.

Every scar.

Every slap against my face.

Most of all, I did it because I wanted to.

I screamed.

Days bled into nights.

The next few months slipped away, consumed in a whirlwind of parties, vacations, races, and weekend spa retreats. Drugs and booze were as easily supplied as the silver platter of fresh fruit and croissants that sat on the twelve-seater dining table every morning.

I was young.

Pampered.

Full of ennui.

I imbibed anything that made my heart race. Made me forget. Made me feel alive.

Sometimes, it came in the form of a Colombian-imported powder.

And other times . . . blue.

“To live the life of luxury.”

That drawl slid into my blood and warmed me from the inside out.

I lounged on a chaise near the pool in a shimmery gold gown, my hair pulled into a messy updo, a dress strap sliding down my shoulder. It was an unseasonably warm March night, and I was taking advantage of it.

I bit into my strawberry as my gaze met Allister’s. “Jealous?”

“Closer to apathetic.”