The world.
That word echoed in Adora's mind long after she left the DeLuca mansion.
Outside, the Manhattan night was crisp and glittering. Streetlights shimmered on wet pavement, and yellow cabs streaked past like gold flashes in the dark. Her heels clicked against the sidewalk as she walked, clutching her purse tightly.
"The world," she whispered to herself, shaking her head.
What did a man like Marco DeLuca know about her world? About subway delays, late rent, and hands that smelled of oranges and detergent?
And yet, she couldn't stop hearing his voice calm, certain, carrying a promise she didn't trust but secretly wanted to believe.
The next morning came too early.
The noise of the city flooded her apartment horns, chatter, music from the bodega downstairs. Adora stood by her small kitchen window, sipping instant coffee, staring at the skyline where glass towers pierced the sky. Somewhere up there, she imagined, Marco was having espresso in a penthouse where the world bowed at his command.
And she hated herself for wondering what he looked like in the morning light.
Later, at her fruit stand in Harlem, Adora tried to shake off the memory of him. She smiled at customers, joked with old women buying mangoes, and pretended she didn't feel the ache of something new stirring inside her.
Then, sometime after noon, the crowd parted.
A sleek black Maserati Levante rolled up to the curb. Heads turned. Conversations fell silent. Even the air seemed to still.
Adora's pulse jumped but it wasn't Marco who stepped out.
It was a woman.
Tall, elegant, her skin glowing under the midday sun. A crimson coat hugged her figure, and diamond earrings caught the light as she turned her head. She looked like she'd walked straight out of a magazine shoot in SoHo and didn't belong anywhere near a fruit stall.
Adora blinked.
The woman's gaze swept the market until it landed on her. She smiled faintly not cruelly, but knowingly then glanced at the men unloading crates.
A deep voice cut through the stillness.
"Luciana," someone said from the car.
Adora's heart skipped.
Marco stepped out tailored, immaculate, and as composed as if he ruled the street itself. He spoke quietly to the woman before looking directly at Adora.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, everything else blurred the noise, the people, even the traffic. It was just him and her.
Then Luciana leaned close to him, saying something that made him smirk. His hand brushed her back casually, possessively, and the gesture burned through Adora like a spark she didn't expect.
She turned away quickly, focusing on arranging her fruits, but her hands trembled.
When she looked up again, the Maserati was gone.
That night, Adora couldn't sleep.
She tossed on her narrow bed, replaying the scene over and over. The way Luciana smiled at him. The ease between them. The way Marco had looked at her at both of them.Finally, she got up and went to her window. Outside, the city pulsed with life headlights, sirens, laughter from a nearby bar. Somewhere out there, Marco was probably sitting in a high-rise suite with that woman, drinking expensive wine, while she was here wondering why she even cared.
She hated the thought. She hated that it mattered. Her phone buzzed. A message.
Unknown Number: Still awake?
Her heart stopped.
She didn't need to ask who it was.
Adora: How did you get my number?
Marco: You gave it to me.
Adora: I didn't.
Marco: You did when you looked at me the way you did tonight.
She stared at the screen, stunned. The arrogance. The nerve. And yet… her pulse betrayed her.
Adora: You shouldn't text me.
Marco: Then stop reading.
She threw the phone onto the bed, pacing. Five minutes passed. Ten. Then she grabbed the phone again.
Adora: Who was she?
Marco: Does it matter?
Adora: It shouldn't.
Marco: It shouldn't. But it does.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but before she could reply, another message came.
Marco: She's an old friend. I thought making you jealous might tell me the truth.
Her breath caught.
Adora: You're insane.
Marco: Possibly. But I never lose.
She didn't reply.
He didn't text again.
But long after midnight, her phone screen still glowed faintly on the pillow beside her and her heart wouldn't stop racing.