A HUNGER THAT DOSENT FADE

The morning after was thick with silence.

Not the heavy kind that screamed regret, but the sort that hovered—watchful, charged, waiting to see what came next. Like the world had witnessed what happened behind closed doors and was holding its breath.

Aria sat up in bed long before the sun touched the windows. The sheets smelled like him. Like cedarwood and danger. Like heat.

Luciano wasn’t beside her.

Of course he wasn’t.

He left sometime before dawn, the way he always did when he gave too much of himself. He disappeared before the morning light could make things real.

She stared at the pillow where his head had rested, and for a moment, she let herself remember.

Not the kiss. Not the fire.

But the look in his eyes after—quiet, almost wrecked.

Like touching her hadn’t satisfied anything. Like it had only awakened a deeper hunger.

She hated how much of herself she’d given him last night.

Not just her body—but her silence.

She hadn’t stopped him. She hadn’t said no.

But she also hadn’t said yes.

It was a gray area, and gray always made her feel dirty.

Her feet touched the cold marble floor as she rose. The mirror across the room caught her reflection: lips swollen, eyes shadowed, neck slightly bruised from his mouth.

She touched her skin gently.

A part of her still burned. A part of her still wanted more.

And that scared her more than anything.

⸻

Clara would’ve called it trauma bonding. The way danger and attraction wrapped around each other like vines. But this didn’t feel like trauma.

It felt like a trap she’d stepped into willingly.

It felt like power—tangled with need.

She got dressed in silence, slipping into one of the soft cashmere sweaters Lucia, the housekeeper, had left for her. It hung loose over her frame, sleeves slightly long. She liked it that way.

Luciano had once said he liked how clothes swallowed her. How she always looked like she didn’t belong in the luxury around her.

Today, she wanted to disappear into it.

When she stepped out into the hallway, a guard was already waiting—young, polite, faceless in the way they all were.

“Mr. Moretti asks for your presence in the dining room.”

She blinked. “Now?”

He nodded once.

Of course.

Luciano always wanted to control the narrative before she had a chance to shape it herself.

⸻

The dining room was sunlight and silver.

He sat at the far end of the long table, crisp in another black shirt, reading something on his phone like nothing in his world had shifted.

But it had.

And he knew it.

When she entered, he looked up. His gaze swept over her slowly, like he was memorizing the pieces of her all over again.

Aria crossed her arms. “What is this, a morning-after debrief?”

Luciano’s lips twitched. “Would you prefer silence?”

“I’d prefer honesty.”

He set the phone down. “Then I’ll be honest. Last night wasn’t part of the plan.”

She scoffed. “You keep saying that like I care about your plans.”

His tone sharpened. “You should. Because when I lose control, people get hurt.”

Her jaw tightened. “Am I supposed to be flattered that you didn’t break me?”

Luciano rose, slow and deliberate. “You’re not broken, Aria. Not yet.”

She swallowed.

“Then what do you want from me?” she asked, softer this time.

He didn’t answer right away. He walked toward her, steps silent on the marble, stopping only when he was close enough to steal her breath.

“I want you,” he said.

Her heart kicked hard.

“I want your mind. Your mouth. Your fire. The parts of you you’ve tried to bury. The parts you’re still afraid to show.”

She shook her head. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” His voice dropped. “I know your rage. I know your loneliness. I know the way your eyes burn when you lie and say you’re fine.”

Aria’s voice cracked. “Knowing me isn’t the same as loving me.”

Luciano’s expression flickered.

“I’m not asking to love you,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me keep you.”

Her throat tightened.

“And what if I say no?”

His eyes were cold. But there was something sad beneath them.

“Then I’ll still keep you. But it’ll hurt more.”

⸻

She didn’t eat.

She couldn’t.

She returned to her room, ignoring the fresh fruit and pastries set neatly on a tray by the door.

She sat on the bed, fists clenched, eyes unfocused.

The worst part wasn’t what he’d done last night.

The worst part was how much she’d wanted it.

And how much she still did.

She thought about escape again—but it felt hollow. Even if she ran, where would she go?

She wasn’t the same girl who’d been dragged here weeks ago.

She wasn’t fragile anymore.

But she was entangled. Deep.

And Luciano Moretti… he wasn’t just danger anymore.

He was gravity.

⸻

That evening, a package appeared on her bed. No note. No explanation.

Inside was a dress.

Sleek. Black. Simple. But there was something… reverent about it. Like it had been chosen with her in mind, not just her body.

Aria stared at it for a long time.

Then she slipped it on.

She didn’t ask why.

She didn’t knock on his door when she walked down the hall.

She found him in the lounge, pouring himself a drink, his back to the door.

He turned as she entered. His eyes dragged over her like a slow flame.

“You wore it.”

“I didn’t wear it for you,” she said.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I want you to wear things for yourself now.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done playing shadows.” He stepped closer. “If I’m going to keep you, I won’t do it behind closed doors.”

“You make it sound like a choice.”

“It is. Yours.”

Her breath caught.

Luciano set the glass down and cupped her face in both hands—tender, this time. Careful.

“Tell me no,” he whispered.

Silence stretched between them.

The rain started again.

Aria’s voice was barely audible.

“I can’t.”

And just like that, everything burned again.