Chapter 6 - The Penthouse Sanctuary
The moment the elevator doors clicked shut, the tension in the hallway shattered. Arya slumped against the wall, her breathing ragged, her hands shaking violently.
“He’s going to kill me,” she whispered, her eyes wide with panic. “Matteo... you don't know what he’s like when he’s humiliated. He’ll wait for me at the apartment. He has a key.”
Matteo turned to his guards. “Clear the floor. Secure the lobby. No one enters this building tonight without my personal signature.” He then turned to Arya, his face softening into an expression of protective tenderness that he rarely showed the world.
“You aren't going back to that apartment, Arya,” he said softly.
Without waiting for her permission, he reached down and scooped her into his arms. She was incredibly light, her small frame trembling against his chest. For a second, she tried to protest, her hands pushing weakly against his shoulders, but as he stepped into his private executive elevator and punched the code for the penthouse, she finally broke. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her tears hot and wet against his skin.
The penthouse was a massive, ultra-luxurious sanctuary above the clouds. Matteo carried her into the master living suite, placing her gently onto a plush velvet sofa. He walked into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a first-aid kit.
“Let me see,” he said, kneeling on the floor in front of her.
Arya looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her black blouse, pulling the fabric back to reveal her shoulder and ribs.
Matteo’s breath caught in his throat.
The bruises from three days ago had deepened into an ugly, dark green and purple color, but there were new ones—smaller, red marks around her collarbone from where Adrien had grabbed her before the gala.
“He did this because I spent an hour helping you proofread the harbor contracts last week,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He said I was looking for an excuse to stay near you. He’s obsessed with the idea that someone will take what’s his.”
Matteo gently reached out, his thumb brushing the unbruised skin just millimeters away from a dark mark on her shoulder. His touch was incredibly light, as if he were handling spun glass.
“He was right to be afraid,” Matteo murmured, his eyes rising to meet hers.
May you like
Arya’s breath hitched. “Matteo...”
“I’ve stayed away for eleven months because I thought you wanted a clean life, Arya. A life with a doctor, with a white picket fence, far away from the blood and the money of my world.” His hand moved up to cup her jaw, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “But if that bastard thinks he can use you as a punching bag while wearing a saint’s robe, he is gravely mistaken. You are staying here. With me. And I will dismantle his life piece by piece.”
