THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapter 8

Carla POV

I turned on my heel and walked quickly, my heart pounding. Donatella's appearance in an evening dress, judging me in front of a McDonald's, was the most humiliating and terrifying thing that could happen. She wouldn't let go of me. She was everywhere.

I quickened my pace. I had to get away, find the silence of my penthouse.

But the anxiety was too strong. I had to know. I had to check if I was free.

I made an impulsive decision: I turned my head, just for a moment, over my shoulder.

She was still watching me.

Donatella Vianelli stood motionless in front of the entrance to the cheap restaurant, her dark, elegant silhouette contrasting violently with the neon lights. She wasn't pretending to leave; she was staring at me, her penetrating gaze reaching me across the distance and the crowd. It was an open hunt.

The sight of her stillness made me snap. Fear overwhelmed me, wrenching away the last ounce of control I had. I felt like the ground was giving way beneath my feet.

I couldn't stay on that exposed sidewalk. I plunged, without thinking, into a darker, narrower adjacent street, taking refuge in the shadows of the buildings. I ran for a few meters and pressed myself against a cold wall.

A panic attack engulfed me. My body began to tremble violently, my hands flew to my mouth to stifle a scream. I felt my breath catch. My mind screamed: "She's here! She's going to take me!"

I was crouched, trying to merge into the concrete, my thoughts becoming a chaotic, terrifying torrent.

That's when I heard it.

Footsteps. Sharp, rapid sounds, the click of heels on the asphalt, echoing in the quiet street. The steps were fast, approaching the place where I was hiding at full speed.

It's her.

It's definitely her. She had followed me. She had seen my flight. The promise not to usurp my choice was a lie. She was coming to confront me, to take me, or worse. I closed my eyes, my body petrified with terror, unable to move.

The footsteps stopped right in front of my refuge. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the blow, the cold command, the humiliation.

Then, instead of the authoritative voice, I felt a presence. And the most unexpected and terrifying thing happened.

It was indeed Donatella. And for the very first time, without a word, she acted against all the discipline she claimed to embody.

She didn't grab my arm. She didn't order me to get up. She hugged me.

The embrace was awkward, almost stiff, but it was firm and enveloping. Her body, usually so distant, pressed against mine, holding me close. I could smell the expensive scent of her perfume, the fabric of her evening dress.

My body reacted with a spasm of pure terror. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to push her away, to bite, to flee. But exhaustion, the horror of the panic attack, and surprise pinned me down.

"You won't be alone tonight," she whispered, her voice low, grave, but without a hint of her professorial authority. It was a statement, not a question. "I cannot let you do this to yourself. Not after what you told me."

I found the strength to push her away, violently breaking free from her embrace. My heart was pounding, panic giving way to rage.

"Don't touch me!" I gasped, trying to catch my breath. "Leave me alone! I told you I don't want your help! And I certainly don't need your... pity!"