CHAPTER 22: BENEATH THE BRUISES

Vincenzo entered the dressing room just as Anneliese was drying her hair, her movements slow and quiet. The firelight danced along the edges of her figure. Despite her bruises and exhaustion, there was still something resilient about her—a quiet defiance.

She sensed him immediately. Turning her head slightly to the left, her eyes met his—just for a breath—before she quickly looked away. He could see the hesitation in her body, the way her hands tightened slightly around the towel, her posture guarded.

Without saying a word, Vincenzo stepped forward and lifted her into his arms. The towel slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.

She let out a small gasp, startled, but didn’t resist. He carried her into the bedroom and gently placed her in the chair near the fireplace. Then he knelt before her, unceremoniously reaching for her foot.

Startled again, she pulled back. "What are you doing?!"

He looked up, locking eyes with her. "Examining your legs."

Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. "There’s no need—you already called the physician for that!"

But he didn’t respond. He simply placed her foot on his knee and began folding up her nightgown.

It was instinctive—anger knotted tightly in his chest ever since he had seen her curled up in that dungeon. He needed to know. He needed to see what had been done to her with his own eyes, not through the indifferent words of a physician.

As his hand reached her knee, she quickly grabbed his wrist.

But the damage had already been done.

There they were. Blue-black welts along her thighs and calves, harsh and ugly. Rage rolled through him like a silent storm. He clenched his jaw so hard he could feel the pressure in his teeth. How dare they touch her?

He exhaled slowly. "Tell me everything," he said, voice low and controlled. "From the moment you were taken to the moment you arrived here."

He didn’t realize how tight his fists had become until he heard the word: "Speak." It slipped from him—harder than intended.

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, and began.

"When I reached home yesterday, I couldn’t find my family. I searched all over town... that’s when the Envoy arrived. He was suspicious, and then he found the book of witchcraft you gave me in my bag. He ordered his subordinate to take me to the Capital and imprison me."

Vincenzo narrowed his gaze. The book. He had given it to her carelessly, not considering what danger it might bring her in the hands of men like Egnatius. That mistake burned now.

She hesitated. He saw it—like a crack in a glass surface. She was choosing what to say, what to hide. He said nothing and waited.

"I was locked in one of the dungeon cells. Late at night, the Envoy came. The subordinate lied, claiming I’d tried to escape. As punishment, the Envoy ordered the guards to whip my legs... so I wouldn’t be able to walk. Then this morning... your men came and brought me here."

It wasn’t everything. He knew it wasn’t everything. Her pauses gave her away—she was still protecting something... or someone.

He pressed.

"Why did the subordinate lie about you trying to escape?"

Her eyes shifted again. "The Envoy noticed the bruises on my face and questioned him... he lied to cover it up."

Still not the whole truth. Vincenzo’s eyes darkened.

"What did he do that needed covering up?"

She tensed, visibly.

And he did not know why he hated this. That she had to recount it. That she had to relive it. But more than anything, he hated himself for not getting to her sooner.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "The subordinate... he... he tried to touch—"

A knock interrupted. The butler’s voice called from outside, "Milord, the physician is here."

Vincenzo stood, jaw tight, forcing himself to push down the storm brewing inside.

"Come in," he said, voice clipped.

The butler entered with the physician in tow, who bowed low to Vincenzo and turned toward Anneliese.

"Milord," the physician said, "may I examine the patient?"

"No," Vincenzo said sharply.

Anneliese blinked, clearly confused.

The physician hesitated. "Milord... without an examination, I cannot provide the proper treatment. I need to know the injuries—"

"She was whipped harshly. The bruises are deep, and she’s in considerable pain. Prescribe something to ease it, and something to help the wounds heal quickly," Vincenzo ordered, voice like steel.

The physician’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded and complied. After writing down the prescriptions, he bowed and left with the butler.

The door shut. The room fell into silence again.

Anneliese turned to him. "Why didn’t you let him see the wounds?"

He met her gaze. "Because he was a man."

She frowned, confused. "What?"

But he didn’t answer. His attention had returned to the matter at hand.

"Where did he touch you?" he asked bluntly, tone colder now—harder.

Her breath caught. She didn’t need to ask who he meant.

Turning to the fire, she stayed silent for a moment. But she knew. There was no escaping this man—not his questions, not his eyes.

"In the carriage," she said quietly, "he brushed his hand over mine. He said he’d have his way with me in the dungeon... because no one would be there to help me."

"And?" he asked. Always pushing. Always wanting the whole truth.

Her voice trembled. "He came to my cell. He tried to touch me. I kept dodging him... but he was strong. He hit me. I fell and..."

She stopped.

The silence between them throbbed like a wound.

"And?" he said again—this time not just frustrated. There was something dark and desperate in his tone. It was not just about vengeance. It was about her. The idea that someone had reduced her to fear—violated her space—unleashed something cold and violent inside him.

Finally, she said it.

"I don’t know how it happened... but my hands started to glow. Fire. They lit up. I didn’t understand it, but I used them to protect myself."

He went still.

Vincenzo stared at her. Not in horror, not in awe. Just stillness. Controlled. Calculating.

So it’s true, he thought. His suspicion about her was right!

"Name of the subordinate?" he asked, his voice unreadable.

She answered softly. "Gabriel. That’s what the Envoy was calling him."

Vincenzo turned away, eyes narrowing as his mind turned toward vengeance.

Gabriel. He would not live to see another dawn.