The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Alessia's room, painting golden patterns across the floor. She sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection but barely recognizing the woman who looked back. Her dark hair framed a face too pale, her eyes shadowed with sleeplessness.
The engagement ring on her finger—a diamond so large it mocked her—glittered like a shackle.
Two weeks. That was all the time she had before her life ceased to be her own.
A knock sounded at the door. "Miss Romano," came the voice of her father's assistant. "Your father requests your presence in the garden. The Morettis have arrived."
Her stomach twisted. She had hoped to avoid seeing Damian again, at least until the wedding. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
She rose, smoothing the silk of her pale blue dress, and forced her trembling hands to still. The Romano gardens were her sanctuary—rows of roses, fountains whispering secrets, marble statues watching silently. But today, even the flowers seemed to wilt under the weight of what was coming.
Her father stood near the fountain, speaking with Damian and his father, Don Lorenzo Moretti. The two men looked like mirror images of power—sharp suits, colder eyes. But it was Damian who drew her attention.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, the morning light catching the edge of his jaw. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that was almost cruel—dark hair, piercing gray eyes, and a presence that commanded attention without effort.
When he turned and saw her, his gaze lingered, slow and deliberate. It wasn't admiration. It was assessment.
"Alessia," her father said, gesturing her forward. "You remember Damian."
She forced a polite smile. "How could I forget?"
Damian's lips curved slightly. "You look different in daylight, princess. Less like a threat."
Her jaw tightened. "And you look exactly the same—like trouble."
Her father cleared his throat sharply, but Damian only chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "I suppose we'll have to learn to get along. For the sake of peace."
"Peace built on chains isn't peace," she said quietly.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping so only she could hear. "Then maybe you should stop fighting the inevitable."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them. There was something in his gaze, something dark, unreadable, but not entirely cruel. It unsettled her more than his arrogance ever could.
"Walk with me," he said suddenly.
Her father nodded approvingly, mistaking Damian's command for civility. Alessia hesitated, then followed him down the garden path.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet.
Finally, she spoke. "Why agree to this marriage? You don't strike me as the type to follow orders."
"I'm not," he said simply. "But I do what's necessary.
My father wants peace. Your father wants security.
And I..." He paused, glancing at her. "I want control."
"Control?" she repeated, her voice sharp. "Over me?"
His smirk returned. "Over everything."
She stopped walking. "You'll never control me, Damian. I'm not one of your soldiers."
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "No, you're not. You're something far more dangerous."
Her breath caught. "And what's that?"
"A woman who doesn't know her own power."
The words hung between them, heavy and electric. For a fleeting second, she saw something flicker in his eyes—respect, maybe even admiration—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
He turned away, his tone cool again. "The wedding will happen whether you like it or not. But how we live afterward... that's up to us."
She folded her arms. "You think you can charm me into obedience?"
He looked over his shoulder, his smile sharp as a blade. "No, princess. I think I can make you want to stay."
Her heart stuttered, anger and confusion warring inside her. "You're delusional."
"Maybe," he said softly. "But you'll find I'm very persuasive."
He walked away, leaving her standing among the roses, her pulse racing.
For the first time, Alessia realized that Damian Moretti wasn't just her enemy. He was a storm—beautiful, destructive, and impossible to ignore.
And whether she liked it or not, she was already caught in his path.