I couldn't help but remember the day I was sixteen, caught in a street ambush, bleeding out, until Damiano saved me. That's when I knew the families would bind us together. But the moment he laid eyes on Elena, I vanished from his world. No matter how hard I tried to be enough, he never saw me.
Not once.
I wiped my tears as I looked around the room that held five years of memories with Dante. Memories I once treasured. The photos, the little gifts, the scrapbook full of love notes, the painting I made for him. Everything.
But now, all I felt was anger and disgust.
I stared at our bed.
Did he ever think it was me in his arms, or was it always Elena?
Pathetic. Pathetic love. Pathetic me.
I grabbed everything, every piece of our so-called love, and shoved it in a box. I carried it outside to the courtyard, ready to burn it all.
But then a familiar hand stopped me.
"What are you doing?" said a voice behind me. "Is that the stuff from my brother? The gifts? His memories?"
It was Dante.
Pretending to be Damiano.
I would've believed it was really Damiano if I hadn't heard that conversation. He looked just like him. The hair, the eyes, even the way he dressed. Everything was identical.