Chapter 2

MIRELLA

I’ve always tried to live a perfect life—just to please my father. Just the way he likes it. Being the daughter of the Prosecutor General isn’t as easy as people think. From the outside, it looks like luck—like I was born with a silver spoon, surrounded by luxury, untouched by struggle.

But the truth is very different.

I spent most of my childhood learning how to be perfect. Smiling when I was supposed to. Saying the right things. Playing the role of the happy daughter in a family that always looked flawless from the outside.

And I do love my father, I do, but there are some moments where he’s too controlling. Too authoritative.

He's the kind of man who expects obedience without question. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. To become a lawyer, to carry on his legacy and honestly I don’t hate the idea.

I actually enjoy it—the defending, the arguments, the tension of proving a point. Arguing has always come naturally to me. It’s one of the few things that feels real.

But following orders? That’s one thing I’ve never been good at.

I barely pay attention as my friends go on about the new lecturer we had today. Elara Vossi, Nerina Caligo, and Giulia Ravelli are far more interested in discussing his looks than anything he actually said. I didn’t even notice his face, or what he was wearing but of course, they did. I watch them with a quiet smile as Nerina leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m sure he only became a lecturer so girls would stare at him all day,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she’s personally offended by his existence. Giulia laughs immediately. “Please, you were the one staring the hardest.”

“I was observing,” Nerina corrects smoothly. “There’s a difference.” Elara snorts softly beside me, shaking her head. “If that was observing, then I’m worried for every man in this city.” Their voices were better, light and careless, filling the space between us. It should feel normal. Familiar. It does.

And yet… something feels off. Not here. Not with them.

I glance around the courtyard absentmindedly, my gaze drifting over passing students, open spaces, the distant hum of conversation. Everything looks the same. Nothing out of place. Still, the feeling lingers like being watched. It’s subtle almost ridiculous. The kind of thought I’d usually ignore, but it doesn’t leave.

Father has always taught me to be aware of my surroundings. Our lives could be in danger at any time. One can never be to cautious. My eyes shift again, slower this time, more deliberate. Searching without knowing what I’m searching for. And for a second, just a second

I feel it. Not see. Feel. A presence. Cold. Still. Focused.

My breath catches slightly as my gaze pauses near the far end of the courtyard, where shadows stretch just a little longer than they should. There’s nothing there.

No one was standing, no obvious figure watching just empty space. I blink, forcing myself to relax, shaking the feeling off before it can settle too deeply. “You okay?” I turn back to Elara, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, brushing it off with a small smile. “Just distracted.” Nerina hums, clearly unconvinced but uninterested in pressing. “You’re always distracted. One day, it’ll cost you something.”

Her words are light. Teasing. But something about the way she says it— lingers. Giulia nudges her. “Ignore her. She thinks everything is some kind of warning sign.” “Because it usually is,” Nerina replies calmly.

I let out a soft laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my chest. Because for some reason I can’t shake the feeling that she might be right. And somewhere, deep in the back of my mind— Something tells me this isn’t just a passing moment. It’s the beginning of what I can't put a name to.Something I won’t be able to walk away from.

It's been three days since the way I felt that presence.

Morning crowds usually blur into one another—faces, voices, movement—but today, everything feels too sharp. Too defined.

I sit across from Elara, Nerina, and Giulia at a small café just off campus, the scent of coffee and warm pastries filling the air. Sunlight filters through the glass windows, soft and golden, casting a kind of false comfort over everything. It should feel normal. It doesn’t.

“…and then he had the audacity to say attendance was mandatory,” Giulia is saying, rolling her eyes. "You don’t even attend half your classes,” Nerina replies.

“I attend the important ones.” Elara laughs softly, shaking her head.

Their voices blend into the background. Because something feels wrong. Subtle. Quiet. But there.

I lower my gaze to my cup, watching the dark surface ripple slightly as my fingers tighten around it. The feeling doesn’t go away. It sharpens. Like I’m being watched.

My eyes lift slowly, scanning the café without making it obvious. People sit scattered—students, a couple near the window, someone scrolling on their phone.

Normal. All of it normal. And then. My gaze stops.

He’s sitting in the far corner alone. Still. Watching me. My breath catches—not loudly, just enough for me to notice it. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet.

Most people would. He doesn’t. There’s nothing outwardly alarming about him. His clothes are simple, refined. His posture relaxed but deliberate. But the way he holds himself, I can't describe it. Controlled.

A strange feeling settles in my chest, heavy and familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense, because I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.

A memory surfaces, my father’s voice. Low almost like he was being careful. The kind he uses when he thinks I’m not really listening. “If you ever come across a man named Silvano Neri…” I remember pausing that night, just outside his study, hidden behind a half-closed door.

“…you stay away.”

There had been a brief silence, then he said “He’s not someone you want to be noticed by.” I hadn’t seen the man he was speaking to. Only heard the warning. But I remember the description. Precise and measured.

Dark eyes. Calm expression. The kind of presence that doesn’t need to announce itself to be felt.

The kind that watches. The kind that waits. My stomach tightens because the man across the room. He looks exactly like that description. No. Not exactly. Too close.

My fingers curl slightly against the table. That’s impossible. It has to be. “What are you staring at?” Elara’s voice cuts through, pulling at the edge of my focus. “Mirella?” I blink, forcing myself to look away for a second—but it feels wrong, like turning my back on what I shouldn’t. “Nothing,” I say, too quickly. Nerina doesn’t believe me. I can feel it before she even speaks.

Her gaze follows mine. Then she stills. “Oh,” she murmurs softly. “Well… that’s interesting.” Giulia leans in. “What? Who?” “Elara, look.”

I don’t turn again. I don’t need to. I can feel it— He hasn’t looked away. “Okay…” Giulia whispers. “That’s intense.” “No,” Nerina says quietly. “That’s deliberate.”

Elara’s voice is lower now. “Do you know him?” I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before.” And that part is true. But the name—The warning. The way my chest feels tight for no reason

None of that is. I push my chair back suddenly.

“I need a minute.” “Mirella—”

“I’ll be right back.”

I don’t wait for them to stop me. I stand and walk toward the restroom, my steps controlled, steady. But every part of me is aware of one thing— He’s still watching.

The hallway is quieter, dimmer.

The noise of the café fades behind me, replaced by something heavier. I step inside the restroom, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.

This is ridiculous. It’s just a coincidence. It has to be.

A name. A description. That’s all.

Not him, It can’t be him.

The door opens behind me. Soft, measured steps follow. My body stills instantly. I don’t turn because I already know. Slowly, my eyes lift to the mirror.

And there he is. He stands just inside the doorway, his gaze fixed on me like it never left, like it followed me here without effort, like it was always meant to. My pulse quickens.

“You left,” he says. His voice is calm. Not a question. I turn slowly to face him, forcing my expression to stay neutral even as something uneasy coils in my chest.

“And you followed.” A pause. An unreadable emotion flickers in his eyes. “is that what you'd like to call it?” he says. The question lands heavier than it should. I hold his gaze, even though every instinct is telling me not to.

"That's what it's called" He takes a step closer, not invading, just enough to feel the shift in space. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says. My brows knit slightly. “That sounds less like concern and more like a warning.” “Maybe it’s both.” My breath catches slightly.

And before I can stop myself, the question slips out “Who are you?”For a moment, he just looks at me. Like he’s deciding the answer matters more than it should.

“Someone your father already told you to avoid.” The words hit harder than they should. My chest tightens.

because that confirms it. Not just the face. Not just the feeling.

The name. The warning. Everything. Suddenly, this isn’t a coincidence anymore, something I should walk away from. Immediately. I shouldn't linger more with him but yet I don’t move because fear is there, sharp and undeniable but so is another thing. What I shouldn't allow to form in my head because it's dangerous.

Curiosity. And the worst part? He knows it.

I can see it in the way his gaze lingers, In the way he doesn’t step back, In the way the silence between us feels less like distance and more like the beginning of something neither of us is going to stop.