Page 20 of Forsaken Promises
“Fine,” she says, her voice flat and emotionless. “Do whatever you want, Dominico. It makes no difference to me.”
With that, she turns and walks out of the room, her head held high, her shoulders squared like a soldier marching into battle.
I watch her go, my heart sinking in my chest. I know I went too far, that I let my anger and frustration get the best of me.
But it’s too late to take it back now. The damage is done, the rift between us wider and deeper than ever before.
And as I stand there, I can’t help but wonder if this is what our marriage will be like from now on. Will it be like all the other arranged marriages, a cold, empty shell devoid of love or warmth or tenderness?
My parents’ union was an arranged marriage, but they grew to love each other. Or as much as my father could love. But my mother adores him. The sun rises and sets on him.
Could Sofia and I ever have something likethat? Maybe not love, but mutual respect?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
Sofia will never forgive me.
And I can’t spend the rest of my life trapped in a loveless marriage, a union built on lies and resentment and bitterness.
I have to end this. I have to set us both free before we destroy each other completely.
I toss my pillow back onto the bed, my movements heavy with defeat. Tomorrow, I will go to my father and tell him that the marriage was a mistake. That Sofia and I are too different, too damaged to ever make it work.
And then… then I will let her go. I will release her from the vows that bind us, from the duty that chains her to me.
It’s the only way, the only path forward, the only chance we have at finding some semblance of peace.
Even if it means losing the only woman I’ve ever loved. Even if it means facing a future without her by my side. I have to do what’s right.
For her, for me, for both of us.
No matter how much it hurts. No matter how much it breaks me.
9
SOFIA
Ilie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of everything that’s happened. The events of the day, of the night, replay in my head like a movie on a constant loop.
The wedding, the vows, the dance… and then the sex.
God, thesex.
I hate to admit it, even to myself, but it was incredible, Mind-blowing, earth-shattering, every cliché in the book. It was like the last four years had never happened, like all the pain and heartbreak and betrayal had been erased in a single moment.
My body seemed to instinctively know Dom, reacting to his touch in ways I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. Every kiss, caress, every thrust—it was like coming home, like finding a part of myself that I hadn’t even realized was missing.
I’d forgotten how good it could be, how perfectly we fit together. The way he knew just how to touch me, just where to kiss me to drive me wild with desire. The way he could make me come undone with a single look, a single word.
It’s been four years of celibacy, fourlongyears of denying myself the pleasures of sex. And God, it’s been four too many.
I hate myself for feeling this way, for craving his touch even now, after everything he’s done. I hate that my body betrays me, that it yearns for him in a way that my heart and mind cannot comprehend.
But I can't deny the truth, no matter how much I want to. The physical connection between us, the raw, primal attraction… it’s still there. It never really went away, no matter how hard I tried to bury it, to pretend it didn’t exist.
And now, lying here in the darkness with the memory of his hands on my skin and his breath in my ear… I can’t help but wonder.
What if I hadn’t pushed him away? What if I had let myself give in, let myself drown in the pleasure of his touch?
