Lips Of A Liar

by AMotto36

An altered telling of Bella's trip to Italy and her encounter with a morally gray vampire ruler. She can only tell herself pretty little lies so long before the Volturi start to chip away at her own rose-colored view of what she thinks she knows and bringing forth secrets that will alter her future forever.

13. Chapter 13-Lessons Learned

Sulpicia POV

Flexing her freshly manicured fingers, Sulpicia surveyed her empty room with an annoyed huff before slipping on her black leather gloves and adjusting her headscarf for better coverage in preparation for her departure.

As much as she loathed the current predicament, it seemed prudent to create some distance from the coven for the time being, thereby sparing herself from the unwanted attention of the brothers. She could feel Demetri's presence nearby, his watchful gaze almost a tangible weight, as he shadowed her every step. Meanwhile, Alec's guarded eyes were frigid during their discussions about arranging the logistics of shipping her furniture to her new villa in the enchanting city of Venice. Each glance exchanged between them held an unspoken tension, hinting at the scrutiny that accompanied each decision she made in this complicated web of loyalty and suspicion.

An indelicate snort escaped her as she slid her dark sunglasses into place, shielding her eyes from the world. With a practiced motion, she smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles from her luxurious designer coat, ensuring that every inch of her skin was meticulously covered. Satisfied with her polished appearance, she pivoted on her tall, elegant heels—each step a harmonious blend of poise and power. The sharp click of her stilettos reverberated against the polished marble floors like a rhythm, setting the tempo of her confidence. She moved with a dancer's grace, her every stride perfectly calculated as she approached the imposing grand tower doors that loomed ahead.

As she stepped into the expansive common room, a combination of warmth and light enveloped her. Her gaze flitted briefly toward the draped form of Athenodora, who lounged artfully on a sumptuous velvet chaise beside the tall arched window. The sunlight poured in, illuminating the vampire's skin, which sparkled like an array of glittering diamonds. Athenodora was deeply engrossed in a tome, its pages yellowed with age, but as if sensing her presence, she raised her piercing crimson eyes from the text. A soft, knowing smile unfurled across her lips, and she gracefully set the book aside on the cushion, rising to her bare feet with an elegance that was both ethereal and commanding.

"Ah, mia carissima sorella," Athenodora exclaimed, her voice melodious and rich, "has the time finally come for you to leave us? Given the 'excitement' of the Gala, I can only imagine the tales you must have from such a grand affair. Despite the incident, I believe the event was a notable success for you. Please do let me know once you settle into the villa and how the transition unfolds."

With a tender kiss to each of Athenodora's cheeks, Sulpicia offered a warm farewell, inclining her head slightly in agreement. "Of course, Sorella. I'll send word as soon as I arrive. You simply must come visit me in Venice soon; we can indulge in a splendid evening at the opera."

Athenodora's face lit up with a wide smile as she returned the affectionate gesture, pressing her lips gently to Sulpicia's cheeks. "I'm sure I can persuade Caius to grant me a brief holiday. You know how he is; he prefers that I don't stray too far from his side."

Sulpicia let out a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced at her phone. "Well, I really must be on my way. I'll see you soon."

As she made her way toward the door, she descended the stairwell, her footsteps light on the polished marble as she left Athenodora's shrewd gaze lingering on her retreating back.

Navigating through the lobby was a quick task; she effortlessly sidestepped the clusters of human dignitaries and foreign vampires, their conversations a murmur in the air. Just as she reached the heavy entrance doors, she halted, noticing a figure blocking her path. The familiar silhouette stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him as if he were engrossed in the intricate iron and woodwork of the lavish entrance. Recognizing her ex-husband's posture, Sulpicia instinctively pressed her fingers against the smooth surface of the pendant that always hung hidden beneath her clothing. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and approached the silent figure.

"Aro, amore mio. Are you here to see me off?"

Nearly black irises shifted towards her, their intensity cutting through the ambient light, as Aro turned slightly over his broad shoulder. A shiver threatened under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze, but she squared her shoulders, brushing aside the instinct to retreat. With an unyielding resolve, Sulpicia strode to his side, a bright smile curving her painted red lips.

As he fully faced her, his piercing eyes remained fixed upon her features, drinking in every detail as a practiced smile unfurled across his sharply defined face. "It only seems fitting that I see you off after all our time together," he murmured, his voice smooth like silk, yet carrying an undercurrent of something darker.

Sulpicia's gaze flickered over him, noting the fine mist of blood—imperceptible to human eyes—that clung to his tailored shirt and jacket. It was an unmistakable hallmark of his nature. When he leaned forward to press his lips gently against each of her cheeks in a customary greeting, the scent of blood enveloped her. It was an intoxicating mix that twisted her stomach in a way she almost relished. Behind him, a lavish bouquet of pristine white roses rested atop a decorative desk, their innocent fragrance undermined by the subtle, iron-laden overtones staining their petals with tiny droplets of red. A smile threatened to break across her face as she suppressed the urge to tease him about his apparent loss of control; instead, she focused on the slight ticking of the muscle in his jaw, an indication of his restraint.

"Are those for me? I must say, that is quite out of character for you. I don't believe you've ever bestowed roses upon me during our time together," she remarked, her tone polite but snide.

A barely perceptible twitch of his lips and the narrowing of his obsidian pupils were the only signs of acknowledgment before he reached for the heavy door handle, swinging it open with ease. The sunlight flooded in, but he deftly avoided its touch, his white smile cutting a striking figure against the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

"Our agreement has reached its conclusion," Aro intoned, his voice an eerie blend of smoothness and cold authority. "As per our arrangement, you have been duly compensated for your contributions to our coven."

A soft, almost involuntary snort escaped her, punctuating the biting irony of his words. "Compensation, you say? Is that really what this is? I was cast out of my own sanctuary the moment your dear Isabella crossed into my domain. A mere human girl, no less, with nothing on her mind but to rush back into the arms of her wayward vampire lover, Edward."

Aro's jaw twitched ever so slightly, and she reveled in the satisfaction it brought her. She could only imagine the tumult in his mind, having personally relived the moments from the Gala that she had shared with him shortly after the affair. The fool's reckless determination had led him barging into her room, seizing her by the throat with a ferocity that caught her off guard, demanding answers about her involvement in the girl's poisoning. She could almost sense the shattering of his composure when he unearthed the memory that had revealed the girl's own words about her attachment to the Cullen boy. The very moment his recognition dawned upon him, Aro had flung her aside with a curse, as if she were a bothersome insect.

His jealousy smoldered just beneath the carefully constructed surface of his polished façade, creating a thrill within her that was more satisfying than she wanted to admit. How the mighty have fallen! Just weeks ago, Aro would have never allowed himself to exhibit such a lapse in his meticulously crafted control. He had always been a master of subtlety, skillfully wielding his charm like a protective armor while employing his extraordinary psychic abilities to extract the truth he desired from those around him. Yet now, the fissures in his façade were glaringly evident, a stark illustration of how far he had fallen from his once-impeccable exterior.

To observe his descent into such brutish behavior, once beneath him, was a source of delightful satisfaction for her. It revealed the undeniable proof of the torment stemming from his unfinished bond and the formidable influence that a mere human girl exerted over his mind. In this moment of vulnerability, Aro was no longer the untouchable force he once appeared to be; he had become an easier target with his distraction.

How satisfying it was to watch him struggle. Let him suffer; the chaos was welcome.

"You would do well to keep her name out of your mouth, my dearest Sulpicia. This stipulation was made abundantly clear in the event that such a situation arose. Do not pretend there was any emotional attachment between us. I suggest you seek your distractions in the arms of your other lovers," he said, his tone icy and resolute.

Bowing her head with a calculated gesture of false submission, Sulpicia's voice dripped with a syrupy sweetness that barely masked her true intentions. "Of course. Arrivederci," she replied, letting the word glide off her tongue, laced with an unmistakable undertone of mockery.

With a dismissive nod from her companion, Sulpicia adjusted the scarf that draped over her hair, pulling it further down to obscure her eyes, a final shield against sun's rays. As she made her way to the sleek, black car parked just outside, she bypassed the attendant who stood ready to assist, his hand poised to hold the door open for her. Instead, she slipped inside with a measured pace, closing the door with a decisive thud, wrenching it from the surprised grip of the staff member.

Once inside, she removed her sunglasses, discarding them onto the plush leather seat beside her with a flick of her wrist. With nimble fingers, she retrieved a compact mirror from her pocket. As she gazed at her flawless reflection, a satisfied smile played on her lips, highlighted softly by the intricate pulse of green runes that glimmered on the mirror's surface. Snapping the mirror shut with a soft click, she tucked it away and pulled out her cellphone, ready to type a quick message.

I am coming. ETA around noon. Shall we play a game of chess once I arrive? We will have to use your set. I found that my king figure was cracked, and I would hate to break such an antique. The pawns, however, are ready to be used.

Just as she set the phone aside, it vibrated with a new notification Flipping the phone over, a smile illuminated her face as she read the response.

We are ready.

---

Aro POV

**TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABUSE**

The woman was a menace, a disruption that he would have eradicated years ago if she hadn't been so irreplaceably useful to his vision. However, even he would admit that sending her away from the castle would put him at greater ease regarding Isabella. Though there was no tangible proof linking Sulpicia to the sinister act of poisoning Isabella, her contempt for the young woman was palpable, lurking in every sidelong glance and derisive comment.

He turned, his gaze locking onto the discarded bouquet of white roses that lay abandoned on the table, a symbol of his fraying patience. Why was it so damned difficult for people to restrain themselves from coveting what belonged to him? It seemed that at every corner of the castle, another suitor emerged, eager to capture her attention, while she, with her enchanting smile and innocence, willingly offered it to them. The image of the ambassador's hand trailing deliberately down her slim back twisted his insides with jealousy, a fire igniting in his chest. In a surge of irritation, he snatched up the bouquet, feeling its brittle stems crack under his grip, and wrenched it from the table with a grunt.

He was already feeling the wariness drape over him, while mentally preparing for the volcanic eruption of anger he could predict from Caius. The moment his brother discovered that the ambassador, a crucial player in their diplomatic dealings, had been 'misplaced', chaos would ensue. It was an inevitable confrontation he would rather avoid, knowing his brother's propensity for wrath. Caius, with his fiery temperament, had little ground to stand on, especially considering how many times Aro had chosen to overlook his own bouts of unchecked aggression-particularly those occasions when he had savagely confronted any man who dared to express interest in his cherished Athenodora, as if their very existence was a personal affront. Meanwhile, Demetri and Felix were already adeptly maneuvering crisis management, diligently working to contain any fallout. Poor Mehmet would have found himself on the receiving end of an unfortunate mugging in a Volterra back alley, gone wrong. His finery to be stolen away and left in the back alley nearly decapitated from the savagery of the unnamed perpetrators. Such a pity. He truly gave the man the opportunity to avoid his fate, however luck did not appear to be on his side.

Isabella's icy demeanor at the Gala became perplexingly clear after Aro's deep dive into the man's thoughts. This audacious human had the audacity to present Sulpicia as a paragon of wifely devotion, a doting counterpart to Isabella. Aro couldn't help but begrudgingly acknowledge that perhaps he should have mentioned Sulpicia to Isabella before that fateful encounter. Yet, the sands of time had shifted, and what was done could not be undone.

Reflecting on the moment he discovered Sulpicia all those years ago behind the dingy pleasure house in Seres, Aro remembered the sight vividly. She had crouched there, a mere wraith of her former self, draped in rags that were as stained as they were tattered. The air around her hung thick with desperation and neglect, yet her striking beauty pierced through her disheveled appearance. Her gaze had burned into him with a fierce defiance, a flicker of resilience amidst her hopelessness, stirring an unexpected pause in his usually calculated mind. A spark sparked something within him—an urge to seize the opportunity that lay before him.

Seizing the moment, he extended a promise—a tantalizing offer of a new life overflowing with comfort and prestige that she had no hope of achieving on her own. Greed was a powerful tool, and Aro expertly wielded it, manipulating the desires of those around him.

Thus, an agreement was made in that dim alleyway: Sulpicia would receive all the recognition and status she had so desperately craved, the kind that would elevate her from the murky depths of her past. In return, Aro would gain a significant ally, further solidifying his influence while maintaining the semblance of mental stability—a puppet master deftly orchestrating a web of connections and power all from the shadows.

Lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, Aro found himself standing in the tranquil alcove of his sister and brother-in-law's garden, a haven brimming with vibrant life. His gaze drifted slowly over the riotous array of blooming flowers, each petal a burst of color and fragrance that painted the garden in hues of joy. But amid the lively blossoms, his eyes inevitably settled on the beautiful marbled statue at it's center, a tribute to his beloved sister, Didyme. As he stared into the serene, smiling face of his beloved sister, an all-consuming throb of pain surged within his chest, a familiar ache that echoed the profound guilt he carried

Unbidden, a torrent of memories unspooled in his mind, transporting him back to the fleeting days of his human existence—days now almost obscured by the passage of time. He remembered the first moment he had laid eyes on Didyme, the radiant child cradled gently in their mother's weary arms. She had looked so fragile, with soft, round cheeks that were blotchy and red from the rigors of birth, a delicate crown of dark, damp hair framing her cherubic face. When she opened those tiny, expressive eyes for the first time, shimmering with innocence, it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably stolen away. He carefully slipped his finger into her small palm, marveling at the contrasting size — hers so delicate, his so much larger. When her tiny fingers curled around his, a surge of warmth ignited within him, a spark of love that felt both overwhelming and sacred. In that moment, lost in a whirl of emotion, he swore to the Gods, a solemn promise that echoed in the depths of his soul: he would always protect her, shield her from harm and sorrow. Yet now, as he stood before her statue, a deep sense of failure crushed his spirit, an unshakeable reminder of the promise he had shattered.

Aro's childhood was marred by the oppressive shadow of his father, a sinister figure whose sadism was only outweighed by his relentless ambition. From the tender age of ten, Aro was thrust into the unforgiving world of his father's merchant trading business. The dimly lit office, cluttered with parchment and ink pots, became Aro's prison. He spent countless hours meticulously assessing grains, weighing them with precision, and plotting trade routes for the family's dealings. His father, a man who reveled in his vices, would spend his days entangled in the haze of alcohol and the embrace of pleasure houses, leaving Aro to shoulder the burdens of responsibility.

The sun would rise and set on Aro's diligent writing, each report an exercise in perfection. The inked letters had to be flawless, their formations immaculate, for he understood the unforgiving nature of his father's wrath. A small mistake could have dire consequences, and it was a lesson taught in agony.

One fateful day, in a rush of fatigue and anxiety, he incorrectly documented the weight of wheat destined for the neighboring town.

When his father lumbered into the office, a thick cloud of alcohol and fury radiating from him, Aro's heart sank. He could see the instant the mistake registered in his father's eyes, a flicker of rage igniting beneath the surface. Instead of directing his violence at Aro, however, his father's anger spilled over onto the family's female members, the mother and sister who were deemed expendable in the twisted hierarchy his father had established.

In that moment, Aro understood the harsh reality of his existence. Every meticulously crafted report was not just a means of running the family business; it was a shield protecting himself and the women he loved from the full force of his father's cruelty.

His father had dragged little Didyme in by her beautiful hair, thrown her at Aro's feet, before lashing her back three times for his mistake. As tears brimmed in his eyes, blurring the harsh lines of his father's stern face, he felt an overwhelming rush of pain and helplessness. His sister's cries echoed in his ears as the leather tore her back. With a voice dripping with disdain, his father cruelly declared that any sign of emotion was unacceptable; crying was a weakness he would not tolerate. He added a threat that sent chills down the boy's spine: for every mistake he made, both Didyme and his mother would suffer the consequences. He dropped to his knees, the rough ground digging into his skin, as his father turned away in anger, the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing in the silence. With trembling hands, he scooped up his little sister, cradling her fragile body against his chest. She had only just begun to take her first wobbly steps, and now vibrant warmth—her blood—stained his hands crimson. Salty tears blinded him as he begged for her forgiveness.

Regrettably, this was not an isolated incident. Throughout the years, each infraction—whether it was an actual mistake or merely a perceived misstep—committed by Aro brought pain and suffering to his mother and sister. When Aro's inkwell was found askew on his desk, his mother bore the brunt of the punishment, enduring a blackened eye as a result. On another occasion, when Aro's handwriting was careless and his letters appeared sloppy, his sister felt the repercussions too; her feet were mercilessly switched until they bled. On one fateful day, when a particularly important delivery had been delayed beyond Aro's control, the haunting echoes of his mother's desperate screams filled the darkened space of their home. It was a terrible symphony, an ordeal that would seal his mother's fate forever. After that anguished night, he would never hear her comforting voice again.

Despite his careful preparations and fervent hopes, his father always swiftly reminded him of who wielded true power. Each passing day became a delicate game of survival, where Aro's efforts to shield his beloved sister felt painfully inadequate against the unforgiving shadow of their father. In the depths of his despair, he found himself pleading silently to any higher power, to be able to have insight or strength to protect her and he tried to decipher the twisted thoughts and malevolence that drove his father's actions.

Mistakes became the catalyst for Aro's relentless cycle of obsessive behavior. Each day, he found himself drawn to the ledgers, poring over the figures with an almost frantic intensity, checking and rechecking them dozens of times to ensure accuracy. The act of scrutinizing each entry became a ritual, one that consumed hours of his time. He meticulously arranged every item on his father's desk, ensuring that not a single feather from the ink quill was out of place. Everything had to be flawless; there was no room for error in the world his father commanded.

Every delivery he oversaw felt monumental to him; he shadowed the couriers with an unwavering vigilance, tracking their movements to guarantee punctuality in their trades. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon his shoulders, fueled by a need for control and order that often bordered on paranoia. When his father stumbled into the room, disheveled and reeking of stale alcohol, Aro braced himself for the inevitable examination. The old man would scan the room, his eyes darting for any sign of imperfection, any fault to validate his own frustrations. With a furrowed brow that spoke volumes of his irritation, he would finally land his gaze on Aro, who stood quietly, with head bowed, awaiting the verdict. With an exasperated sigh, his father would collapse onto the worn chair, surrendering to the pull of sleep, his head lolling back. How many times had Aro wanted to wrap his hands around that man's neck and strangle the life from his eyes in those moments? Too many to count.

The obsessive compulsions continued over into his immortal life. As they say, old habits die hard. That young, weak boy held under his father's thumb would demand control and control he would have. He would demand the respect from those around him that he didn't receive in life, and would pass judgement on those that didn't. After his rebirth, the irony of only now being able to read another's thoughts was not lost on him. As he sat back on his dirty heels after his first human feeding, some random man who just happened to be passing by at the wrong time, his laughter had bubbled up out of him maniacally as he took in the bloody carnage around him with excitement buzzing in his veins while the freshly harvested memories from his unfortunate victim were fresh in his mind.

Aro found himself quick to pass judgment on his father, the shadow of whose memories still loomed over him, haunting him in fleeting moments. The torment his family had suffered under his father's ruthless authority was etched deeply in Aro's consciousness, as vivid as the day he finally returned to end his life. Though centuries had rolled by, the reminder of what could happen if he lost control was a weight he carried heavily.

As he blinked several times, striving to shake off the grim recollections, his gaze fell on the serene statue standing quietly in the middle of the garden. After a long moment of contemplation, Aro turned away, retreating to the stairwell, eager to escape the piercing judgment he felt from his sister's watchful eyes.

---

Bella POV

Tracing her nails over the etched design of the glassware within her grasp, Bella pondered over Marcus's explanation of the series of events following the Gala. Apparently, her drink had been laced with an unknown poison with anticlotting properties which led to internal hemorrhaging of her throat and stomach. Caius was able to stabilize and reverse the damage, but not the blood loss.

Knowing him, he would have rather me bleed out over his fancy ballroom.

Felix had diligently procured the necessary blood transfusion products to replenish her lost reserves while she lay unconscious. Once satisfied that she was stable enough to be moved, Caius had nearly hurled her into Marcus's capable hands, confident that the brooding vampire would be able to manage the remainder of her recovery. As she lay wrapped in soft blankets, she could sense Marcus's deep sense of remorse. The normally stoic vampire, with his chiseled features shadowed by a frown, was brooding silently. His deep, resonant voice had taken on a softer quality, almost a whisper, as he confided in her. "I noticed something was amiss when the glasses were presented to us," he said, his eyes clouded with regret. "But I couldn't identify any specific dangerous properties before you consumed that dreadful concoction."

Smiling at him reassuringly, she reached across the blankets, finding his hand, and squeezed it gently, "It's alright, Marcus," she said, softening her voice to match his. "Whatever happened, it was not your fault. I promise, I'm okay now."

A long moment stretched out in silence before the large hand beneath hers shifted, palm up, to squeeze hers in return. She leaned back against the headboard and the support of the numerous pillows that Marcus had meticulously arranged, cradling her exhausted body. A deep sigh escaped her lips, a mix of fatigue and confusion.

Her mind raced with the implications of the recent events; there were no witnesses, no suspects. Her thoughts immediately drifted to the image of Sulpicia's haughty smile. Yet, Marcus had assured her that Aro had found no connection between Sulpicia and the incident when he sought her out, even though the skeptical edge in his voice suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by the results of that investigation.

With a mixture of anxiety and curiosity, she began to nibble her bottom lip, her gaze drifting over Marcus's profile illuminated by the soft light of the room. His steadfast presence was a comfort, but the unspoken truths tormented her. Summoning her courage, she broke the silence, her voice a whisper. Despite the haze surrounding various events of that evening, one particular memory stood out sharply in her mind.

"Why didn't you tell me that Aro was married? Or at least mention Sulpicia? For someone supposedly bonded to him, I realize that I am not being told a lot of things," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Turning his striking crimson eyes away from the book and chair he had just vacated, Marcus directed his attention toward her. The depth of genuine remorse in his expression was unmistakable. Bella found herself captivated by the remarkable display of emotions that were beginning to emerge from him. Once considered a nearly mute and reclusive figurehead of the Volturi coven, Marcus now appeared expressive, stripped of his usual stoicism. Surprisingly, he had shown more warmth than any of his brothers—though in fairness, Aro had his own unique charm, blending entertainment with an unsettling playfulness. Yet it was Marcus who had been the most honest with her so far, making the sharp pang of betrayal all the more painful

His gaze drifted away from hers, lingering on the delicate flower arrangement that brightened her bedside before he let it roam over the empty space before him. Bella couldn't help but wonder if he was envisioning the invisible bond strings, intricate and delicate, that only he could perceive. When he finally returned his gaze to her, their was a weight to their depths.

"I have wronged you, Isabella, and for my part in this, I humbly seek your forgiveness," he began, his voice steady yet tinged with sincerity. "Once again, I had naively assumed that my brother would discuss these matters with you. Reflecting on Aro's character, such an assumption was foolish. He is, by nature, a private man. I can only surmise that he deemed it a trivial matter, especially in light of his political arrangement with Sulpicia."

"Political arrangement? Like an arranged marriage? Vampires do that sort of thing?"

A wry grin broke across Marcus's face, and he let out a light chuckle before shaking his head, as if to dismiss the idea. "You're misunderstanding the nuance of the situation. This wasn't merely an arrangement; it was a carefully crafted mutual agreement designed to serve both parties' interests. Aro sought the semblance of a strong, mated male to bolster his image and authority within the coven, while Sulpicia craved the prestige that accompanied such a partnership. Given that I and Caius were both already bonded, I suspect Aro felt a particular urgency: he was the only one among us who remained unattached."

"Why would that even matter? Felix and Alec have both suggested that Aro possesses more than enough strength to stand alone," Bella interjected, puzzled by underlying dynamic.

Marcus paused for a moment, releasing an unnecessary sigh as he chose his words with care. "Explaining this to a human can be challenging—no offense intended—but allow me to elaborate. The bonds of a mated pair among our kind resonate with unparalleled significance. They create a powerful connection that serves to stabilize the more primal aspects of a vampire's nature. Each bond is unique, molded by the individual needs of the couple, and it enhances the strengths of both members.

You see, a vampire's gifts are intrinsically linked; they're meant to complement one another. When bonded, they become much more formidable than they could ever be alone. However, without this bond, a vampire risks becoming lost in the shadows of their more primal instincts, grappling with challenges that range from insatiable bloodlust to the unpredictable manifestations of their abilities.

An unbound vampire is exceedingly volatile—unpredictable, impulsive, and prone to erratic behaviors. It creates a dangerous dynamic, especially when such an individual attempts to command authority or demand obedience from others. Aro was acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation; he understood the biases that lingered against unattached vampires. In creating this arrangement with Sulpicia, he sought not just to fortify himself but to protect the perceived stability around our coven."

Marcus could have been speaking Latin for all that Bella could understand. "But that doesn't make any sense," she protested, her voice laced with frustration. "Wouldn't other vampires be able to tell that she wasn't his actual partner? No offense, but wouldn't anyone suspect his eccentric behavior?"

Raising a hand to signal for silence, Marcus fixed his gaze on her with an intensity as he continued, "His gift provides a convenient cover for any oddities in his actions, yet it also lies at the very heart of the matter. I find it nearly impossible to comprehend how Aro manages his powers. The thoughts that flood his mind from others must be overwhelming even on his best of days. Yet with you, there is a silence. He cannot hear your thoughts, nor can he access your memories or emotions—an experience that has eluded him since his human existence thousands of years ago. I can understand the allure of such a connection. I suspect the young Cullen must also enjoy the reprieve of voices only you can provide. As for suspicions about Sulpicia, she rarely mingled with the vampiric covens, choosing instead to immerse herself in realms far removed from their politics. Whenever she and Aro were seen together, their proximity was deceptive, close enough to intertwine their scents and create a veil, effectively extinguishing any rising suspicions."

Isabella furrowed her brows in deep thought, weighing the potential repercussions of this revelation. "Wouldn't the covens be furious to discover that Aro has deceived them for all this time? Is it possible that they would rise up against him?"

Marcus let out a soft, derisive snort, shaking his head as if even entertaining the idea of rebellion against Aro was absurd. "I know very few vampires, if any, who would dare question my brother-in-law, especially now that he stands at the pinnacle of his power. The prospect of questioning him is akin to inviting disaster. Anyone bold enough to contest him would have to present their case in our grand court, and we all know how that would unfold, given Aro's notorious temperament when it comes to challenges against his authority. If Aro still had use for the person, despite the challenge, he would likely employ Chelsea. He has no qualms utilizing her power of relationship manipulation to settle disputes with vampires of greater influence."

He leaned back slightly, his tone growing more grave. "In theory, they could request a duel—a one-on-one battle that carries the weight of tradition—but such a choice would be akin to suicide. Aro is not only ancient for a vampire; he has reached a prime that few can rival. His centuries of existence have honed his combat skills and strategic acumen, turning him into a formidable adversary. While he prefers to let his guard handle physical confrontations, make no mistake: he is more than capable of defending himself. Even if a vampire managed to orchestrate Aro's downfall and kill him, they would still need to gain the backing of the remaining Volturi coven members to assume control. Given Aro's control and influence, mobilizing support from them would be an impossible task."

Marcus' voice trailed off as he turned his head slightly, listening to something imperceivable to her human ears, "It seems you may uncover your answers sooner than you think, Isabella."

Brows furrowed in confusion, Bella's mind raced with unanswered questions, but her inquiry was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. With a fluid motion, Marcus disentangled himself from the cozy nest of blankets, retrieving his book from their care gracefully. Just then, the very vampire they had been discussing entered, his presence accompanied by an almost palpable shift in the air.

Bella's heart quickened as a delicious wave of warmth surged beneath her breast, an instinctive recognition of Aro's strikingly aristocratic features. His glossy hair flowed loosely today, dark and sleek, falling just past his shoulders, with a few rebellious strands brushing against the sides of his face. Bella's fingers twitched slightly, a powerful urge to lose herself in the silky depths of his hair almost overwhelming. Aro's attire, as usual, a perfectly tailored suit of deep black, emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The starkness of the monochrome was punctuated only by the vibrant crimson of his tie and the glimmer of gold from his emblemed necklace. It was then that Bella's gaze was drawn to the large bouquet of pristine white roses cradled in his arms, their delicate petals almost luminous against the shadowy backdrop of his suit. She inhaled sharply, taken aback by the unexpected gift.

"Ah, sweet Isabella! How delightful it is to see your beautiful eyes open to the world once more," he exclaimed, his voice smooth and melodic, wrapping around her like silk.

By her side, Marcus remained motionless, his gaze fixed intently on the bouquet as if it held some profound secret, before finally meeting Aro's eyes. An unsettling tension hung in the air, as Marcus's expression remained blank. Aro met his brother's gaze with a penetrating intensity, an unspoken conversation unfolding silently between them as he took a step closer to Bella.

With gentle care, Marcus turned back towards her, placing a reassuring hand on the crown of her head, his touch light yet protective. With his book clutched firmly in his opposite arm, he spoke to her softly. "I will bid you farewell for now, Isabella. Rest well, and I will return later to see how you are faring."

As he made his way past Aro, their eyes briefly met in a silent exchange, giving a brief nod before Marcus slipped through the door, the soft click echoing in the room as he closed it behind him, leaving Bella alone with the captivating vampire before her.

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General POV

Bella barely registered Marcus's departure. Her attention was entirely consumed by the man who remained before her. The warmth of his wide smile ignited a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, momentarily chasing away the simmering anger she felt toward him after the Gala. Pursing her lips in defiance, she forced her gaze away, letting it drift down to the comforter and she placed her glass beside the crystal pitcher on the side table.

"Thank you. It is good to be alive," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

She saw, rather than heard, him step closer and tensed when she felt the mattress dip as he sat beside her. Her fingers curled into the comforter in an attempt to suppress the ridiculous urge to reach for him. Reminding herself repeatedly that he had lied to her, alright perhaps not outright lied, but he definitely omitted the fact that he was married, helped steel her jittery nerves and made focusing on her anger easier. As she swept her tongue across her parched lips, she risked a glance up at Aro. Her heart quickened as she met his gaze, reading the depth of genuine concern that radiated from his striking face. It seemed so unfair that he could manipulate his expressions with such ease, wearing perceived sincerity so freely while she struggled to mask her turmoil.

Fleeting fragments of a vague conversation between him and Caius flickered in her memory, accompanied by a ripple of surprise, yet the specifics eluded her grasp like sand through her fingers. The longing to sink into his embrace threatened to overwhelm her resolve, leaving her trembling as she fought to maintain her composure against the magnetic pull.

Aro's smile was gentle, tender and inviting, as he reached toward her. His fingers glided through the air, brushing lightly against her skin as he tucked a stubborn curl behind her ear. A familiar sense of déjà vu washed over her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the tantalizing warmth that lingered where his fingertips had just grazed her forehead. Her heart raced, the rhythm echoing loudly in her ears, as those long, cool fingers traced the delicate slope of her cheekbone. They continued their journey along the contour of her jaw, before coming to rest on the graceful column of her neck. Despite the chill of his skin, each caress ignited a fire within her, intensifying the flutter of her pulse. She was sure her heartbeat stuttered when he finally allowed his hand to rest against her neck, his thumb brushing rhythmically over the sensitive area where her pulse fluttered.

"Il mio uccellino, it has been pure torture these past few days awaiting your awakening. Caius assured me it would take time, but I must confess that my impatience has grown unbearable in the interim. Here, a gift from an admirer."

As he spoke, he presented the large, lavish bouquet of pristine white roses, the petals soft and velvety, their scent intoxicatingly sweet. He pressed the fragrant arrangement into her lap, and she instinctively clutched it against her chest. A serene smile tugged at her lips momentarily, savoring both the beauty of the flowers and the warmth of his attention. Yet her mind quickly reminded her of more pressing concerns than allowing herself to be swayed by mere flowers like a lovestruck idiot. Casting her gaze away from the blooms to focus on him instead, her words were sharp yet grateful.

"They are stunning, thank you."

For an instant, a shadow flitted across Aro's crimson eyes, a fleeting glimpse into the depths of his mind. He withdrew his hand from her neck, intertwining his fingers in his lap. His foot propped atop his opposite knee and pulsed slightly—an involuntary tell of the secretive vampire's inner agitation. The tempo of that subtle movement varied with the ever-changing smiles that danced across Aro's face, each expression revealing the complexity hidden behind his charming façade.

"Is there something that is bothering you, Isabella? You merely have to ask of me, and I will make sure to grant your every wish."

The phrase grated on Bella's nerves like nails on a chalkboard, igniting a fiery frustration that erupted before she could fully process the implications of her words. "You didn't tell me you were married. You never even mentioned Sulpicia to me!" The accusation burst from her lips, heavy with the weight of betrayal, and echoed in the charged atmosphere of the room.

A long, charged silence followed her outburst, during which Aro's expression shifted, morphing from his usual calm demeanor to one of mild surprise, as indicated by the arch of his finely groomed eyebrow. Bella felt a flush of humiliation creep up her neck. She once more reminded herself that she had no actual claim on Aro; he was under no obligation to share the details of his personal life with a mere human like her. Still, the suffocating jealousy that had risen within her during the Gala felt overwhelming and difficult to shake.

His crimson eyes narrowed as he studied her, and after a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his dark, silky hair cascading over one shoulder in a way that was both elegant and disarming. "I must apologize. I didn't realize that this information would cause you so much distress. Our relationship was never rooted in genuine affection; it was one of mutual gain, a convenience born of circumstance rather than passion. Our separation was inevitable. It may bring you some comfort to know that Sulpicia no longer resides in Volterra. She has accepted the end of our partnership and retreated to a villa in the city of Venice."

Bella shook her head in exasperation, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. Without thinking, she flung a hand in his direction, a gesture that he effortlessly caught within his own larger, more commanding grip. "That does not make it right!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "Just because she was already on her way out doesn't give you the right to play with my feelings! Do you honestly think this so-called 'bond' between us—something that everyone keeps discussing, while you remain silent—gives you the authority to manipulate me? That puts you on the same level as Edward! You criticize him, yet you share his faults. You pull at the strings of those around you, dispensing only what you deem necessary for us to know."

The words tumbled out of her with a fervor that surprised even herself. "At least with Edward, I understood where I stood. His actions, however painful, were based in love for me, a love that made sense in its own twisted way. Our relationship wasn't built on a foundation of omissions and lies. I wasn't just a 'human' to him; I was Bella. And deep down, I knew he believed that leaving me in Forks was the best decision, made out of care for my wellbeing. But what you have with me… it feels like a shadow, a mere echo of something real. I deserve more than this."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Before she could process it, Bella found herself pinned against the mattress, her wrists restrained by hands that felt like iron. Aro loomed over her, his presence darkening the space around her, his shadow consuming the light. She could sense the low rumble of vibrations emanating from his chest, pulsing against her own as he growled down at her, his typical calm façade having shattered into something much more primal. His eyes, now swirling with crimson intensity, caught hers in a paralyzing grip, making it impossible for her to look away. She felt the coolness of his breath brushing against her face as he leaned in closer to speak.

"Are you truly happy with your Edward?", he inquired, his voice low and menacing. "You think you comprehend him, that your understanding somehow elevates him to the status of an honorable man, mia cara. Let me provide you with a small history lesson about your beloved Edward Anthony Masen, Jr., born on June 20th, 1901, in the vibrant city of Chicago, Illinois. Edward hails from a time long past, an era where young women were expected to be utterly and completely reliant on the men in their lives. The need to have someone depend on them was so deeply entrenched in cultural ideals that it shaped the very essence of their identities. He was groomed from a boy to fulfill the role of 'man of the house,' instilled with the values of protection and provision. However, when he was transformed by the good doctor, all those opportunities evaporated away. He lost his chance to have a family of his own, to nurture and protect those who would lean on him. That is, until you appeared in his life, his la tua cantante, and suddenly, you fit perfectly into the void he had carried for so long".

Bella furrowed her brows, a wave of confusion washing over her as she stared at the unfamiliar name that accompanied Edward's. It suddenly clicked — it must have been the name he had gone by during his time as a human. A bitter pang of disappointment lodged itself in her chest; Edward had never shared his past with her. Yet, she met Aro's intense gaze with unwavering determination.

"He did what he did to take care of me," she asserted, her voice steady despite the rising tension. "He was always good to me, right up until the end when he left — and that, too, was to protect me. I wasn't dependent on him; we were a couple. A team."

Aro's incredulous chuckle sliced through her words, causing her to pause as she looked up, meeting his assessing eyes. He tilted his head, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips, clearly amused by her outburst.

"Does such a 'good' vampire abuse his powers to stalk humans?" he taunted, his tone dripping with condescension.

Bella blinked at him, the question sinking in slowly. "What?" she finally managed, caught off guard.

Aro's devious smile deepened, and he lowered himself over her, effectively pinning her beneath the weight of the comforter and his own presence. His icy breath ghosted over her skin as he ran his nose along the curve of her jaw, igniting an unexpected shiver down her spine. She felt his lips graze the delicate pulse in her neck sending a wave of goosebumps surging over her skin, as he continued his insidious 'lesson.'

"Not only did the boy keep close to you like a shadow, but he also exploited his vampiric powers to pry into your life," he purred, his tone oozing with sinister delight. "He listened in on your father and your friends, ensuring he was always a step ahead, meticulously monitoring every movement you made. It's quite a cunning little trick, if I do say so myself."

As he spoke, Bella could feel the walls closing in on her — the weight of his insinuations pressing heavily upon her chest. "He knew everything about you: the exact moment you stirred awake with the sunrise, the brand of toothpaste you preferred for that minty freshness, your culinary favorites, and the routine of your school day. His knowledge was all-consuming — even down to what you ate for breakfast, your choices for lunch and dinner, long before you ever began your 'courtship' with him."

Aro savored each word, his breath quickening slightly as if reveling in her discomfort. "By cleverly leveraging thoughts gained from your father, he pieced together your bedtime habits, slipping into your room at night like a phantom just after meeting you, silently watching you as you slept." His whispers were filled with a dark satisfaction as he continued, "And all of this, while you were blissfully unaware, made you question your own sanity. He had you convinced that you were merely 'seeing things' before you had even pledged your heart to him, didn't he?"

Disbelief washed over Bella; her mouth opened and closed, words failing her as Aro's venomous revelations wrapped around her. She shook her head vigorously, a reflex born of desperate denial, but he pressed her face into the pillow, his cold cheek melding against her warmth. The intensity of his breath against her ear filled her with unease, as he continued to unravel the sinister truth behind the façade of Edward's so-called devotion.

"You question my sanity. Everyone does. But have you ever considered his? Have you ever stopped to consider the state of his mind? Surely, it must have been gratifying for him, in a rather abstract sense, to command such unwavering attention from you. Gradually, as time went on, with the finesse of a skilled puppeteer, he began to subtly manipulate the strings that governed your life, drawing you into a world that slowly pushed away everyone and everything else you once cherished – your friends, your father, the very anchors of your former self. He didn't just capture your thoughts; he ensnared your very dreams, weaving himself into the fabric of your subconscious. Eventually, your entire existence morphed around our dear Edward—every thought, every moment seemingly tied to his presence. And allow me to enlighten you with another little tidbit, my dear piccola cantante. He thrived on it! He secretly delighted in knowing that he could kill you at any moment, could reach out a single hand and snap that beautiful slender neck before you could blink but heralded himself a better person than his fellow vampires for resisting his immoral urges".

"No! No, he didn't!" Bella shrieked, her voice thick with desperation as she thrashed violently against Aro's grip. Her body twisted and bucked, the sheets tangling around her limbs like a web. The bouquet of white roses tumbled to the floor beside them, forgotten. He deftly caught her flailing hands in one of his, pinning them above her head, forcing her back to arch against the soft mattress. With a calculated movement, he shifted his hip, pressing down with his weight over her upper thighs, effectively caging her beneath his body.

Aro's spare hand captured Bella's jaw, gripping it firmly yet gently, forcing her to maintain eye contact with him. Her heart raced, and breaths came in shallow gasps, a frantic rhythm brought on by a mix of fear and a simmering heat coursing through her veins. His pupils were so dilated that they appeared to swallow the vibrant red, rendering his gaze a nearly all-encompassing black. Although he didn't require oxygen, Bella could feel the cold of his breath against her lips, soft puffs of air that sent heat zinging through her body, making her acutely aware of the space between them. He hunched over her, every sinew of his body radiating a predatory energy that both terrified and exhilarated her.

With a sudden intimacy, he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her, before pulling back slightly to skim the sharp edge of his teeth along the tender pulse point in her throat. The sensation was electric, igniting her senses and the world around her faded as stars dotted her vision. A low, unreadable ache blossomed between her legs, every nerve ending ignited by his proximity. It was at that moment that Aro jerked his face away, a sudden shift that sent confusion spiraling through her. His expression morphed as he regarded her, his darkening eyes seemed to absorb the very air between them, and with each measured breath he took through his nose, his smile widened, dancing on the brink of something wild and unrestrained.

"Oh yes, he did! I know every thought, every emotion that boy experienced when he first laid those wide, eager eyes on you!" Bella remained silent, her heart racing as those frenzied, piercing eyes roamed over her face. They snapped back to hers with intensity as he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "Were there ever moments when you wanted to stand your ground, to voice your disagreement, only for those brave thoughts to dissipate like mist after a few honeyed words from him? That bambino arrogante inhaled your essence, desired you, yearned to possess you, even while knowing—deep down, in every fiber of his being—that you were not meant to be his! You were not destined to be his, but instead, you were crafted for me! Mine! He plucked you from your reality and shaped you to fit the mold he desired, fulfilling that deep-rooted longing to be needed, a craving he carried from his mortal life."

Hot tears began to well in her eyes, blurring her vision, and the gentle sweep of his fingers caught them, brushing them away tenderly. She didn't want to hear any more of his insightful analysis. She was sorry for lashing out in her anger, and she was desperate to stop the growing recognition of his words. "Please…stop," she pleaded, her voice a whisper.

"You were his willing marionette, your strings pulled effortlessly by his whims. At any hint of your resistance, he could easily 'dazzle' you, as you would say, into compliance. But the moment he sensed that he was losing control, panic gripped him over your 'immortal soul.' He cast you aside in the heart of the woods—woods that your precious Cullens prowled through, hunting for their meals of deadly bears and mountain lions. After shattering your heart, he abandoned you, disregarding your fragile human feelings as if they were mere afterthoughts, believing it was solely his decision to make. If that betrayal wasn't enough to bear, he then manipulated and guilt-tripped his entire family, compelling them to follow him like lost sheep. My dear friend Carlisle, a man of compassion and the esteemed head physician at the hospital, forsook the many people who depended on him, all to cater to Edward's emotional whims. Alice, Jasper, and Emmett trailed after him, though their reluctance was palpable, driven by a desperate hope to keep you safe from a rogue vampire. Rosalie favored a more permanent solution, never believing you belonged to her 'brother' and you were a loose end to take care of. And then there was Esme, the embodiment of maternal devotion, who would support any course of action that would bring her son comfort, disregarding your own desires in the pursuit of his happiness."

Her sob caught in her throat, a painful choke, as tears cascaded down her cheeks. The corners of her eyes glimmered, betraying the turmoil beneath the surface. She felt trapped, her chin held firmly in his hand, preventing her from shaking her head in denial. "No, it wasn't like that," her voice a trembling whisper.

His expression transformed, shedding its earlier intensity for a softer, almost loving demeanor. The fierce determination of his brow relaxed as he leaned closer, fingers once strong and unyielding now tenderly sweeping away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. His gaze deepened, softening his features, while the impassioned smile that had once danced across his lips faded into a solemn line.

Yet, despite the tenderness of his gestures, he wasn't done imparting his 'lesson.' With a deep, resigned sigh, he released her hands, which had been held captive above her head, allowing her the freedom to withdraw. His voice dropped to a near whisper, filled with conviction yet undertones of gentleness. "No, it was 'like that.' You just didn't want to see it."

He leaned back, creating space between them, a silent invitation for her to pull away if she chose. But she found herself unwilling to retreat from his side. Her gaze flickered down as she instinctively brought her hands together, fingers intertwining in a nervous dance, a small gesture of self-comfort. He watched her intently, his eyes tracing the delicate movements of her fingers as they intertwined. Then, with a tender deliberation, he delicately ran the tip of his index finger over the tops of her hands, the contact sending a shiver of awareness through her.

"He fashioned you in the precise image he desired, molding you like clay, manipulating your thoughts and actions with deft precision. Your very existence became the beacon that pulled him from the depths of his self-imposed darkness. With you, he created a façade, a perfect illusion in which he could grasp at the semblance of everything he believed he had lost the moment his humanity was stripped away. And you… you offered your heart to him with an eagerness that belied the shadows lurking within him, as he continued to construct his idealized fantasy, blissfully unaware of the tangled web he wove around your very essence

Yet, there is a bittersweet consolation nestled in his depravity—he refrained from claiming your body, instinctively recognizing that your soul was not his for the taking. However, this act of restraint does little to absolve him of his numerous other transgressions. I, too, am not without my own stains of guilt. I feed from the lifeblood of humans, embracing the truth of what I am, unyielding is my nature. I am manipulative, a trait born from the necessity of survival, navigating a world where every action can mean the difference between life and death until my purpose is fulfilled.

I possess the unsettling ability to infiltrate the memories of others, a skill they know I wield with unsettling ease. My ruthlessness springs not from a place of cruelty, but from an unwavering responsibility to uphold the fragile fabric of order within the vampiric society. I take on the mantle of judge, acutely aware that without order, our existence teeters on the precipice of chaos, a dark void that threatens to envelop us entirely. Throughout the numerous covens that span this globe, my reputation is etched in fear; they know the depths of my abilities, acutely aware of the dire consequences of making me an adversary.

With you, I have never masked my true nature, never feigned innocence or virtue when it came to my treatment of humans and vampires alike. Yet, in your blind adoration for your beloved Edward, you remained oblivious to the monstrous spirit that dwelled beneath his empathic façade, twisting the lives of those around him in desperation to reclaim a fragment of humanity that he feels he long lost. Yes, I admit it—I am a monster. And I wear that title with a sense of pride."

Aro had completely withdrawn from her at this point, resuming his seated position beside her, but his gaze had shifted to the roses that lay scattered across the floor. His eyes trailed over them before raising to look at the elaborate bouquet within in vase on her nightstand. A flicker of warmth from the fireplace danced across his features, momentarily softening his expression. Bending slightly, he reached down to pluck one of the fallen roses from the floor. He twirled the flower gently between his fingertips, all the while lost in thought. Silence enveloped the room for several long minutes, before he finally whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, "Why should I apologize for the monster I've become? No one ever apologized for making me this way."

Pushing herself upward as well, Bella's thoughts were chaotic at best. The acidic words from earlier were still raw and her heart squeezed painfully, though she reluctantly suspected it was more from the truth within them versus the words themselves. Despite her mind's desperate attempts to discredit Aro's claims, a voice inside her whispered in agreement, revealing the unsettling reality she had avoided for far too long.

She acknowledged, albeit reluctantly, that Edward had indeed isolated her from those who mattered most. The realization washed over her, reminding her of the foolishness that had governed her decisions; she had distanced herself from Charlie, from her friends, even from the life she once cherished. Each time her instincts whispered that something was amiss, Edward had an uncanny ability to make everything feel just right again. Now, as she replayed the last several months in her mind, she could see the myriad of suspicious inconsistencies that she had turned a blind eye to.

The implications of her actions, once blurred by infatuation and desire, struck her with sudden force. She could no longer deny how her reckless yearning for Edward had nearly led her to harm herself, a dire choice that would have cast a permanent shadow over her loved ones—her father, Charlie, her friends, or her one-time confidant, Jake. The weight of her desperation to catch even the faintest glimpse of Edward had nearly driven her to the brink of self-destruction, a fact that made her wince in regret. Visions of past moments flooded her mind—the pained and helpless expression on Charlie's face when he thought she wasn't looking, a look that spoke of worry, fear, and a profound love that she had taken for granted. That same look had echoed in the eyes of her friends in the aftermath of Edward's departure, but time and again, she had carelessly tossed their compassion aside, not realizing how desperately they had tried to reach her.

A humorless laugh escaped her lips, surprisingly loud in the stillness, drawing Aro's contemplative gaze back towards her, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness they each carried within themselves.

His stormy eyes roamed deliberately over her face. Each flicker of his gaze lingered and finally, they dropped down to her pale hands, which fidgeted restlessly, twisting and entwining the fabric of the duvet beneath her. When he spoke, his voice had shifted to a weary tone, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, as he extended the single white rose toward her. "As far as our bonds…" His voice trailed off, leaving an almost tangible silence hanging in the air, heavy with unaddressed emotions. He hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes as if debating which words would be best to express what he felt inside.

"I am a monster. A killer. A vampire." Each word fell from his lips like a sacred confession, each syllable weighed down with the gravity of his truths. "But whether you accept me or not, I am your monster, Isabella." The intensity of his declaration wrapped around her, both unnerving and electrifying, forcing her to confront the duality of her longing and her fear.

Bella could see her reflection distorted in his gaze, a shattered version of herself with blotchy, swollen eyes still aching from tears and hair a wild mess of tangled waves from sleep. Logic screamed at her to turn Aro away; he was danger incarnate, a tempest of darkness with an insatiable appetite for destruction, unafraid to hurt those around him to achieve his ambitions. Edward, with his brooding charm and protective nature, was undoubtedly the safer choice. But the truth clawed at her insides: she no longer desired him. The relationship they had attempted to forge was now a series of fragmented moments, marred by juvenile fantasies that had left her feeling hollow.

In stark contrast, the connection she felt with Aro was intoxicating, alive with an energy she had never known before. It pulled at her heart like a siren's call, a sweet and mesmerizing lure that urged her closer to the shadows. Even now, after everything that had transpired, that invisible tether tugged insistently, drawing her toward him. She understood the risks, the uncertainty that loomed like dark clouds overhead, yet her hand moved slowly, almost as if guided by an unseen force toward him.

He remained perfectly still as Bella's delicate fingers brushed the softness of the petals before curling her fingers around them and squeezing gently, letting them slip through her grasp and fall softly onto the bed below. "If you're a monster…then I'm a monster. Just a different breed," she murmured, her voice a compelling mixture of challenge and acceptance.

Aro, momentarily entranced by her, released the empty stem from his hand. There was a palpable tension hanging in the air as he hesitated, searching her gaze with an intensity that felt almost electric. After what felt like an eternity, he reached out, his fingers seeking her warmth. Anticipation flickered in her eyes, and instinctively, she tilted her head, granting him permission to explore as his searching fingers delicately cupped her cheek, the tips burying themselves in the strands of her hair. Keeping his gaze locked onto hers, she pressed her cheek firmly into his cold palm, nuzzling her nose against the thin skin of his inner wrist, a soft sigh escaping her lips at the contact.

Aro inhaled deeply, pulling in her scent as he inched closer. Gradually, he raised his other hand to cradle her opposite cheek, his thumbs grazing her soft skin in a tender, almost reverent manner.

Inside, Bella's heart raced furiously, each beat echoing in her ears, while a swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach. Aro's gaze intensified, locking onto her mouth, and a thrill ran through her. Without thinking, she instinctively darted her tongue out, moistening her dry lips. The simple action seemed to ignite something within him, as she noticed his pupils dilate, a flicker of desire swimming in the depths of his dark irises.

The air around them thickened with anticipation, and Aro leaned in, his movements deliberate and cautious as he drew closer. He was giving her all the time in the world to pull away, his hands cradling her face delicately. Yet, all she could think about was the proximity, the warmth radiating between them, and how much she longed for him to bridge that last little gap. Frustration and anticipation swelled within her; she was tired of waiting. When he was a mere couple of inches away, the distance suddenly felt unbearable. With a sudden burst of courage, she surged forward, pressing her chapped lips against his own with a fervor that surprised them both.

At first, Aro froze, his body stiffening in surprise, as if the very act had rendered him immobile. Bella's cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, the thrill of her boldness dissipating into a flurry of self-consciousness. Just as she was about to pull back, stammering an apology for her impulsive action, Aro responded.

His left hand sank deeper into her hair, fingers tangling possessively. Meanwhile, his other hand slid away from her cheek, trailing down the side of her neck to her shoulders, before firmly anchoring her against the solid expanse of his broad chest. It was an embrace that spoke of both protection and possession. He leaned into her, pressing his lips back against hers with a fervor that eclipsed her own, and in that moment, all remnants of hesitation evaporated. The warmth of his kiss enveloped her, igniting a fire deep within her and erasing any last traces of embarrassment; all that remained was the intoxicating electricity that pulsed between them.

If she had thought Edward's small pecks on the lips were enjoyable, they paled in comparison to the overwhelming cascade of sensations that Aro's lips ignited within her. Every one of her nerve endings felt as though they had been laid bare, and the electric tingling surged through her body, gaining intensity with every gentle brush of Aro's form against hers. It was as if she were engulfed in flames, delightfully consuming yet dangerously overwhelming.

She was lost in the intoxicating blend of scents that clung to him—spicy notes intertwined with the comforting aroma of well-worn books. She attempted to mirror the rhythmic movement of Aro's surprisingly soft lips, moving with a combination of eagerness and clumsiness. Yet, all at once, her mind ground to a startling halt as she felt the teasing flick of his cold tongue against the seam of her lips, sending shock waves through her, and an involuntary gasp was pulled from her.

Aro, ever the opportunist, dipped his tongue playfully inside to expertly twist with her own in silent encouragement. Tentatively she swept her tongue against his exploring one and the deep growl that bubbled up from within his chest could be felt beneath her hands which had found purchase in his designer shirt. His mouth and tongue teased her, guided her and coaxed her into a passionate dance. Manicured nails scraped lightly over her scalp, gently tugging every now and then which sent what felt like lighting bolts to her groin and caused her to shift herself restlessly.

Unfortunately, being human had its limitations, and her urgent need for oxygen quickly reminded her of that fact. With a sudden, instinctive movement, she twisted her mouth away from him, gasping for the fresh air that filled her lungs. The man in front of her chuckled indulgently, a warm sound that resonated with his amusement. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead gently against the gentle curve of her shoulder. He took his time, pressing soft, featherlight kisses against the exposed skin of her shoulder, each tender touch igniting a spark of electricity that danced along her nerves. It was as if the world around them melted away, leaving just the two of them in their cocoon of warmth and affection. Meanwhile, she felt the slightest tremble ripple through his shoulders—an involuntary reaction that began subtly but grew stronger, drawing her muddled attention back to him. As the moments passed, the tremor shifted into a breathless laugh that seemed to bubble up from deep within him, light and contagious. It was a sound filled with unguarded joy.

"Still, I see nothing. No thoughts, just complete quiet. Marvelous! You are simply magnificent, la mia preziosa Isabella! Una benedizione. La mia benedizione."

She couldn't suppress a soft chuckle that mingled with his infectious laughter. "You know that I have no clue what you are saying," she admitted, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Aro responded with another round of lively giggles, the sound rich and melodic, before he leaned back to meet her gaze. His bright smile illuminated his chiseled features, making him appear even more captivating. "I will teach you. With my brother, Marcus, as my assistant, we'll have you speaking like a local in no time," he promised earnestly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

She rolled her eyes slightly, amusement dancing in her expression, but the warmth of his attention sent a pleasurable sigh escaping her lips. As his strong fingers began to gently weave through her tangled hair, she felt a wave of comfort wash over her. "I hate to tell you, but I'm not the best of students. I'll remind you that it took me ages in school to grasp the bare basics of French if you have forgotten from our stroll in town in your old age".

A hearty, barking laugh erupted from Aro, resonating from deep within him. With effortless strength, he maneuvered her head to nestle against his firm chest, continuing the delicate task of detangling her knotted bed hair. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing that we have all the time in the world," he replied softly with a teasing smirk, his fingers moving with a careful grace as he unknotted the tangles in her hair with practiced fingers.

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Edward POV

This is madness!

Edward rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly, the stress grounding him momentarily as he exhaled sharply, his cold breath mingling with the crisp, pine-scented air. He glanced around the dense woodlands that enveloped him. This forest had become his sanctuary in recent days, a stark contrast to the chaos of thoughts that haunted him, particularly memories of Italy. This forest had become a refuge for him—a place where the rustling leaves and the gentle whisper of the wind provided some semblance of peace, far removed from the burdensome thoughts being broadcasted by his family.

Silence had reigned among them, each member seemed to radiate an unspoken tension that only deepened his sense of isolation. Despite their outward calm, it felt as if their opinions about him were echoing in the spaces between them, loud and clear. Alice and Jasper had taken to steering clear of him as much as possible, creating an invisible barrier between them. If perchance he happened to cross them: Alice's mind buzzed with nonsensical distractions that seemed to drown out any personal connection, while Jasper's thoughts roared with anthems of Dixie and God Save the South, reverberating like clashing melodies in his head. Even so, Edward couldn't miss the furtive glances they exchanged, wary and probing, whenever they thought he was otherwise occupied. Time and again, he sought Alice, desperation gnawing at him as he wanted to demand if her gift could provide any glimmer of hope to bring Bella back. Yet, just as often, either Jasper or Carlisle appeared like sentinels, blocking his path, as if to shield Alice from him.

Carlisle meticulously balanced his time between comforting his beloved wife, Esme, and retreating into the solitude of his study. Carlisle had tried every method available to reach Aro to discuss their case and inquire after Bella, but each attempt was met with silence. In desperation, he had even enlisted the help of Eleazar, who would journey to Volterra, acting as a set of eyes and ears—watching and listening for any sign that might aid their cause.

Edward, however, found listening to Carlisle's thoughts an unbearable burden. The anguish his adopted father wrestled with was palpable as he fixated on the troubling situation they faced. His adoptive father's conviction about leaving Bella in Italy with the Volturi until their required court appearance was a bitter pill for Edward to swallow. The anguish of it gnawed at him, but what tormented him even more was Carlisle's incessant musings on Bella's inexplicable bond with that monster, Aro. One afternoon, while passing through the living room, deep in contemplation about Bella's connection with that damnable Volturi leader, the dam within Edward broke. In a moment of raw, unrestrained emotion, he snapped, capturing Carlisle in a frantic grip that pinned him to the wall.

In that rare and turbulent moment, Edward had never seen the usually gentle Carlisle so furious. The coven leader, known for his soft-spoken nature and impressive patience, retaliated with an unexpected surge of strength, hurling Edward through the elegant, paned sliding door that led into the backyard. The shattering glass glimmered like a cascade of diamonds in the afternoon sun. "Enough!" Carlisle's voice thundered, a command that reverberated through the air with a seriousness that silenced Edward's protests.

In contrast, Esme offered a soothing presence that was somewhat easier to bear. Her heartfelt attempts to soothe him hung in the air like delicate wisps of comfort, offering him a lifeline amidst the turmoil. With her expressive eyes reflecting her unwavering love, she spoke of false hopes—tales of how soon their lives would return to normal, of how Bella would safely return home to them. Yet, despite the warmth in her words, Edward could sense the underlying current of anxiety that shadowed her thoughts. Though he could read her mind, he couldn't quite decipher whether she truly held onto those hopes or if they were simply a guise to mask her deep-seated worries for both Carlisle and their 'children.'

He was also pretty sure that Rosalie wanted to rip his head from his body for getting the coven into this mess. She had never held a strong affection for Bella. In fact, she often dismissed her as nothing more than a 'liability,' a term she used frequently to describe the human girl. The tension had escalated particularly when the decision was made to leave Forks. Though reluctant, she eventually acquiesced to Carlisle's authority, as he believed it was for the best. Emmett, however, stood firmly against the idea from the very beginning. His affection for the awkward but endearing Bella had grown quickly; he found her charming in her uncoordinated way and admired her courage in a world that was unfamiliar and dangerous for her. Yet he remained loyal to his mate, choosing to support her despite his own feelings of fondness for the clumsy girl they were leaving behind.

Despite the overwhelming evidence of danger, none of his coven could be swayed into believing that Bella was truly at risk while confined within the ominous walls of the Volturi castle. Yet, the sinister truth lay in the air like a heavy fog; the Volturi had no reservations about extinguishing human lives. Indeed, during their grotesque 'tours,' they had left a trail of loss, dispatching countless souls with cold detachment. They delivered their judgements with merciless efficiency, indifferent to the suffering they caused.

To any rational person, it was painfully clear: a human could never be safe among the Volturi. Caius was a notorious sadist of the highest degree who delighted in the pain he could inflict on others, reveling in the chaos he could create. Marcus, although rendered mostly harmless since the tragic loss of his mate, was a repository of dark knowledge—a grim scholar of the occult whose knowledge of the arcane arts was matched only by the staggering number of lives he had ended, both human and vampire, earning him a twisted sort of reverence and even the title of saint amongst the unknowing humans of Volterra, despite his bloody past.

But it was Aro, the charismatic yet malevolent figure who reigned as the unchallenged leader of the trio, who posed the greatest threat. His mind was a labyrinthine puzzle, shifting and reshaping with each passing moment, making it nearly impossible to decipher his thoughts in their brief meetings. Behind his congenial façade lay an insatiable darkness—a true demon cloaked in charm, harboring clear sinister intentions for Bella, wishing to possess her and seal her fate.

There was no way in hell that he was going to allow that man to have her. She was his! His from the moment he saw her in that cafeteria in Forks. Her blood sang to him, driving him to lengths that he never thought possible. He knew that they were fated for each other. They had to be. Never had a human so enraptured him. Her pure, human soul. He could cherish it, protect it, and when the time came, be beside her when her soul passed into the heavenly realm at a ripe old age. But Aro, he would destroy her. He would kill her for nothing more than pleasure and greed, and Edward refused to allow that to happen.

His cell phone began to ring, cutting through the oppressive silence that had enveloped him as he spiraled deeper into his dark thoughts. With a reluctant sigh, he fished the device out of his back pocket. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he gazed at the screen, which flashed a stark 'no caller ID'—an unsettling sight. Who would be reaching out to him from an untraceable number? He rarely used his phone, and the majority of his contacts were saved under familiar names of his coven mates. Outside of that tight-knit circle, he had only a handful of other contacts, making it improbable that this was someone he knew.

A moment of hesitation gripped him, and he considered ignoring the call, but the unwavering persistence of the ringtone—a continuous, unrelenting pulse—pricked his curiosity. Whoever was on the other end clearly wanted to reach him. With a sudden surge of impulsiveness, he pressed the green accept button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Who is this?" he demanded, his voice steady.

A distorted chuckle reverberated through the receiver, the voice wholly unfamiliar to Edward immediately caused him to tense. "Hello, Edward," it drawled, dripping with amusement. It was hard to decipher if the caller was male or female, the static warping the individual's vocal undertones.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Edward's jaw clenched tightly as an instinctual sense of foreboding coiled in his gut. Just as he shifted his finger to hit 'End' and dismiss the call entirely, the next words from the caller froze him in place.

"Do you want your little human back?"

---

Ah, mia carissima sorella – Ah, my dearest sister.

Sorella – Sister

Amore mio – My love

Arrivederci – Goodbye

Il mio uccellino – My little bird

Mia cara – My dear

La tua cantante – Singer

Piccola cantante – Little singer

Bambino arrogante – Arrogant child

la mia preziosa Isabella-My precious Isabella

Una benedizione – A blessing

La mia benedizione – My blessing

Quotes:

Why should I apologize for the monster I've become? No one ever apologized for making me this way. – The Joker