7: The Price of Freedom

Alejandro’s chuckle was low and unrelenting, the kind that made your skin prickle because it wasn’t just a laugh—it was a challenge. “You’re so dirty-minded,” he said, the words vibrating through the air like a ripple of static

I groaned and peeked through one eye, catching a glimpse of his black shorts. My breath hitched before relief washed over me. Oh, thank God.

“Relax, princess,” he said, his voice dangerously close to my ear, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. “It’s just skin. Not like you’ve never seen a man before.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped, my eyes squeezed shut again. “And stop calling me that.”

He shifted closer. I felt it, the heat of him radiating through the air between us, and my breath hitched again before I could stop it

“Fine,” he drawled, his tone dripping with a smirk I didn’t need to see to know was there. “Would you rather I say cinderella? Or should I just stick with my guest who doesn’t know how to follow simple rules?

I hated the way his voice wrapped around the words, low and teasing, like he was daring me to react. My fists clenched at my sides, but before I could fire back, he stepped away.

The heat evaporated, leaving a sudden, suffocating void behind him.

I blinked my eyes open cautiously, and there he was, casually knotting the towel back around his waist, like he hadn’t just obliterated every shred of composure I had left.

“Better?” he asked, his amusement evident.

“Infinitely,” I bit out, my voice sharper than I intended, though it wavered at the end. Damn it.

“You should try keeping it that way,” I added, trying to sound like I had the upper hand.

His laughter was a low, throaty sound, sending shivers I hated myself for feeling. “Careful, Estella. If you keep wandering around my house, you might see things you’re not ready for.”

My head snapped toward him, even though I knew I shouldn’t take the bait. “And if you keep leaving doors open, you might get more than you bargained for,” I retorted, turning sharply on my heel before he could see the color rising to my cheeks.

“Try not to get lost on your way back,” he called after me, his voice laced with mockery.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My face was already burning, my pulse thundering so loudly it drowned out every thought except one: Why does he always make me feel like this?

Damn him. Damn his arrogance. And damn the way he always made me feel.

I didn’t stop until I reached the guest room. The second the door slammed shut behind me, I leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. My legs gave out, and I sank onto the bed, burying my face in my hands.

What the hell was I doing here

After a moment, I forced myself upright, glancing around the room for my purse. It sat on the nightstand, forgotten. I grabbed it, pulled out my phone, and frowned when it refused to turn on. Dead. Of course.

I plugged it in, the soft buzz of it charging filling the silence. When it finally turned on, the first notification to pop up made my chest tighten. A text from Mr. Jenkins.

Marco’s lawyer.

“Meet me tomorrow at the office. We’ll finalize the papers. 10 AM sharp.”

So that was how it was going to be. Marco, ever the coward, couldn’t face me himself. He had to hide behind his lawyer, sending instructions like I was some faceless obligation he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

I shook my head, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand like it had burned me.

“Coward,” I muttered under my breath, my voice breaking as the word left my lips

The heaviness in my chest threatened to choke me, but I refused to cry. Not over him. Not again.

I crawled under the covers, pulling them up to my chin as if they could shield me from everything waiting outside this room.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but it eventually pulled me under.

*****

Next Morning

I stood outside Marco’s lawyer’s office, my gaze trailing up the endless glass panes of the skyscraper. The building loomed over me. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. All I’d had this morning was toast—Diane’s insistence. Diane, the woman who’d brought me clothes last night. I assumed she was the head maid in Alejandro’s estate.

Alejandro had arranged for his driver to take me. James was punctual, stoic, and efficient—pulling up at exactly 10 AM.

“Good luck, ma’am,” he’d said before I stepped out, his tone devoid of any real emotion.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself before pushing through the revolving doors and into the building. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I followed the receptionist’s directions to the conference room.

The room was unbearably cold, or maybe it was just me. My fingers tingled as I clenched the strap of my purse. Marco was already seated, lounging like he owned the world, his tie slightly loosened as if this meeting was beneath him, his confidence radiating off him like a toxic cologne.

The sight of him made my stomach churn, not from nerves but from pure disgust. How had I ever let myself fall for him? How had I been so blind? So stupid? The memory of being nineteen, fresh out of college and so stupidly naïve, punched me in the chest. I was so desperate to prove myself during my internship at Castelli Corp. He’d seen that desperation, honed in on it like a predator, and wrapped me up in a whirlwind romance that ended with me saying “I do” far too quickly.

He had been smooth then. Confident, charming, everything a girl with no experience in love could fall for.

Now? He looked hollow. His tailored suit couldn’t hide the nasty angles of his face or the arrogance in his eyes. The man who had once seduced me, who had convinced me to marry him, looked ugly now.

“Estella,” he said with a smug nod. “Right on time. You always were punctual, at least.”

I ignored him and turned to Mr. Jenkins. The older man’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. He gestured to the chair opposite Marco, and I sat down, keeping my back straight.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said coldly.

Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in front of him. “Of course. The terms of the agreement are outlined as follows: Estella, as per the prenuptial agreement, you are not entitled to any spousal support or alimony. Furthermore, all assets—including the Castelli estate, joint bank accounts, and investments—will remain the sole property of Mr. Castelli.”

I blinked, stunned, but quickly masked my shock. “That’s ridiculous. All of it?”

Marco leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on the table. “It’s fair, Estella. You didn’t exactly bring anything to the table when we got married. And don’t forget you signed the prenup. Don’t act surprised now.”

My stomach twisted at his words. I locked eyes with him, my voice steady even as my hands trembled. “I brought myself, Marco. My time, my energy, my support—everything. I was just nineteen, Marco. And you made me believe—”

“Oh, please,” he interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “You played house, smiled at my business partners when necessary, and posed for a few charity photos. You couldn’t even give me a child. Let’s not pretend you were indispensable.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I absentmindedly touch my stomach. “I gave you everything I had,” I said quietly.

“And I gave you a lifestyle you could never have dreamed of,” Marco shot back, his smirk deepening. “You’re welcome.”

Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat again, visibly uncomfortable. “There is an additional clause to consider. Should you contest these terms, Mr. Castelli has instructed us to file a countersuit for emotional damages, citing—”

“Emotional damages?” I snapped, cutting him off. “What emotional damages, Marco? The ones you inflicted on me? You’re actually playing the victim now?”