Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Over the past month, Ariana had contemplated escape countless times.
But Luigi seemed to have installed some supernatural GPS in her DNA–no matter where she went, he materialized within minutes. The few times she had attempted to slip away had only resulted in even tighter restrictions.
As punishment for her last attempt, he had “temporarily suspended” her contract with the National Ballet. His explanation to the artistic director had been surprisingly tactful–they needed quality time after their lengthy separation. Once they were married, she could naturally return to dancing.
Yes. Married.
During that meticulously orchestrated press conference, Luigi had not only announced her miraculous resurrection but also unveiled their upcoming wedding, scheduled just four weeks later.
Ariana had known nothing about this until she watched it happen live on stage, resulting in a confrontation
afterward that changed absolutely nothing about his plans.
Today’s excursion to Boston’s luxury district was supposedly to select wedding accessories. The gown itself was already being custom–designed by three separate ateliers competing for the privilege.
Having completed his transaction, Luigi returned to the private suite and gently took her hand. “Shall we?” he asked
with that self–satisfied smile that made her skin crawl.
Ariana maintained her practiced silence, allowing him to lead her from the boutique to the waiting car without
resistance.
As the vehicle navigated through downtown traffic, she watched the city blur past the tinted windows, her expression betraying the desperation she fought to contain.
She had no desire to marry Luigi Maggiore. The very thought made her physically ill.
But despite her best efforts, escape seemed impossible. Every exit was watched, every message monitored, every potential ally carefully screened.
Was she truly going to be forced into marriage with the man who had methodically tortured her for years? The legal implications seemed absurd in modern America, yet her reality suggested otherwise.
Her hands tightened in her lap until her knuckles turned white from the pressure.
As the wedding date approached, Ariana’s anxiety intensified visibly.
Misinterpreting her distress as typical pre–wedding jitters, Luigi had cleared his afternoon schedule to take her to dinner at an exclusive restaurant overlooking the harbor.
Halfway to their destination, however, his phone lit up with what appeared to be a genuine corporate emergency.
12:59
Addio To The Stand–In Past, This Time I Chose To Reclaim My Own Life
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Chapter 21
Reluctantly, he instructed the driver to continue to the restaurant as planned. “I’ll join you as soon as I can,” he promised, already scrolling through urgent emails.
Before exiting the car, Luigi leaned in for what had become a customary goodbye kiss.
Ariana instinctively turned her head, causing his lips to land on her cheek instead of their intended target.
Luigi paused, something darkening briefly in his expression before his practiced smile returned. Without comment, he exited the vehicle.
The moment the door closed, Ariana’s facade crumbled. She frantically dug through her purse for antibacterial wipes, scrubbing at her cheek with such violence that the skin reddened and nearly broke.
Only when the area was raw and stinging did she finally discard the wipe with disgust.
The restaurant’s private dining room stood nearly empty during the early dinner service, with Ariana seated alone by the panoramic windows. Security personnel positioned discreetly at each exit remained a constant reminder of
her captivity.
These men, supposedly protecting her, were in reality her jailers, ensuring she couldn’t slip away.
Once the door closed behind them, Ariana picked half–heartedly at the multi–course meal before her.
“Your blueberry mousse, miss,” announced a server, placing an elegantly plated dessert on the table.
Ariana paused, confused–she hadn’t ordered any dessert.
Looking up to correct the mistake, she froze in recognition. The server’s face was hauntingly familiar.
“Leila?” she whispered in disbelief.
The woman tensed momentarily, then shook her head. “I’m not her. I’m her sister, Layla.”
Noticing Ariana’s immediate defensive posture, Layla gave a dismissive laugh.
“Chill out. Unlike my sister, I’m not interested in ruining your life.”
Cautiously, Ariana relaxed her grip on the steak knife. “What do you want?”
Layla slid into the seat opposite Ariana, drumming her fingers against the tablecloth with deliberate casualness.
“I’m here to clean up my sister’s mess,” she stated simply.
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