Reyhana woke up with the first rays of the sun. She looked around slowly, still wrapped in the feeling of strangeness despite the luxurious room. She reached for her phone and called her mother.
— Good morning, Mama. I'm fine, don't worry.
Her mother's voice was warm, filled with a mix of worry and longing.
A few minutes later, she got out of bed and went downstairs. There, Maria was sitting at the breakfast table beside Matteo, who waved at her happily.
— Good morning, dear. Leonardo left early for work, but we didn't want to leave you alone.
Reyhana smiled shyly and sat down, beginning to feel a bit more at ease in this new world.
After breakfast, Maria took her and Matteo out into the vast garden of the mansion. The morning breeze played with her hair, and the child's laughter filled the air. For a moment, she forgot she was in a foreign land.
Time passed quickly, and by evening, they returned inside. Matteo fell asleep peacefully, while Reyhana took a warm bath and slipped into a short pink pajama set that revealed her legs, and a light top that hugged her waist.
She stood by the balcony, looking up at the Italian sky, her hair cascading down, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. She looked like a painting—one whose beauty could only be grasped by those who saw it in secret.
Across the city, Leonardo was sitting in a private club with several friends, pretending to focus on the conversation, though his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
He opened it...
A photo.
Reyhana, standing at her balcony in that very pajama set, caught in a breathtakingly candid moment.
Beneath it, a caption:
"She's a dusky enchantress… her hair is the night, her body beyond description… a seductress, like a flame that cannot be extinguished."
His blood boiled. He clenched the phone tightly and rose from his seat without saying a word. Jealousy burned inside him, mixed with a rage he couldn't explain.
He drove recklessly, running red lights as if racing whoever sent that message.
When he reached the mansion, he walked in without acknowledging anyone. He climbed the stairs with heavy, angry steps and opened the door to her suite quietly, despite the fire raging inside him.
She was asleep.
Her breathing was calm, her features serene, and the pajamas—the same ones from the photo.
He approached slowly. All he felt was fury and disbelief. Who took the photo? When? Why?
He looked at the window, then at his phone, then back at her.
In a faint, trembling whisper, he said:
— Who would dare...
But she didn't wake.
He stood in the shadows, watching her for a few moments, before quietly leaving and closing the door behind him—carrying a fire within that refused to go out.