ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 273: Defended a man

Chapter 273

KATYA POV

I woke up slowly.

Not the peaceful kind of slow—no birds chirping outside my window, no sunlight stretching lazily across the bed like an invitation to stay. This was the kind of waking where consciousness crept back in piece by piece, dragging the full, unavoidable weight of memory along with it.

My head throbbed first.

Then my chest tightened.

Then it all came rushing back at once, like my brain had been waiting for me to be awake enough to suffer properly.

Nonna.The entry hall.Chiara passing out like a sack of flour.Michael standing beside me, quiet and steady in the middle of it all. And the dinner invitation that hadn’t felt like an invitation at all.

I groaned softly and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling of my room. Gray walls. Faint cracks near the corners that Nonna refused to fix because they were "part of the house’s history."

Right now, history could mind its business.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, the silk sheets whispering softly as they slid down my legs. Even the bed felt too elegant for the way I felt inside.

My body felt heavy—emotionally more than physically. The kind of tired that sleep didn’t touch, the kind that settled deep in your bones and refused to leave. I hadn’t dreamed. Or maybe I had and my brain had mercifully erased it before I woke up.

A small blessing.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. Usually by this time there would be movement in the halls—maids opening curtains, guards changing shifts, footsteps echoing faintly through the stone corridors. The low hum of the house waking up around me.

Instead, it felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, elbows resting on my knees, rubbing my face with both hands like I could physically push the tension away.

My reflection in the mirror across the room looked... fine. Normal. No visible signs of the internal chaos twisting through me. No trace of the dread curling low in my stomach.

I hated that about mornings. How the world expected you to just continue. As if nothing had shifted overnight. As if the ground beneath you hadn’t subtly moved.

I stood, padded toward the window, and pulled the curtains back just enough to let the morning light spill in.

The garden below was immaculate as always. Dew still clung to the hedges, catching the light. The stone paths gleamed like they’d been polished by hand. Perfect. Controlled. Predictable.

Nonna had probably been awake for hours already.

The thought made my stomach flip.

Dinner tonight. With Michael.

I pressed my forehead briefly to the cool glass, letting the chill ground me. Why had she invited him? I knew the answer, of course. Control. Assessment. Curiosity sharpened into scrutiny.

Nonna didn’t trust easily. And she never—never—acted without purpose.

A soft knock sounded at my door.

My shoulders tensed instantly. "Come in," I said, forcing my voice to sound normal, steady, like my heart wasn’t doing something strange in my chest.

The door opened quietly. A maid stepped in, carrying a tray. "Good morning, signorina," she said gently. "Nonna asked that you eat before coming downstairs."

Before coming downstairs? Normally, we all ate breakfast together. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.

Almost eleven. "Shit," I muttered under my breath. I must have slept deeper than I thought. "Thank you," I said more clearly, stepping aside to let her set the tray down.

Coffee. Toast. Fruit. Simple. Controlled. Nonna’s version of mercy. As the maid left, I stared at the tray for a long second before sitting at the small table by the window.

I wrapped my hands around the coffee cup, letting the warmth sink into my palms, grounding me inch by inch.

Eat. Breathe. Prepare. I took a sip and exhaled slowly. Whatever today was going to bring—lectures, awkward explanations, or Michael sitting across from me at dinner under Nonna’s sharp, measuring gaze—it was already in motion.

And whether I liked it or not, last night had changed something. I just didn’t know yet if it was for better... or worse.

"Katya!" The door flew open like it had personally taken offense to being closed.

I groaned into my coffee, lifting the cup just in time to shield myself as Chiara’s voice boomed through the room like a church bell. "Please tell me you learned how to knock overnight."

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she sang, completely ignoring me as she strutted in like she owned the place.

She was already dressed—hair brushed, outfit coordinated, makeup minimal but intentional—and far too alive for someone who had been unconscious in a stranger’s arms barely twelve hours ago.

I lowered the cup slowly and squinted at her. "Good morning, drunkard. I thought you’d be horizontal today. Weak. Repentant. Possibly bargaining with God over a headache."

She grinned. Actually grinned. "Hydration. Two aspirin. One very judgmental guard who watched me drink water like it was a crime."

I stared at her harder. "You passed out mid-curse in Nonna’s entry hall."

"And yet," she said cheerfully, plopping down on the edge of my bed, "here I am. Thriving."

"You’re a menace to society," I muttered, taking another sip of coffee. "You should be studied."

Chiara leaned back on her hands, eyes sparkling with far too much interest. "Okay but—counterpoint—you defended a man to our terrifying grandmother last night."

I froze. The cup paused halfway to my mouth. Slowly, deliberately, I lowered it. "So you were awake!"

Chiara coughed. "Uh... I didn’t want to face Nonna drunk, okay!"

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost hurt. "We’re not doing this," I said flatly.

"Oh, we are absolutely doing this," she replied immediately. "You went full heroine. ’Blame me, not him.’ Very dramatic. Very romantic."

"It was not romantic," I snapped. "It was factual."

"Mhm." She tilted her head. "And the part where Nonna invited him to dinner?"

I groaned again, this time leaning my forehead against the rim of the cup. "You were supposed to be in your room by then. How the heck did you hear that part?" I shrieked.

"Well," Chiara shrugged like this was perfectly reasonable behavior, "I snuck out to the stairs after the guard left me."

So she left me alone to face Nonna and then eavesdropped on the entire conversation. Absolutely pathetic. "I’m pretending that didn’t happen until it goes away," I muttered.

Chiara laughed. "Katya. She never invites people. She interrogates them with food."

"I know," I said miserably. "That’s why I’m stressed."

Chiara studied me for a moment, her teasing expression softening just a little. "Hey," she said more gently. "You okay?"

I sighed, straightening. So now she was concerned. "I don’t know. I feel like I accidentally stepped onto a moving walkway and now I can’t get off."

She hummed thoughtfully. "That’s usually how important things start."

I shot her a look. "Do not turn this into a life lesson."

She shrugged. "I’m just saying. He didn’t have to help us. But he did."

I looked down at my coffee, watching the surface ripple slightly. "That doesn’t mean anything."

Chiara smiled knowingly. "That’s exactly what it means."

Before I could respond, she beat me to it, clapping her hands once. "By the way, we need to get you dressed up for your long-lost gentleman."

I groaned. "Please don’t call him that."

Chiara grinned wider. "Michael, wasn’t it?"

My stomach did something stupid.