Chapter 88 — Rebuilding and Reflection
Auri's POV
The soft hum of my laptop was the only sound in my apartment, accompanied by the faint scent of Marcela's herbal tea on the counter. It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon, the kind of day I had learned to cherish—no expectations, no chaos, just the rhythm of my work-from-home routine.
Marcela had come over again, claiming she needed "emergency emotional supervision" because apparently, surviving the week without checking on me was impossible. She sprawled across the sofa, scrolling through her phone while sipping her tea, and I tried to focus on the spreadsheet glowing on my screen.
Marcela Teasing
"You know," Marcela began, not looking up, "I've noticed a pattern. Every time we talk about men, every single time, it's him."
I paused mid-keystroke, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching. "Him?" I asked cautiously, though I already knew where this was going.
Marcela finally looked up, a mischievous smile curling her lips. "Yes! The man. The one you always mention. You know, the one who apparently broke your heart, ruined your life, and caused you to cry like a toddler for months."
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound empty but also strangely freeing. "Oh… that guy."
Marcela raised her eyebrows, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. "Wait. Hold on. He's the man you've been talking about? That… that Dante Moretti?"
I froze. "Uh… yes. That's him."
Marcela nearly dropped her tea. "No way!" She laughed in disbelief, shaking her head. "Auri… you mean to tell me that the quiet, shy, broken girl I've been dragging out of her apartment is the same woman who—was Dante Moretti's lover?"
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but the bitterness in my laugh betrayed me. "Yes… that's exactly it."
Marcela leaned back, still staring at me, a mix of awe and incredulity in her expression. "I… I can't believe it. The Dante Moretti. Billionaire, powerful, irresistible… and he… he… hurt you?"
My laughter turned into a bitter chuckle. "Believe it. It's true. And yes… he hurt me. Badly."
Marcela moved closer, placing her hand on mine. "I mean… how did someone like you—you, Auri, my best friend, my smart, fearless, witty friend—end up with someone like him?"
I smiled faintly, the memory still sharp but softened by distance. "I don't know. I think… I loved him before I saw the world for what it was with him. Before I realized that power and wealth don't always equal respect or loyalty."
Marcela squeezed my hand gently. "Well, lucky for you, you're free now. And stronger than ever, if I might add."
Auri's Bitterness
I leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath. "Yeah… stronger. But it still hurts." My voice softened, tinged with lingering sorrow. "I keep laughing at it now, at the absurdity of it… the betrayal, the power he wielded, the life I thought I could have. It echoes every time I remember what he did, who he is, and… who I thought he was."
Marcela shook her head, half in disbelief, half in sympathy. "I don't know how you survived that, Auri. Really. If I were in your shoes…"
I cut her off with a wry smile, bitterness still clinging to it. "You wouldn't. You'd have thrown him out of the window the first time he almost destroyed us."
Marcela laughed loudly. "Oh, I would have. You know I would."
I allowed myself a small, almost fragile laugh. "Maybe that's why I'm still alive. Maybe surviving him—and surviving losing our daughter—means I'm stronger than I think."
Marcela reached over and nudged my shoulder. "And you are. Trust me, Auri. You're unstoppable now."
I smiled faintly, letting myself feel a little warmth in that assertion. My apartment was quiet again, the hum of the laptop and the faint scent of tea filling the space. I was still broken, still scarred, but I was rebuilding. And maybe… just maybe… the echo of Dante's betrayal would one day fade into a quiet memory rather than a storm that consumed me.
The Beginning of Normalcy
Marcela's presence, her laughter, her teasing—it reminded me that life could still have color, even after loss and heartbreak. I realized that the world wasn't just Dante Moretti, betrayal, and pain. It was also friendship, warmth, laughter, and small moments of peace that I had almost forgotten.
And as I returned to my work, the spreadsheet glowing under the afternoon sunlight, I allowed myself a quiet thought: maybe I could survive this. Maybe I could reclaim my life fully. And maybe… just maybe, I could learn to laugh again without bitterness consuming the sound.