Chapter 7: The End of Illusions
But silence was never safe for long.
Crystabella opened her eyes in the dim room, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. Her phone had stopped vibrating. Even the world outside her window had gone still. But inside her chest, something relentless churned.
The silence had done what it always did: given her space to hear the questions she didn't want to face.
Why had Romano been acting so distant since the engagement? Why had Alice been lurking so closely at the party, always nearby, always watching her with that infuriating smirk? Why had Leo's voice, furious and broken, been so certain?
She sat up slowly, heart pounding.
Not from fear, but recognition.
A thread was unraveling, and she had been too distracted, too obedient, too hopeful to pull it all the way before.
But not anymore.
Her father wanted results. Wanted this marriage sealed like a business contract. She had promised to handle it her way, and she would.
Not as the daughter he could command. Not as the woman Leo once waited for. And certainly not as the fool Romano thought he could lie to.
She needed the truth.
And this time, she'd drag it out herself.
Without a word, she got up, dressed, and walked out of the apartment, one quiet step at a time.
No makeup. No mask. Just clarity.
It wasn't rage that pushed her toward Romano's place.
It was resolve.
This didn't feel like war.
It felt like the ending of a story she had been rewriting in her head for far too long.
She didn't call ahead. Didn't text. She didn't need to.
Romano's apartment was in the upper district, where the glass walls overlooked a city that never really slept. But tonight, it all felt artificial, like a world built to look pretty while everything inside it decayed.
The doorman recognized her, offered a polite nod. She didn't return it.
Her heels clicked across the marble lobby floor, steady and sharp, like punctuation in a sentence she hadn't yet spoken.
She pressed the elevator button.
Up.
Her reflection caught in the steel doors.
Tired eyes.
Lips pressed into a line.
Her engagement ring was gone.
Her silence had weight now, not weakness.
When she reached his floor, her chest tightened.
But she didn't hesitate.
She knocked. Twice.
The door opened after a moment.
Romano.
His shirt was unbuttoned at the top. His hair tousled. But his surprise was carefully measured, like he'd already prepared for this day.
"Crysta," he said, almost gently. "I didn't expect you to"
"Is she here?" she asked quietly.
He blinked. "What?"
"Alice."
His jaw shifted. "What the hell are you talking about?"
She stepped past him.
He didn't try to stop her.
Romano's apartment was clean.
Too clean.
Like he'd wiped away the evidence but forgot the scent of guilt still lingered in the air.
She walked slowly, her gaze sweeping over the furniture they once picked together, the pictures he hadn't changed, the faint trace of perfume that didn't belong to her.
Then a sound.
A stifled gasp. From down the hall.
Crystabella didn't wait.
She walked straight to the master bedroom.
And there, standing frozen with wide eyes and bare feet, was Alice.
Wearing one of Romano's shirts.
Crystabella stopped in the doorway.
Alice recovered quickly, straightening with that familiar smugness. "You should've called. I would've tidied up."
Crystabella stared at her for a long, breathless moment. Then turned to Romano.
"Say something," she said.
Her voice didn't shake.
But her fingers curled into her palm, nails biting skin. She wouldn't let him see her break.
Romano ran a hand down his face. "It's not what it looks like."
Alice gave a short, dry laugh. "Oh come on, Romano. Don't embarrass yourself."
He turned sharply toward her. "Shut up, Alice."
Alice arched a brow. "Why? She's here. Might as well tell her how long it's been going on."
Crystabella flinched but didn't fall.
Romano moved closer, reaching for her arm. "Crysta, please. I made a mistake. A stupid mistake. I didn't mean for it to happen like this. She meant nothing."
Alice gave a snort behind him.
Romano shot her a glare before focusing back on Crystabella. "You and I, we were going through a hard time. You were so distant. Everything with the engagement,
"Don't blame this on me," she said coldly. "Don't you dare."
"I still love you," he whispered.
Her throat tightened. "You lied to me. And you let her laugh in my face while you did it."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said again, stepping forward.
She backed away. "But you did. Repeatedly."
Alice leaned against the doorframe. "He was never really yours, sweetheart. You just had the ring."
Romano snapped, "Alice!"
But Crystabella didn't hear the rest.
She turned and walked out.
Her hands trembled.
But she didn't stop.
Not until she was outside the building, the night air slapping against her cheeks like truth.
She looked up at the stars, still shining, still far away, and realized:
It was over.
Not just the engagement.
Not just Romano.
The illusion.
The version of her life she tried to believe in because it was easier than starting over.
And she was done pretending.
The stars had no answers for her.
Crystabella stood beneath the chilled sky long after the door slammed behind her, long after Romano's voice became a fading echo in the marble corridors of her memory.
The air bit at her skin, but it didn't matter.
She couldn't feel anything except the truth pressing against her chest like a stone.
It was over.
She walked without thinking, past streetlights, past rows of silent cars and strangers with umbrellas.
At some point, her heels came off.
Her feet were bare by the time she reached the corner near her apartment.
The city lights blurred, not from tears, but from the sudden, disorienting freedom she hadn't asked for.
There had been love once.
Or what she thought was love.
But now there was only clarity.
Romano had never chosen her, not fully.
And her father… he wouldn't care about heartbreak.
He'd care about perception.
The merger.
The money.
The Brooklyn name, tangled now in rumors and weakness.
If she didn't act fast, the fallout from the broken engagement would destroy everything her family had built.
And Romano would watch it burn with Alice by his side.
Inside her apartment, Crystabella curled up on the couch, legs folded beneath her.
Her phone buzzed again, texts, missed calls, likely from her father now.
But she didn't move.
She just sat in the dark, letting the ache settle into something solid.
By sunrise, she knew what she had to do.
And there was only one person who could help her do it.