Sophia didn't know how much strength she had poured into that slap, but it felt like every bit of her frustration and heartbreak had been released with it. She trembled, tears spilling uncontrollably as she prepared herself for the worst. Capone's gaze was intense, his expression rigid with anger that could burst at any moment, and she felt a flash of fear—surely he wouldn't hurt her… would he?
But instead of the rage she anticipated, a twisted smile crept onto his face, a chilling mixture of amusement and cruelty. He slowly raised a hand to his cheek, rubbing where she had struck him. "Well, well," he murmured, eyes gleaming with a cold fire. "You betray me, nearly get me killed, and now, you have the nerve to raise a hand against me? I think it's time you paid your dues."
Without another word, he leaned forward, seizing her lips in a fierce, punishing kiss that left her breathless. His arms pinned her in place, pressing her against the seat until she could barely move. Every ounce of his frustration, fury, and wounded pride seemed to pour into that kiss, leaving her utterly overwhelmed.
Her thick woolen tights and short pleated skirt offered little protection as he roughly pushed her skirt aside, and she felt the cold air on her exposed skin. Though her heart hammered in her chest, she couldn't break free, unable to voice a word of protest as he overpowered her, silencing any sound that tried to escape.
Her body tensed instinctively, resisting his touch, yet the memories of their past intimacy lingered faintly—a reminder of a time when he hadn't been so hardened and distant, when his embrace had brought warmth rather than fear. Now, though, the protective tension in her body only seemed to amplify, a subconscious attempt to shield herself from the man he'd become, as if pushing him out of the part of her life he once belonged to.
In that moment, Capone's longing and frustration seemed to blend, becoming a mix of tenderness and impatience. He couldn't ignore the softness of her skin, the subtle tension in her body as he continued to touch her, feeling her familiar warmth return under his hands. Memories of their past closeness pulled at him, breaking through the anger that had hardened him.
He held her face gently, silencing her protests with a deep, slow kiss, one that lingered with traces of the vulnerability they both tried to hide. His hand slid beneath the neckline of her sweater, resting over her heart as he whispered, "Did you miss me, Sophia? Even a little?"
Sophia's breath hitched, caught between the pain of betrayal and the lingering affection his words stirred. She tried to push him away, her emotions tangled and raw, but her body remembered him all too well.
Capone's gaze softened just for a moment as he looked at her, his voice barely a whisper. "Let me remind you of what we shared," he murmured, his tone softening from command to plea. "I need you to remember…"
And despite everything, Sophia felt herself drawn back to him, as if reliving a forbidden part of her past that could never truly be erased.
As Sophia weakly struggled, she felt herself caught between defiance and surrender, her mind at war with her own body's response. Capone's gaze was cold, his expression tinged with an unsettling mixture of pain and determination that seared through her, as if he was trying to claim both her heart and her defiance in one swift act.
Her whispered protest, "Let me go…" barely escaped her lips before he leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered harshly, "Why should I? You betrayed me, didn't you, Sophia? Did he make you feel this way, too?"
With every movement, he seemed intent on breaking through her resistance, his touch relentless yet edged with something deeper—a frustration that mirrored her own. As her body responded involuntarily, her mind filled with questions and fears. Each kiss he trailed down her neck, each heated word, seemed to deepen the conflict within her, leaving her feeling more vulnerable with every passing moment.
Capone's grip tightened, his eyes flashing with anger and need. He raised her hand, eyeing the absence of the ring he had once given her, a glint of hurt masked behind his steely gaze. "I told you never to take this off," he whispered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Was that for his sake, too?"
Before she could answer, he pressed his lips to her neck, leaving marks that felt like both a punishment and a reminder. He wanted to make it unmistakably clear—to both of them—that no one else could have her like this. And in that moment, Sophia's heart ached, torn between the memories of their past and the painful reality of the present, as Capone's unyielding hold left her wondering if they could ever find a way to heal from everything that had driven them apart.
Capone froze, her words cutting through the fog of his anger and possessiveness. Sophia's voice was calm but laden with a sorrow he hadn't fully seen before—a vulnerability that, for a moment, shattered the hard resolve he'd wrapped around his heart.
He had always believed in possessing what he claimed as his, bending fate to his will. Yet here she was, her eyes hollow and tired, her spirit dimmed by the weight of everything he'd done. He could feel the accusation in her gaze, one that seemed to question whether he would truly go so far as to destroy the one person he claimed to care about.
He reached out to touch her, his fingers hovering uncertainly before falling back. Words escaped him, their usual sharpness dulled by the realization of what his actions had cost her—and maybe him, too.
In a hoarse voice, he managed, "Sophia… it was never supposed to be like this." But even he knew that his intentions, once twisted by revenge and pride, had left scars too deep for apologies.
Sophia turned away, unwilling to hear the words that came too late, and opened the car door. For her, this chapter was already closed. She stepped out without a backward glance, leaving Capone alone in the dim light, grappling with the silence that followed her departure—a silence filled with the pain of all the things left unsaid and the choices that couldn't be undone.
She spoke softly, but every word felt like a heavy stone pressing down on him. Capone's body, already weakened, had forced itself on her once, and hearing those words now left him frozen.
Sophia closed the door behind her and walked away, disheveled, her leggings left in his car, and her lambskin shoes and pleated skirt revealing her pale, long legs, walking through the cold wind. Anyone could easily imagine a scene of lingering desire.
Capone suddenly felt panic rise in his chest. Her clothes beside him still carried her warmth and scent, but she was already walking away.
He hadn't thought about watching her die. What did it mean when she said that?
The car still held the lingering air of passion, and his breathing grew erratic. He called Karl and Mandy: "Find out where the media got those photos, who's behind this! Also, keep an eye on Sophia Diaz. Tell me immediately if she does anything. I'm afraid she might do something foolish!"
Despite his jealousy, despite his anger and suspicion, he still didn't want to see her harmed in any way.
She was his woman; only he could be cruel to her.
Love was so contradictory, so why was he sinking deeper into this mire?
Sophia was sick—very sick, worse than when she returned injured.
It started with a high fever, followed by a persistent low-grade fever. Her consciousness faded, and whatever she ate, she threw up. She became emaciated.
Her body seemed to carry his scent everywhere. Even when lying quietly alone, it was as if she was still enveloped by his tall figure, unable to escape no matter how hard she tried.
The rumors continued to spread, the stories about her illicit affairs and secret meetings with men fueling gossip, but she no longer had the strength to care. She spent almost all the days of the New Year in bed, her family—the parents and older brother—staying by her side, but most of the time, she was in a haze. In that world, she felt alone, the only thing she could still feel was the ring on her pinky finger, a faint reminder of her connection to him.
It seemed like that was all she had left.
She didn't explain to Capone. When working on desserts, she couldn't wear any jewelry, so she always carefully placed the ring in a delicate bone jewelry box, locked it in a drawer, and only took it out to put back on after work.
Anyway, he wouldn't believe it. Maybe he never believed they had a good relationship to begin with.
When she felt a chill throughout her body, she grasped her brother's hand, her lips pale as she whispered, "Capone might not have given up on seeking revenge on our Diaz family. You all need to be careful. But if possible, try not to become enemies with him, okay?"
When would this cycle of vengeance end? She wanted to sever all ties with him, so they'd owe each other nothing, right?
She didn't know why he was so sure she had betrayed him, just as she didn't know why he had cruelly leaked her private photos, letting her become the target of public shame as a "loose woman!"
There were too many things neither of them could explain. Was it fate coming to an end?
Longing turned to dust, perhaps this was what it felt like.