The penthouse was alive with the clink of crystal glasses, the murmur of high-stakes conversation, and the faint, jazz-infused hum that played like a backdrop to the chaos building beneath the surface. Rose stood on the terrace, looking down at the city below, feeling the weight of the night press against her chest. The skyline shimmered in the distance, each light a tiny echo of the power plays happening inside the penthouse walls. It was beautiful, in a way, but she wasn't here for the view. She was here to remind them all who she was.
She brought the glass of wine to her lips, savoring the bitterness of it. Red as blood. Bitter as vengeance.
Her dress, a tight, black satin number that clung to her curves, made her feel like a weapon in human form. It wasn't just the color that made her feel dangerous—it was the memories. The years of betrayal. The years of feeling invisible, discarded. She wasn't that girl anymore. Not the one who had been abandoned. Not the one who had disappeared into the shadows.
No, this was war. And she was the mastermind. The pieces on the board? They didn't even know they were already checkmate.
Across the room, Lorenzo Mancini was exactly where she expected him to be. At the center of attention, as always, sipping champagne like he was the king of the world. His silver cufflinks caught the light every time he moved. The same smooth, dangerous smile curled his lips. The same arrogance in his posture. He looked untouchable.
But Rose saw past the illusion. She saw the cracks. She always had. And tonight, she was going to make him see it too.
Her eyes never left him as he scanned the room, eyes flicking from person to person. Then, his gaze landed on her. There was a split second—a heartbeat—where neither of them moved. He froze. So did she. The weight of their shared past hung between them like a storm cloud, waiting to burst.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. He took a deliberate step toward her, and she didn't move, not an inch. She didn't need to. Let him come to her. Let him see her. The woman he had tried so hard to bury.
"You look… dangerous," Lorenzo's voice was low, a husky whisper meant only for her.
Rose tilted her head, studying him like a piece of art, as if he was the one who was broken, not her. "You're not wrong," she said, her voice smooth like velvet, but sharp enough to cut.
Lorenzo smirked, leaning in just a little closer. "I've missed that mouth."
Rose's lips quirked into a mocking smile. "I'm sure you have," she said, the words dripping with something that felt like poison. "Does your new plaything not talk back?"
The flicker in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. The guilt. The regret. The reminder of what he had lost. What he had thrown away.
But she wasn't that woman anymore. The one who had cried for him. The one who had begged for his love. She was fire now, and fire didn't beg.
"You've changed," he muttered, voice softer now, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
"No, Lorenzo," Rose said, eyes dark and steady. "You just never looked hard enough to see who I really was."
Before he could respond, a presence slid into the space between them, as smooth and deadly as a snake. Cassian Moretti.
The moment he stepped into the conversation, the air shifted. It was like the entire room went quiet for a fraction of a second, as if the world had just realized something dangerous was happening.
Lorenzo stiffened, his gaze flicking over to Cassian, taking in the sleek lines of his designer suit, the sharp cut of his jaw, the dangerous glint in his eyes. And Rose, with that same wicked smile on her face, now leaning casually against him, her hand resting on his arm like they were already in sync.
She tilted her head, her smile turning devilish. "Lorenzo, meet Cassian Moretti. My… date."
The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to go off.
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. He didn't move, didn't even blink. But his eyes narrowed, assessing Cassian with the same sharp gaze he used to reserve for enemies.
Cassian didn't offer a handshake. He didn't need to. The subtle power shift was enough. "Pleasure," he said, his voice low, flat, devoid of any emotion.
Lorenzo nodded, but it was tight, forced. "I've heard of you."
"I'm sure you have," Cassian replied coolly, like he was already beyond playing the game Lorenzo was so used to.
The silence between them was palpable. The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife. Rose couldn't help but smile inwardly. This was the moment. The moment when everything shifted. The moment when she let them all know just how much she had changed.
"Come on, Cassian," she said, her voice smooth, almost casual as she slid her hand through his arm. "Let's dance."
Lorenzo didn't stop her. He couldn't. Not with everyone watching. But she knew he wanted to. He wanted to shout. To drag her away. To make her remember who she used to be. But that version of her was dead. She wasn't his to control anymore.
Cassian pulled her toward the dance floor, his hand settling low on the small of her back, guiding her with effortless grace. The orchestra played a soft, classical tune, but around them, the tension was deafening.
"You're playing with fire," Cassian whispered in her ear as they swayed, his voice low, dangerous.
Rose grinned, her eyes never leaving Lorenzo's as he watched them, fury building behind his dark eyes. "That's the whole point," she whispered back, her voice carrying the bite of satisfaction.
Cassian pulled back slightly, studying her. "He still wants you. You know that, right?"
Rose didn't answer at first. She just let the rhythm of the music carry her, her body swaying with Cassian's. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice dripping with something darker, something colder.
"Good," she said, her smile sharp and knowing. "Let him burn."
Cassian's lips quirked into a grin. "You're insane."
"I know," she whispered. "But you like that, don't you?"
He laughed, low and dark. "More than I should."
Their dance ended too soon, but the fire between them didn't. They were surrounded by rich laughs, flirtatious glances, and the quiet hum of power plays. Rose knew exactly what she was doing. Every laugh. Every touch. Every lingering glance she gave Cassian—it was all for Lorenzo. To remind him of what he'd thrown away. To make him burn in the way only she could make him burn.
The evening dragged on, the party winding down as the guests grew more intoxicated, more distracted. But Rose? She wasn't distracted. She was focused.
She found herself back on the terrace, alone for a brief moment, the cool night air sweeping across her face. The city below was a canvas of glittering lights, but it felt empty compared to the war she was waging inside the penthouse.
She hadn't been alone for long before Lorenzo appeared, his steps heavy, purposeful. He didn't speak immediately. He just stood there, watching her. He was so close now she could feel the heat of his anger.
"I can't decide if I want to strangle you or kiss you," he said, his voice thick with frustration.
Rose turned slowly, her gaze steady. "Strangle me, and the media calls you a monster. Kiss me, and you prove you're still in love with a ghost."
"You're not a ghost," he muttered, stepping closer, his hand brushing her cheek gently. His touch was like fire, like the last remnants of something that was supposed to be forever.
"I loved you, Rosa," he said, his voice raw with something she hadn't heard in years. "You were mine."
Her breath caught in her chest. For a second, just a second, she almost believed him. But then she remembered everything he had taken from her. The lies. The betrayals. The coldness.
"No, Lorenzo," she whispered, her voice low but steady. "I was never yours. You only ever owned the version of me you could control."
And just like that, Cassian appeared, stepping onto the terrace with that casual confidence that made him seem untouchable.
Lorenzo's hand fell from her cheek, his eyes burning with rage. But Rose didn't even flinch.
Cassian gave her a nod, his voice calm but firm. "You ready to go?"
She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Very."
They turned away, walking toward the elevator. Behind them, Lorenzo stood in the shadows, his anger radiating off him like a storm, but there was nothing he could do now. The game was over. Or at least, it had just begun.
As the elevator doors closed, Rose didn't look back. But she knew one thing for certain:
She was the one holding all the cards now. And this? This was just the beginning.