Ewoma Omaje の小説

It wasn’t long before the shadow of Alexandro Campania crept into my every thought.The villa had been a dream. Or maybe a nightmare—both at the same time. My fingers still tingled from where his touch had brushed against my hairpin, his presence heavy and unrelenting. Even as I sat at the tiny kitchen table in my apartment that night, I couldn’t shake the memory of his words, the sharp intensity in his eyes.He wasn’t done with me. Not yet.And that thought should have scared me, should have made me lock the door, draw the blinds, and pray he wouldn’t find me. But instead, I found myself yearning for more.I had a role to play. I knew that. The sweet, innocent woman with no past. That was what he saw. It was all he could see.But it was getting harder to remember why I was pretending.The next morning, the usual hum of the flower shop felt quieter. The bell above the door chimed as customers came and went, but my mind was elsewhere. As I cut stems and arranged vases, I found myself w

I stood in the flower shop long after he left, the dinner invitation still in my hand.Villa Campania.I’d heard of it—everyone in the leoni had. A fortress hidden behind walls and guards, surrounded by the kind of silence only money and power could buy. No one entered without permission. No one left without being noticed.And I was going in.For flowers.For him.I held the invitation like it might burn me, but deep down, I knew I had asked for this. Every day I’d spent playing the role of the sweet florist had led to this moment. The door to his world was finally open.But was I ready to walk through it?I spent the rest of the evening preparing.I chose the flowers carefully—white lilies for elegance, soft pink peonies for grace, and orchids because they were rare, mysterious, and expensive. Like me.I didn’t sleep that night.Instead, I memorized every name, every face that might be there. I studied the Campania hierarchy—who had been loyal, who had betrayed. Who had died recently

A month passed.I lived in a quiet one-bedroom apartment above a café. I cooked pasta with olive oil and basil, wrote in a fake journal at night, and drank tea on the balcony. I smiled at old ladies. I flirted with the waiter downstairs, just enough to stay hidden.I had never lived like this before. No bodyguards. No whispered meetings in the dark. No coded messages or silenced guns. I was playing pretend—but somehow, I felt more real than I ever had.Still, I hadn’t seen Alexandro.Not until one rainy WednesdayThe shop was nearly empty. Rain tapped against the glass, soft and steady. I stood behind the counter, trimming tulips, when the bell above the door chimed.I looked up.And there he was.Alexandro Campania.Wearing black.He stepped inside like he owned the place, which he probably did. Water dripped from his coat, and his eyes—dark, unreadable—met mine.My heart skipped. Froze. Shattered.He was more beautiful up close than I remembered.“Buongiorno,” I said softly, trying

I knew from the first time I saw Alexandro Campania that he was the one for me.It was the kind of knowing that settles deep in your bones, quiet and certain. He stood tall and broad, muscles firm under his black suit. His sharp jawline, thick dark hair, and eyes like smoke and secrets made my heart stutter. He looked like a man who had been sculpted from danger itself. Handsome, yes, but there was more—something wild, something deadly.And I liked it.His eyes were the first thing that struck me. Dark brown, almost black when he narrowed them. That day, they had turned fully black. A man had accidentally shoved him in the hallway during the meeting. It should’ve ended in a simple curse word or maybe a warning glare—but no, Alexandro had pulled out a gun and shot him in the thigh.Just like that. Cold. Fast. Merciless.And yet, somehow, I was fascinated.People screamed. The man cried on the floor, blood staining the tiles beneath him.But Alexandro didn’t even blink. He just slipped t