Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I also took some strawberries from the fridge and put them in a bowl. A quick healthy snack while I cooked.
The knife felt solid in my hand as I chopped, the rhythm of the blade against the cutting board strangely soothing. I’d been raised to know my way around a kitchen, though it had been years since I’d cooked for myself. In my father’s house, such tasks were beneath me.
The skillet hissed as I poured the beaten eggs into it. I took a bit of my strawberry, watching as they began to set around the edges, the kitchen filling with the scent of butter and herbs. It was almost peaceful, this simple act of creation. For a moment, I could pretend I was just a woman making breakfast, not a puppet caught between two warring brothers.
I was just sliding the finished omelette onto a plate when I heard his voice behind me.
“It smells delicious.”
I didn’t jump. Didn’t startle. I’d been expecting him.
“Matteo.” I turned, plate in hand, and offered him a small smile. “You’re early.”
He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that made his eyes seem even more piercing. His dark hair was styled perfectly, not a strand out of place. The very picture of the man I was supposed to have married. Calm and composed.
So unlike his younger brother.
“You didn’t respond to my text,” he said, stepping into the kitchen.
“I was busy.” I gestured with my fork. “Would you like some breakfast? I can make another.”
His eyes lit with surprise. “You’d cook for me?”
“Why not? We’re family now, aren’t we?” I set my plate down and moved back to the stove. “Take a seat.”
Matteo settled onto one of the barstools at the island, watching as I cracked more eggs into the bowl. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy with something, unsaid words that I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You seem different,” he said after a moment. “More... settled.”
I whisked the eggs with more force than necessary. “I’ve spent several weeks in this house now, it’s time I do get settled. I have to spend the rest of my life here.”
He was quiet for a second, his gaze boring into my back before he asked, “How is my brother treating you?”
The question hung in the air between us. I added the filling to the skillet, watching the eggs bubble around the edges.
“Good,” I finally said, keeping my voice neutral.
“Is that so?” Matteo’s tone suggested he didn’t believe me.
They say hate is an obsession.
It was true in my case.
I fed the fury that resided inside me until it learned to wear the face of indifference. A silent, destructive hate that no one could see simmering from under my flesh.
I was Serafina Salvatore.
Calm. Elegant. Composed.
You see, hate was dangerous because it still kept the other person close to your heart, every beat reminding you of them even when you were desperate to forget them.
You just simply couldn’t.
But the dreadful fact was that hate wasn’t a hollow emptiness.
No, too much of it would eventually destroy you, the type of annihilation that was inevitable.
And I was willing to be destroyed.
I counted the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds… until my destruction.
Our destruction.
It was destined, a poisonous fate neither of us could escape.
We were bound by it.
By law and godly powers.
So, I bidded my time.
And played the perfect wife of Adrian Salvatore.
Calm. Composed. Elegant.
I attended charities, I visited the galleries, I hosted dinners at the Salvatore estate, I sat down next to Adrian, prim and proper. Always smiling. Laughing softly when expected, speaking when I was spoken to… and of course, publicly praised my husband to anyone who would listen.
The perfect wife.
The perfect husband.
The perfect marriage.
The perfect lie.
At first, Adrian was surprised.
He was suspicious.
Of course, he was.
He released his three beasts on me, threatened my life but here I was, playing house. We even shared a few meals together, just the two of us, sitting in the silence of our dining room, the only sound echoing against the walls were those of our fancy cutleries.
I didn’t argue, I didn’t insult, I didn’t seek revenge.
Adrian expected more of me.
He wanted my fire.
But I gave him none.
I waited… and waited…
For the perfect moment.
“I believe my husband and I have reached an understanding.” I flipped the omelette with practiced ease and then slid it onto a second plate before setting it in front of Matteo.
He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Don’t let your guard down, Serafina. Adrian isn’t what he seems.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Few people are.” I grabbed my fork to take a bite of my own eggs, before gesturing toward his plate. “Please, enjoy.”
Matteo didn’t have to be told twice. He took a bite, humming appreciatively. “Wow. This is excellent. How did you know how to cook?”
“My mother taught me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I rarely spoke of my mother to anyone.