His grip loosened.
Deliberately.
She fell back, her eyes widening.
Down the stairs.
Down and down and down and down until there were no more steps to fall from.
It was over in a series of mere seconds.
It was over before she could realize it had started.
And then it began.
Every single bone started to hurt. Every single joint started to ache. Every single muscle started to pain.
Morana lay there, on the cold marble floor, as cold as the house, as cold as the man who stood at the landing, his face an odd twist of remorse and iciness. She didn't know whether her body hurt more or her heart, all those shattered hopes splattered on the cold floor beside her. But she knew, in that moment of utter betrayal of the worst kind, in that moment of finally letting go of the little girl she'd held on to, she knew this was a good thing. Because she knew there was no hope now. Not anymore.
Slowly sitting up, Morana bit back a sharp cry of pain as her ribs protested, removing her heels from her feet and threw them to the side.
As fluidly as she could, she picked up her clutch from the ground where it had fallen with her and stood up on wobbling legs. Her teeth dug into her lips as she locked the pain away for later. Without another word, another glance, picking up all her dignity as sharply as she could, Morana took a step towards the door.
Sharp tendrils of pain shot up her legs, up her spine. Her body was making her feel each and every stair she had tumbled over. The ache between her legs that had been the highlight of her night was buried under all the other painful sensations.
Bruised, battered, she walked out of the house on bare feet, keeping her spine straight and not sparing anyone any glance, her rigid frame screaming for her to relax and let her skin breathe.
She didn't.
She stifled the groans and let her skin turn blue, angry welts appearing all over her arms and legs and back, the gravel of the driveway cutting the skin of her feet. But she kept walking to her car, her only friend in this world of pain, and pulled out the keys from her clutch, thanking heavens she always kept it with her.
Throwing the clutch and her phone on the passenger seat, she got inside, the action resonating in every single bone in her body, muscles she didn't know she had hurt.
But she clenched her jaw, keeping every sound at bay, her eyes flooding with tears that rolled down her cheeks, burning the skin of her cheeks where the marble had cut.
Pulling out of the driveway without sparing the cursed house a glance, she drove out into the road in the deep night, the moonlight bathing the way, trees lining on either side as she just drove and drove, away and away, her tears torrential.
A sob escaped her throat, rapidly followed by another, and another, and another till they became uncontrolled, the noises loud in the silence of the car, mingling with the familiar purr of the engine.
She drove mindlessly, trying to keep all thoughts at bay, everything inside her breaking with each sob. She didn't know where to go. She had no friends, no people who cared about her, not one place she could go to when she needed to stay. She could go to a hotel but with the battered clothes and bruised skin, the police might become involved and that couldn't happen. She couldn't go anywhere public. Not even a hospital.
No one tailed her as she drove. Why would they? Her father had dropped her. What if she had broken her neck? What if she had died? Did she really not matter at all?
It was a few minutes of her harsh thoughts before Morana realized where she was heading – the penthouse.
Subconsciously, she had steered her car towards the penthouse. Why? That was the last place she could go, should go. Especially after the night. Especially as she was.
And yet, she didn't hit the brakes.
She was two minutes away and over the bridge, and even as she knew she shouldn't go there, she continued to drive.
What would it mean? She was going to him. He had told her she wasn't out of his system, and in all honesty, neither was he out of hers. But they were still who they were and their hatred hadn't gone down.
She remembered those glass walls, remembered that truce for one night as he'd sit beside her, an almost decent man. Could that truce prevail again? Should she even ask for it? Because she was not her best, neither physically not emotionally. And yet, as the building came into view, as the guards waved her in, recognizing her from before, Morana parked her car and sat in silence.
The comforting scent of her car, the sounds of her own breathing made her calm down a little.
But she didn't take a step out.
She couldn't.
She wanted to move, to walk, to get out. She couldn't.
Wiping her tears from her cheeks even as more escaped, Morana sat in the car quietly in the darkened area, her chest heaving with sobs. Sitting there, she let herself cry, let herself weep in a way she'd never allowed herself to do. She cried for the girl she had been, the girl who had died after the fall today. She cried for the lost hopes she'd been clinging to, for the lost dreams of maybes. She cried because she had no one to give her a shoulder and hold her as she cried because she had to wrap her arms around herself and hold herself together, in the basement of her enemy. She cried.
The sound of the elevator dinging had her wiping her tears. She looked up, alert. She didn't want anyone to see her even as a part of her wanted someone to.
Swallowing, she watched as Dante walked out in the suit he had been in at the restaurant, his phone held up to his ear, his voice low as he talked to someone. He headed to a black SUV two cars away from her, and she saw him still as he spied her vehicle lingering innocently in the lot.
"Morana?"
Shit.
Morana quietly opened her car, berating herself for not even knowing how bad her face looked with the injuries. She got out and closed the door, and saw Dante's eyes take her in, from head to toe, his eyes widening slightly in concern.
"I'll call you back," he spoke into the phone, his voice hardening as did his eyes, anger flashing through them.
Morana remembered what Amara had told her, about the two men being protective of women. She remembered Dante offering her comfort when she'd had to stay the night. And tears welled up in her eyes again, because that comfort, that concern, was a stranger to her.
He took a step towards her, still keeping his polite distance, his handsome face twisted in anger.
"Who did this?"
It touched her. The fact that he was the enemy and yet he wanted to hurt the culprit. It touched her deep.
Morana gulped.
"I fell down the stairs," she spoke quietly, her voice shaking just a bit. She really, really hoped he didn't ask her what she was doing there. She didn't have an answer.
He searched her eyes for a long moment before his eyes softened. "I will be away for the night. You can go upstairs and rest, Morana."
Morana felt her grip tighten on the car door handle, her lips trembling. She shook her head. "No. I'm okay. I'll go stay with some friends."
The fact that he didn't call her out on the obvious lie, that her presence there of all places was the indication that she had no friends, gave him a point in her books.
She shook her head again, and he cursed. "Tristan's up there."
Her eyes flew to his, her heart pounding. She didn't know why but it did. Anger burnished her.
Why? Why the hell did it matter? Why was her stomach in knots over it? Why had she come here of all places?