Page 27 of Bound in Ruin

Fuck my life.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ROSALIA

The harsh, bright lights of the vanity mirror sting my eyes, but I barely notice.

The makeup artist works meticulously on my eyes while another stylist finishes pin-curling my hair. Through the reflection, across the bustling studio, my gaze keeps drifting to the far side of the room where Dominic stands talking with Keane.

He’s wearing another tailored charcoal suit that fits his broad frame with effortless perfection, his posture commanding, his hand casually resting in his pocket as he speaks. He looks so breathtakingly good it almost makes my stomach turn.

I still can't quite process the fact that I am married to him.

After years of being bound to Luciano—a man I couldn't bear to glance at for a single second without a wave of nausea washing over me—I can’t believe I’m now tethered to a man I could practically drool over.

Dominic always looks so put together, so striking, so relentlessly attractive.

And it isn't just his appearance. He seems to have something Luciano never possessed: a shred of morals.

Make no mistake, I still resent him. I hate his obsession with control, and I despise the ruthless way he acquired me from my father like a piece of high-value stock. I have zero delusions about him being a good man; he’s dangerous, lethal, and powerful.

But the way he defended me yesterday?

No one has ever stood up for me like that in front of my father. No one.

Except my sisters, of course. But even they had their limits, shackled by the deep, ingrained fear we all share of Massimo Caruso—a fear carved into us by the way he raised us.

Even Luciano used to mock me right in front of my father, eagerly joining in to tear me down and call me names whenever Massimo started in on me.

Dominic didn't just demand that my father respect me. I’ve started to realize that, in his own strange, autocratic way, Dominic actually respects me as a person, too.

"Mrs. Kane?"

The makeup artist's voice snaps me out of my trance. She steps back, holding up a hand mirror so I can see the subtle gold shadow on my eyelids. "Are you satisfied with the blend, or would you like me to deepen the outer corners a bit more?"

I blink, tearing my eyes away from the mirror's reflection of Dominic, my cheeks warming slightly as I focus back on my own face.

"It looks lovely," I say, offering the woman a soft, grateful smile. "Honestly, I trust your judgment completely with whatever you think works best."

The makeup artist beams at me, clearly pleased, and turns back to her brushes.

I deliberately force my eyes to stay fixed on my own face, refusing to glance back at Dominic's reflection in the glass. It’s an embarrassing truth, but at twenty-seven years old, I don't even know what makeup best suits my face. I’ve never really tried to apply it myself—just a light dust of powder and a swipe of lip gloss whenever I had to leave the house.

All through my marriage to Luciano, cosmetics were just another tool he used to maintain complete control over me. He banned me from wearing makeup, claiming he didn't want me looking beautiful for other men, masking his sickening possessiveness as traditional expectations.

A cold shudder ripples down my spine just thinking about him. Whoever murdered Luciano... may their pillow always be the exact right temperature. I don't feel a single drop of guilt for wishing the killer well. Not even a shred.

Fifteen minutes later, the shoot director steps over to my chair, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. "Mrs. Kane? We're ready for you on set."

"Thank you," I whisper, smoothing down my dress as I rise from the vanity chair.

I walk over to join Dominic in the center of the studio. As I approach, his dark eyes drag slowly over me, taking me in from head to toe. The intense heat of his gaze makes my pulse stutter.

"You look beautiful, Rosalia," he says, his low voice carrying a raw, quiet sincerity that catches me off guard.

My throat tightens. "Thank you, Dominic."

"Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kane!" the photographer calls out, clapping his hands to capture the crew's attention. "It's time. Let's take center stage."