I watched her as she gaze straight into my eyes without blinking . I know how does she hate and how much. Like I also wasn't dying and desperate to her proud ass actually. So I just ignored her and started to gaze at others as every girl around us started to gaze me like they wanted to kiss me right now .
And here she is
The great daughter of mr.blake. " alera" who was drawling holes on me ever since my parents told me to meet her on the purpose to get to know her and so whatever .
The time passed by as she thought to ask me
" Why do you want to marry me? "
Her voice was so void and loud enough to leave me from my thought by snapping . But i soon kept my cold face as chuckled.
" Huh? Do you think I am desperate to marry you ? ..huh keep dreaming then " I said as I gave her my tauntimg gaze .
And guess what ?
She is really burning hot by listening to my words . As if she wanted to dug me here itself. But you know I am the don of mafia and nothing else matter to me even if it's my own soon to married.
I choose not to be bent down easily for people and let them crawl upon my shoulders .
" Whatever you may think you can ---'
I suddenly raised up and started to bend towards her who just widened her hazel eyes as she sat before me , and the table was between us . My gaze was piercing into her as she gulped the lump in her throat but couldn't show her anxiety due to my heavy breathe and inch distance left between us.
As I saw her heavy breathing and how her chest rose up and down .
" See who is the one flexing right now and also who couldn't even breathe single air when I choose to close the distance between us " i whisperred against her ears as she started to shove my chest but I was strong enough to catch her shoulders and wrists to stop her movement.
" You bastard ---" her words struck when I suddenly lean into her to stare at her red eyes."
" You don't even know how fucked up I am , I wanted to kill you and burn you into ashes ever since the marriage proposal came itself about you and me , and you better not to mess with my mind by your silly and stupid talks and argument, shut the fuck up and cancel the marriage.if you don't want to be killed by my hands ' bitch' "
My voice was so loud enough to leave her into gasp as her breathe become more heavier as I sat back quickly as soon as I whisperred.
She started to glaring me and narrowing her eyes to me .
She started to take step towards me as I chuckled .
" Now does she want to beg me to leave her ?, huh it's not like ----" my thought interrupted when she came to my face to face as my eyes gawed her features.
Her sharp jawline , her hazel Vincenzo eyes , her sharp nose and plump red lips and her smooth sark brown hair . The sunlight showed how insignificant she was .
" Huh ?" A chuckle left through her lips as she smirked.
" She fucking smirked at me ?"
" Do you know what ?"
" Yes"
" I am , and I was interested in this marriage " she spoke as the world fell from her mouth .
" And guess what?" She held my chin up.
" And it's gonna be hell for both of us " she said as she drewed her sharp thin nails across my jawline . As I continued to stare at her .
" I am ready to marry you " she said as soon as she left the distance between us and press her lips into mine at the sudden moment.
She started to role her lips across mine as she bite them making my lips bleed .
She left my lips as I still was processing what she was doing .
Her thumb pressed against my bleeding lip as she took my blood and licked it .
" Hmmm"
" You taste good " she said as a satisfying smile spread across her lips .
" Okay the meet is done , I am shall be going ,mr carlo --- no no my soon to be husband" the words left her lips as she continued to walk away swaying her perfect body hanging a handbag across her arms .
" What the fuck did happen right now?"
" That bitch gonna be a mess of me "
" Dummmmm " a punch I have throwed across the glass beside me making into shattering into peices as the customers and others shivered to see .me .
" Sir is it okay--" my assistant ronaldo spoke as I grunt .
" Yes , just let that bitch know what happens if she mess with me and make a dinner meet with my mom as soon as possible" i strode towards my car .

"Ahhhhhh" I started to shout as my mom entered into my room
" What was all this --?" She asked me as I gave her a cold look
" Mom you really wanted to marry me with that arrogant and son of a bitch trully?" I attempted as my words came out from my lips .
" Yes and there is no going back"she spoke .
" Why doesn't mean matter you and dad at all and y'all treating me as if I am a doll ?" I spoke as my gaze sharpened at every word I spoke .
" We knew w what better to you what not ---" her words shuddered as I throwed the vase against the mirror .
" What does you make you to discover my opinions and my thoughts ?" I spoke .
Ah! Got it — we continue directly from Alera talking to her mom after the restaurant incident, keeping her POV and her rage, frustration, and icy personality intact. Here's the continuation:
---
I stood there, my hands clenched at my sides, chest tight with anger and disbelief. My mom's calm, measured tone only fueled the fire inside me.
"Mom… you really expect me to marry him? That arrogant, insufferable man?" I spat, voice sharp, almost cutting the air between us.
She didn't flinch. "Yes, Alera. It's decided. There's no going back."
"No going back?" I repeated, incredulous. "Do you even care what I think? Do you care that I hate him? That I despise him already?"
Her eyes softened, just slightly, but her words were firm. "We know what's best for you. For the family. For the empire. You may not understand now, but you will."
I laughed, bitter and cold. "Understand? Mom, I am not some pawn on your chessboard! I am your daughter! And I deserve to make my own decisions—about my life, my future!"
Her sigh was almost motherly, almost gentle, but I could feel the steel behind it. "Alera… control is never easy. You will learn that soon enough. You may not like him. You may even want to fight it—but this is bigger than the two of you. You are a Brake. And Brakes do what must be done."
I slammed my hand against the dresser, making the frame of a family photo wobble. "Enough! I am not a Brake who just obeys. I am not weak, and I will not be forced into something I hate. Do you hear me? I will never—ever—bow to him!"
My mom didn't answer immediately. She simply studied me, her expression calm, almost unreadable. Then, finally, she spoke:
"Alera… you will meet him again. Tomorrow. And you will act with… dignity."
I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Dignity? Acting dignified in front of that man? You really think I can do that? Mom, I hate him. And I know he hates me too. This… marriage will be a war."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Perhaps. But remember, daughter… wars are fought not just with fists or words, but with strategy. Don't forget who you are."
I spun around, storming toward my room, my heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. My parents' words echoed behind me, but I barely heard them. I was already planning, calculating, steeling myself for the moment I'd see him again.
Carlo Luciano… I whispered under my breath, teeth gritted. You have no idea what you're in for.
I shut the door behind me, letting the cool darkness of my room swallow me. I paced, my mind racing with every possible scenario, every way I could make him regret underestimating me. My reflection in the full-length mirror stared back at me: a young woman with fire in her eyes, a storm in her heart, and a spine no one—not my parents, not him—could ever bend.
I ran a hand through my hair, tugging it into a messy bun, and allowed myself a small, bitter smirk.
Let him come. Let him try. Let him see what it truly means to challenge Alera Brake.
And with that, I turned toward my wardrobe, pulling out a sharp, sleek outfit for tomorrow—something that would announce, loud and clear, that I was not to be trifled with.
The war had begun.
---
The night had stretched long, but sleep refused to come. I lay on my bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts circle around him—Carlo Luciano. The man who had so arrogantly invaded my space, my life, and now, apparently, my future.
I rolled onto my side and let out a frustrated sigh. My mind replayed every detail of our encounter at the restaurant—the cold arrogance in his eyes, the way he tried to assert dominance, the faint smirk that made my skin crawl. He thinks he owns this game already, I thought bitterly. But he doesn't know me at all.
Rising from the bed, I walked to my wardrobe, the soft click of my heels against the polished floor echoing in the silent room. Clothes of every style and color stared back at me, but I needed something sharp, something that would announce to him without a word: I am not to be trifled with.
Finally, I pulled out a tailored black blazer with subtle gold accents, a crisp white blouse, and fitted pants that allowed both elegance and movement. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, flawless and commanding. My hazel eyes were sharp, cheeks flushed with the memory of our encounter, and my lips pressed into a thin line.
I studied myself for a long moment. You are Alera Brake. You are not a scared girl. You are a force.
With deliberate care, I tied my dark brown hair into a high ponytail, letting a few strands fall just enough to frame my face. My fingers brushed over my wrists, flexing subtly, remembering the moment he had invaded my personal space, the audacity of his intimidation. The memory made my chest tighten—but it also strengthened the fire inside me.
I poured myself a glass of water and took a slow sip, letting my mind strategize. Tomorrow, when I faced him again, I would be untouchable. I would let him try to gauge me, test me, and I would show him that arrogance could be met with precision, fire, and a spine stronger than steel.
My thoughts drifted briefly to my parents, and the way they had forced this situation upon me. Anger simmered, but I pushed it down—it was not a distraction I could afford. Every move tomorrow would need to be calculated, every expression deliberate.
I finally allowed myself to change into my nightwear—a sleek, comfortable set of black satin. The cool fabric against my skin reminded me of the calm I needed to maintain, even as my mind raced. I padded silently toward the window of my bedroom, staring out over the city lights.
Twenty two, and already caged. But not broken. Not yet. I whispered to myself.
I ran my hands along the edge of the balcony railing and glanced at the small swimming pool below. The water shimmered under the moonlight, inviting, calm, and yet deep. I undressed carefully, letting my nightwear fall to the floor, and slipped into the water. The cool embrace of the pool was grounding, washing away the tension and anger. My movements were deliberate, controlled, and graceful, each stroke a silent declaration: I am in command of my life. I am in command of my power.
As I floated, letting the water support me, I thought of Carlo Luciano again, and for the first time, I allowed a faint, dangerous smirk to cross my lips.
Let him come tomorrow.
He has no idea the storm he's about to face.
I stayed there for a while longer, letting the water calm my mind while sharpening my thoughts, turning my rage into focus. When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I felt the full weight of my own presence. I was ready. Not just to meet him… but to dominate the battlefield that tomorrow would become.
The war between Alera Brake and Carlo Luciano was only just beginning.
The morning sun crept into my room, painting gold streaks across the walls, but it did nothing to soften the storm inside me. I had slept little, drifting only in short, restless bursts, haunted by flashes of last night—the way he had looked at me, the arrogance in his smirk, the way he dared to invade my space as if I were nothing more than a challenge for his amusement.
I rose from my bed silently, the mansion still quiet around me. Even the servants seemed to sense that today would not be ordinary. Today, I would see him again, and I would not flinch. Not even for a second.
The wardrobe offered endless options, but I was deliberate. Black. Sleek. Sharp. Every thread, every crease had to reflect one thing: power. I pulled out a fitted black blazer, paired it with a pristine white blouse tucked neatly, and fitted pants that allowed movement but emphasized control. I examined myself in the full-length mirror, adjusting the blazer's lapels, smoothing my hair, and letting my hazel eyes lock with my reflection.
You are Alera Brake. I whispered to myself. You do not cower. You do not obey. You are the storm, and he has no idea what is coming.
Breakfast passed in silence. My parents tried, as always, to cloak commands in civility, but I barely heard them. I was already calculating: how I would walk into the restaurant, how I would sit, how I would respond to every smirk, every word, every gaze. Carlo would think he could dominate me. Let him try. I would not falter.
As I prepared to leave, I paused at my mirror, brushing a strand of dark brown hair behind my ear. My hazel eyes reflected a mixture of ice and fire. He will meet me as an equal today—or not at all.
---
The university halls were bustling, students hurrying past with laughter and chatter, but I moved through it like a shadow. Heads turned subtly, some in awe, some in curiosity, and a few in thinly veiled envy. I did not flinch, did not acknowledge them. My pace was deliberate, measured, and controlled—every step announcing that I was not here to be trifled with.
Some girls whispered as I passed: Did you see Alera Brake today? She's… intimidating. I caught the occasional glance, the polite yet calculating smiles of those who thought they could charm me. Foolish.
There was Veronica, trying too hard to make conversation. "Alera! Morning!" she chirped, her tone too bright, too eager. I did not turn. I simply nodded once, minimal and precise. She froze for a moment, realizing that my indifference was deliberate. She had expected friendliness, warmth, maybe even submission—and got none.
A few steps later, Jason and his friends, the typical university alpha boys, laughed a little too loudly nearby. They glanced at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I allowed the faintest arch of an eyebrow—enough to make them pause—but I said nothing. My silence was louder than any word they could muster.
Then came Eliza and Hanna, whispering to each other as they walked alongside me for a moment. "She's… different," Hanna said, eyes wide. "She doesn't… smile, really."
"Yeah," Eliza murmured, leaning slightly closer, as if sharing a secret. "And yet… she commands attention. You can't ignore her."
I caught their words, heard them as clearly as if they had been shouted. My lips curled slightly, a cold smirk. Let them whisper. Let them try.
Classroom doors opened, and I took my usual seat near the window, back straight, eyes forward. Other students tried to start conversations, lean closer, or make casual jokes—but I remained unyielding, impermeable. I didn't need their approval. I didn't need their attention.
As the lecture began, I allowed my mind to wander just slightly, thinking about the meeting tomorrow, about the twisted game my parents had forced me into—but only for a moment. Here, in this room, I was untouchable. Here, my intellect, my presence, my very demeanor set me apart.
And yet… a small, almost imperceptible spark of curiosity pricked at the back of my mind. Who is this man, Carlo Luciano, that they think I must marry?
I shook it away. That question could wait. For now, I had the halls, the classrooms, and the people around me to dominate. And dominate I would.
Because whether it was the university or the streets, the boardrooms of my family, or the twisted games of the Luciano empire, one truth remained: Alera Brake bent for no one.
And I would not start with him.
---
The lecture hall buzzed with chatter before the professor arrived, but the moment I entered, the energy shifted. Conversations faltered mid-sentence, eyes darting toward me as if drawn by gravity. I didn't care. I didn't acknowledge anyone—not with a smile, not with a nod. My stride was deliberate, heels clicking against the polished floor, echoing in the quiet corners of the room.
Some girls whispered, their voices just loud enough for each other to hear: She's so… cold. And gorgeous. Like… untouchable.
I caught a flicker of Veronica trying to sidle up, probably thinking that a bright laugh or a casual compliment could break through. I didn't even glance her way. A single, controlled nod in her direction was all I allowed, and it was enough to make her stiffen, realize that my attention wasn't theirs to earn.
At a nearby table, Jason and his clique nudged each other, trying to whisper jokes about me, attempting to draw a reaction. Their confidence faltered almost immediately when my hazel eyes caught theirs for a fraction of a second—sharp, assessing, unamused. They quickly looked away, the faintest unease tugging at their smirks.
Even the professor seemed to notice, clearing their throat as if the air itself had grown heavier. I sat at my usual seat by the window, posture perfect, arms folded lightly on the desk, gaze distant yet sharp. I let the sunlight catch the edges of my hair, the slight tilt of my chin, the quiet fire behind my eyes. I didn't have to speak to dominate the room; my presence alone did the work.
Hanna and Eliza tried to sit nearby, whispering among themselves. "She doesn't talk, yet everyone watches her… It's unnerving," Hanna murmured.
"I know," Eliza replied. "And it's like… she doesn't care. She could crush anyone who tries to get close."
I caught the tail end of their conversation and allowed the faintest smirk, a hint too quick to be noticed by most. Let them think what they want. Let them watch. It doesn't matter.
The lecture began, and while others scrambled to take notes, my focus remained precise. I wasn't here to socialize. I was here to observe, calculate, and assert my dominance without uttering a word. Every subtle glance, every shift in posture from my classmates, fed into a quiet, invisible hierarchy: I was untouchable. I was a force they could admire, fear, or envy—but never influence.
By mid-morning, a few brave souls tried to approach, offering small talk or empty flattery. I allowed a moment of acknowledgment—a slight tilt of my head, a brief raise of an eyebrow—but no more. That was all the control I needed. Their smiles faltered almost instantly. I could see them thinking: Who is she? How can someone be so cold and untouchable?
During the break, I walked through the courtyard. The air was warm, students lounging in groups, but all of them gave way as I passed. I didn't need to command them; they stepped aside out of instinct. My reflection in the glass doors caught my eye: sharp jawline, hair neatly tied, hazel eyes that held both intelligence and danger. I allowed a small, almost imperceptible smirk. They can watch. They can whisper. But none of them will touch me.
Even the boys who fancied themselves untouchable hesitated, their casual confidence faltering when our paths crossed. I didn't speak. I didn't smile. I didn't need to. My aura alone set me apart, a cold elegance that reminded everyone that some people existed outside the rules of ordinary influence.
As I returned to class, the whispers followed like shadows. I didn't care. I never did. My mind was already moving ahead, calculating, planning—not just for the classes I needed to ace, but for the challenges that waited beyond these walls. Carlo Luciano. The thought of him flickered briefly at the back of my mind. I hated him, yes, but even hatred could sharpen one's senses. And in this life, only the untouchable survived.
By the time the final bell rang, I had walked through the university like a queen among peasants. Cold. Unyielding. Untouchable. And anyone who dared to challenge me—even in whispers—would quickly learn the truth: Alera Brake bent for no one.
The next day, I entered the lecture hall earlier than usual, the usual hum of students slowly filling the space. I moved to my usual seat by the window, my steps precise, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
That's when I noticed her.
She was new—tall, composed, and radiating a kind of cold elegance that immediately demanded attention. Her hair was a dark chestnut, cut in a sharp bob that framed her pale, striking face. Her eyes were an icy gray, scanning the room with quiet calculation. She didn't fumble, didn't smile, didn't greet anyone. And yet… every gaze in the room seemed to drift toward her, as if drawn to a force they couldn't name.
I froze for just a fraction of a second. Interesting…
She caught my glance almost immediately, her eyes meeting mine with the same unwavering intensity. A shiver ran through the hall, subtle, almost imperceptible, but I felt it. Her presence was a mirror of my own—controlled, untouchable, and almost unnerving.
A few students whispered, attempting to introduce themselves or draw her out, but she didn't respond. She simply walked to the desk near mine, her movements deliberate, measured, elegant. Every step, every slight tilt of her chin, radiated the same authority I carried.
She sat, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink around us. Two untouchables, two forces of cold precision, coexisting in the same space.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Most people would have felt threatened, intimidated, or curious. But I… I only felt recognition. A silent acknowledgment that she, too, understood power. That she, too, moved through life without needing validation, without bending for anyone.
The lecture began, but our quiet duel of gazes continued. No words were exchanged, yet the tension was palpable. Other students whispered about the new girl, but they didn't understand. They didn't see the subtle acknowledgment in my hazel eyes, or the faint smirk she allowed herself when our eyes met.
After class, as the hall emptied, I walked past her deliberately, close enough to let our shoulders brush. She didn't flinch. I didn't either. Our eyes locked for just a moment, and in that instant, a silent understanding passed between us.
She is like me.
Her name, I would soon learn, was Isabella Morozov—daughter of Professor Morozov, a close ally of my father. She had her own reasons to walk the line of cold precision, and like me, she would not bow for anyone.
And somehow… I knew she would be an ally, a rival, or perhaps a challenge I hadn't anticipated.
This is going to be interesting.
I lingered near the classroom exit, letting the majority of students filter out before I moved. Most had left behind the usual trail of chatter, laughter, and careless energy, but my eyes were fixed on her—Isabella Morozov.
She stood near the edge of the hall, leaning slightly against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted just enough to suggest indifference. And yet… I could sense the same razor-sharp awareness I carried—the way she read the room, the people, every subtle movement. She was not like the others. Not like the usual students who tried to charm, provoke, or catch my attention. She was different.
Interesting, I thought. Finally, someone I can actually talk to without pretending.
I walked toward her, slow, deliberate, heels clicking lightly against the floor. Each step measured, controlled, radiating the same cold confidence I always carried. I noticed her eyes flick up as I approached, gray meeting hazel, and for a heartbeat, we simply stared. Neither flinched. Neither smiled. And yet, an unspoken acknowledgment passed between us: recognition of the same strength.
I stopped a foot away from her, letting the distance speak as loudly as words could. "Isabella Morozov," I said, my voice even, controlled, yet carrying a faint edge of curiosity.
She didn't flinch. Didn't move. She tilted her chin just slightly. "Alera Brake," she replied, her voice smooth, quiet, and precise, like a blade sliding through silk.
I allowed myself the faintest smirk. So she matches me, huh?
"I've been watching you," I said, keeping my tone casual, though my mind raced. "You… stand out."
She raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, crossing her arms tighter. "I could say the same about you. Most people either fear or fawn. I don't do either."
I chuckled softly, a sound low and controlled, letting the faintest tension curl between us. "Good," I said. "Because neither do I. And I don't particularly enjoy wasting my time on people who don't matter. But… you might."
I let my gaze linger on her, taking in every detail with careful calculation. Isabella Morozov was the kind of beauty that didn't scream for attention—it demanded it. Her skin was pale, flawless, with a porcelain quality that made the sun hitting her face look almost ethereal. The sharp cut of her jawline, high cheekbones, and the subtle arch of her brows gave her an air of refined, untouchable elegance.
Her gray eyes were like shards of ice, intense and piercing, capable of freezing anyone who dared to look too long. They were not soft, not playful—never yielding—but they were magnetic, drawing you in whether you wanted to be drawn or not. Her lips were full, perfectly shaped, a natural deep rose that contrasted beautifully with the coldness in her gaze. Even her hair, a dark chestnut bob that framed her face sharply, seemed deliberately styled to enhance her aura of precise, untouchable perfection.
She carried herself like royalty among commoners: shoulders back, chin slightly raised, movements deliberate and smooth. Every step, every tilt of her head radiated control and quiet authority. There was no trace of frivolity in her expression—no hint of unnecessary warmth or vulnerability—but that made her all the more captivating.
"I could say the same about you. Most people either fear or fawn. I don't do either," she said, her gray eyes locking on mine, unflinching.
I allowed a faint, knowing smirk to curve my lips. Of course she doesn't flinch. Of course she matches me. "Good," I replied evenly. "Because neither do I. And I don't particularly enjoy wasting my time on people who don't matter. But… you might."
She tilted her head just slightly, letting the silence stretch between us like a taut wire. Every detail of her presence—from the subtle curve of her neck to the way her hands rested lightly on her bag—was a quiet declaration of control. She's not just beautiful. She's dangerous. And she knows it.
The tension in the air was palpable. We didn't need to speak more, yet the conversation itself was a challenge. A duel of glances, a battle of presence.
I finally broke the silence with a deliberately calm voice, letting curiosity edge it slightly. "So… what brings Isabella Morozov to my world of chaos?"
Her gray eyes flicked toward the window briefly, then back to me, as cold as a blade. "My father wanted me here. And… I suppose he thought it might be… useful."
"Useful," I repeated, letting a faint chuckle escape. "We'll see about that."
I studied her again, noticing the subtle curve of her lips as if she were hiding amusement, the almost imperceptible shift in her posture that hinted she wasn't intimidated. And for the first time in a while, I felt a spark of genuine curiosity—and something else. Respect.
Finally… someone I can actually measure up to.
The lecture hall began to thin, most students having shuffled out to grab lunch or hurry to their next class. I remained, moving deliberately to the desk beside Isabella. She didn't shift, didn't glance at me, but I could feel the awareness radiating off her like a shield. Sitting down across from her, I placed my bag neatly at my feet and leaned slightly back, arms crossed—not out of defiance, but observation.
"You're… quiet," I said finally, breaking the silence, my voice low, even, calculated.
Her gray eyes lifted to mine, unmoved. "And you're… not. Yet you command attention regardless."
I allowed a faint, deliberate smirk. She notices. She observes. "Good. That's… something we share, then. I'm Alera Brake."
"Isabella Morozov," she replied, her tone equally neutral, precise, but there was an edge to it—like a blade hidden beneath silk.
We studied each other for a moment, the quiet in the hall making every detail more pronounced. Her posture was impeccable—shoulders squared, chin lifted slightly, but not arrogantly. Just enough to let you know she wouldn't bend. And yet there was something else: a spark of challenge in the way her gaze met mine, not with hostility, but with… recognition.
"Your presence… it's deliberate," I said, letting my words hover. "Not everyone can move through a room like that and remain… untouchable."
A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of her lips—a fraction of amusement. "Not everyone wants to be seen," she said. "Some of us prefer to let others show their weakness first."
Interesting, I thought. She was a predator in her own right, cold, calculating, unyielding. Someone who would measure every step before committing, someone who could see beyond the surface. And that… was rare.
I leaned forward slightly, resting one elbow on the desk. "And yet… here you are. Observing. Measuring. Just like the rest of us. Do you always watch from the edges, or is this… specific?"
Her gray eyes flicked toward me for a heartbeat, then returned to her notebook, pretending to jot down something, though I could see she wasn't writing a single word. "I prefer to learn before I act," she said softly. "Rushing in has consequences."
I allowed a slow nod. "Wise. Most people act without thinking. Most fail."
A faint tension hummed between us, unspoken, like a taut wire stretching across the desk. It wasn't hostility—it was something else. Recognition. A challenge. A mutual acknowledgment that the other was… a force to be reckoned with.
I let my gaze linger on her once more, noticing the subtle elegance in every movement—the way she adjusted her sleeve without seeming deliberate, the gentle curve of her neck as she glanced around the room, the cool composure that seemed almost unnatural. She was dangerous, in a way I had seldom encountered. And yet, I was intrigued.
"So," I said finally, voice even, measured, "Is this your usual strategy? Observe, calculate, and wait?"
Her gray eyes finally met mine, unwavering. "Only when it matters," she replied. "And this… might matter."
I allowed the faintest smirk to creep across my lips, a cold acknowledgment of the challenge she had thrown down without even trying. Finally… someone who might actually match me. Someone who doesn't flinch, doesn't bow, and doesn't waste words unnecessarily.
The bell rang, signaling the next class, but neither of us moved immediately. It was as if time had slowed around the two of us, the world of chattering students fading into background noise. There was no friendship forming—not yet. There was no alliance. But a quiet understanding had passed—a recognition of strength.
As I stood, gathering my bag, I gave her a slow, deliberate nod. "We'll see how this goes," I said, letting the words carry weight beyond their simple meaning.
She didn't smile, but her gray eyes followed me as I left. And in that look, I could feel it: this wasn't the end of our interaction. Far from it.

The memory of her burned in my mind like fire against ice. Alera Brake. Just her name made the blood in my veins boil, and the taste of her—her defiance, her boldness—lingered on my lips long after that brief, infuriating encounter.
Her gaze. That piercing hazel, sharp enough to cut through arrogance, to see through all my walls. Her smirk, teasing, confident, untouchable. Every movement, every tilt of her head, every deliberate step she took—it was all a challenge I hadn't expected, and yet one I couldn't ignore.
And that kiss… that damned kiss. The boldness of it, her lips pressing into mine, biting, tasting my blood. I could still feel the sting on my lips, the heat of her thumb against my skin as she licked it away like it was her victory. That small, satisfying smile she wore when she walked away—it haunted me.
I slammed my fist against the wall in my office, glass rattling in its frame. "Damn her!" I growled, my voice low, dangerous, almost animalistic. "She thinks she can… she thinks she can defy me? She has no idea who she's dealing with!"
Rage and obsession twisted together in my chest. She had ignited something I hadn't felt in years—not desire, not interest, not the fleeting distractions of women who fawned at my name. No. She had awakened my need for control, my need for dominance, and the instinctive urge to crush anything that dared oppose me.
I strode across the room, blazer swinging, eyes scanning the floor as if the tiles themselves had betrayed me. The walls, the books, the trophies—they all mocked me because they had no weight, no bite, no fire. Only her.
I will burn the world if I have to, I thought, every muscle taut, every nerve alive with fury. I will burn every fool, every obstacle, every damn thing that stands between me and… her. And when I finally have her, she will understand what it means to provoke me.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, but it barely touched the heat inside me. I thought about her smirk, her laugh, the subtle tilt of her chin when she challenged me without a single word. Her words—the ones she whispered so casually, but which struck deeper than any dagger—replayed endlessly:
"And it's gonna be hell for both of us."
Hell. She didn't even realize it yet, but she had already started it. I could feel the storm brewing—the clash that was inevitable, the fire that would consume us both. And I wanted it. I craved it. The thought of bending her—or seeing her try to bend me—was… intoxicating.
I slammed the glass down, the amber liquid spilling slightly, and let out a low growl. She doesn't scare me. She won't. But every move, every glance… every touch she gave me—it will be repaid tenfold.
My hand traced the edges of my desk, stopping on the leather-bound files of operations, alliances, and debts. I didn't care about anything else. Money, power, influence—all of it paled compared to the need to crush, dominate, and own the one woman who had dared to burn herself into my mind.
Alera Brake.
And when the world finally feels my fury, when everyone bows or flees, she will know exactly why.
And maybe… just maybe… she'll finally understand what it means to provoke Carlo Luciano.