Serafina's POV

The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the old house settling around me. The air felt thick with memories, yet all I could hear was the frantic pounding of my heart. I had been home for hours, but it felt like I was still in a strange world, one where I didn't belong, where I was trapped in a nightmare that wouldn't let me wake up.

After talking to my father, I couldn't bear to be near anyone else. They all looked at me like I was some fragile thing, some glass doll that could shatter at the slightest touch. I hated the pity in their eyes, and even worse, I hated how much I wanted to crumble under the weight of it.

I needed to be alone.

I slipped into the bathroom, trying not to look at my reflection in the mirror. The sight of myself was a stranger—my face still swollen and bruised, my skin pale and stretched thin from the trauma. The bruises on my body felt like they were still fresh, still pulsing with every beat of my heart. I couldn't shake the memories. I couldn't forget.

I rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a clean pair of jeans and an oversized sweater. The clothes felt foreign against my skin, like I was trying to wear someone else's life. But I changed quickly, pulling my hair into a messy knot, not caring if I looked presentable.

It was as if my own reflection had betrayed me, showing me a version of myself I didn't recognize. I wanted to hide from it, to bury myself beneath the covers and pretend I wasn't here, that none of this had ever happened.

But I couldn't.

I lay on the bed, the weight of the blankets heavy on top of me. The silence in the house seemed suffocating, and I hated it. I longed for the chaos I once had, the laughter of my brothers, the constant noise that had kept me grounded. But now it was just... quiet.

My eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, I thought I might drift into a dreamless sleep. But then the images came—blurry at first, then sharper, clearer.

The memories came like a wave crashing over me, each one more vivid than the last. I saw his face—Gary Fowler's twisted grin, the way his eyes gleamed with malice. I remembered his voice, cold and cruel, calling me names, telling me I was worthless.

The sounds of metal chains clinking, the scrape of something heavy against the floor, the feel of cold walls pressing in on me as I was dragged from one place to the next. It was a prison, but not like the ones you see in movies. This was real. This was hell.

And then, in the darkness of my mind, I saw the hands. They reached for me, gripping me, hurting me, dragging me back to that place. I could feel the panic rising in my chest, my breath quickening, my heart slamming in my ears.

I tried to scream, but no sound came.

I jerked awake, my body stiff and cold with sweat. My breath was ragged, my hands trembling as I looked around the room, disoriented and afraid. It took me a moment to remember where I was—the Romano estate, my home ..

The room was too quiet, suffocating in its stillness. My heart raced in my chest, the echoes of my nightmare clinging to me like a second skin. The images wouldn't leave—Gary's face, his hands, the cold, unrelenting darkness. I could still feel the phantom grip of his fingers on my arms, his voice in my ears, telling me I'd never be free.

I sat up, gasping for air, my hands gripping the sheets so tightly my knuckles turned white. The walls seemed to close in around me, and my chest felt like it might explode from the weight of my fear.

The soft creak of my door made me flinch, and I scrambled back against the headboard, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"Fina?"

Enzo's voice cut through the haze, low and cautious. His silhouette appeared in the dim light spilling in from the hallway. For a moment, I couldn't answer, the nightmare still gripping me, making it hard to distinguish what was real.

He stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "It's me," he said gently. "You're safe."

Safe. The word felt foreign, almost cruel.

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. "I'm not," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm not safe, Enzo. It's still there. It's still... with me."

He came closer, kneeling beside the bed, his presence grounding in a way I couldn't explain. "Fina, look at me," he said softly.

I hesitated before meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were steady, filled with a quiet determination that made me want to believe him.

"You're home now," he said. "Whatever it is, whoever it was, they can't touch you anymore. I swear to you."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The words made sense, but the fear in my chest didn't care. "It doesn't feel like it's over," I admitted, my voice cracking.

Enzo's expression softened, and he reached out as if to touch my arm, but then stopped, his hand hovering in the air. "What do you need, Fina?" he asked. "Tell me what I can do."

I hesitated, my breath hitching. The vulnerability of what I was about to ask felt like a weight on my chest, but the ache for comfort outweighed my shame. "Can you... can you hold me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, surprise flickering across his face, but then he nodded. "Of course," he said gently.

I shifted slightly, unsure of how to move, but he didn't hesitate. Enzo climbed onto the bed beside me, keeping his movements slow and careful, as if he was afraid I might break.

He wrapped his arms around me, his warmth pressing against my trembling body. It wasn't too tight—just enough to make me feel anchored, to make me feel like I wasn't floating away.

At first, I stiffened, the instinct to pull away almost overwhelming. But as the seconds passed, his presence seeped into me, steady and unwavering.

"You're okay," he murmured, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. "I've got you, Fina. I've got you."

A sob broke free from my chest, and I buried my face in his shoulder, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. The tears came fast, wracking my body as I let out all the fear, the anger, the pain I'd been holding in.

Enzo didn't say a word. He just held me, his hand gently running up and down my back in a soothing rhythm. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me.

"Thank you," I whispered through my tears, my voice muffled against his chest.

"You don't have to thank me," he replied softly. "I'm your brother. It's what I'm here for."

For the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight in my chest lightened, if only just a little. And for a moment, in the safety of his arms, I believed that maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back to myself.