ログインI thought he was a ghost from my past, but he came back with a marriage certificate and a billion‑dollar debt. He says I have to pay with my body—and my voice. “You’re in breach of contract, Mrs. Moretti.” Seven years ago, Dante Moretti was a broken sound engineer who broke my heart and vanished. Today, he’s the ruthless head of a global empire—and he just walked backstage to claim what’s his. Me. He brings a marriage certificate I don’t remember signing and a list of clauses that turn my world‑famous life into a gilded cage. He owns my label. He owns my jet. And he claims he owns my voice. Dragged to a fortress in Sicily, I’m trapped between a secret past I can’t outrun and a “husband” who looks at me with equal parts hunger and hate. Dante swears he’s the only thing standing between me and the monsters who want to buy my soul. But as the line between protection and possession blurs, I have to wonder: Is Dante Moretti saving me from the fire… or is he the one holding the match? He’s my greatest sin. My biggest secret. And now, he might be my only hope. ---
もっと見る“I want you to keep singing,” he says. “In my house. In my studio. In my ear. I want you to stay long enough for us to rip your name off every page they stuck it on without asking. I want my enemies to hear your voice every time they close their eyes and know they failed to kill the only good thing that ever came out of what they did to my family.”It’s too much.Too honest.Too heavy.“And,” he adds, voice dropping, “I want to know what it feels like when you sing for me alone and not for a stage, or a contract, or a ghost.”The air between us crackles.My ribs feel too tight.“That’s a lot of wants,” I manage, my voice coming out rougher than I’d like.“Honesty,” he reminds me. “As requested.”He’s close now.One more breath, and we’ll be in each other’s air.I should step back.I don’t.“You,” he says softly, “what do you want, Eliana?”The way he says my name makes something low in my stomach clench.Freedom.Safety.Payback.All the big answers bottleneck in my throat.What comes
The next day is a strange mix of domestic and deadly.We spend the morning with Jace, combing through more emails and contracts, my anger given neat columns and color‑coded highlights. Victor postures. Rick squirms. Corsini’s shells keep circling like vultures in Armani.By lunch, my brain is mush.By early evening, Sofie has successfully convinced Bianca to let her “help” make pizza, which means there’s flour on every horizontal surface and at least one piece of pepperoni stuck to the ceiling.“You live in chaos,” I tell Bianca.She shrugs.“Chaos is better than silence,” she says. “Silence means someone is hiding.”I can’t argue with that.After dinner and a bath that involves more splashing than actual cleaning, Sofie finally collapses in a heap of damp curls and clean pajamas. I tuck her into bed, kiss her forehead, and stand there a little too long, watching her breathe.It’s become a ritual.Part prayer.Part reminder of why I haven’t tried to bolt over the fence again.When I f
By mid‑afternoon, the house feels like a pressure cooker.Thunder has rolled out to a low, distant grumble.The men in expensive jackets beyond the wall have, for the moment, decided honking their metaphorical horns is enough.Inside, we all pretend to be normal.Bianca bakes.Ava charts my blood pressure like it’s the stock market.Jace mutters to himself about IP addresses.Kael moves from room to room like a storm in a dark shirt, never raising his voice, somehow still making the air rearrange itself around him.And me?I’m back in the studio.Because if I don’t put this somewhere, it’s going to claw its way out of my throat sideways.I sit at the piano and stare at my hands.They hover over the keys.Hesitate.Every time I skirt too close to the lullaby’s progression, my shoulders tense.I told myself I wouldn’t give that song away again.Not for free.Not to an audience that doesn’t understand what it costs.But the melody is a splinter.Pressing under my skin.I exhale.“Rip it
Lockdown, as it turns out, is not quiet.It’s just…contained.I spend the next morning oscillating between wanting to punch walls and wanting to crawl out of my own skin.Breakfast tastes like cardboard.The coffee doesn’t help.Sofie is in rare form, ping‑ponging between the kitchen and the living room, demanding stories and songs, and “castle adventures.”Bianca keeps giving me looks like she can hear the buzzing under my skin.Ava corners me in the hallway after vitals.“How’s your breathing?” she asks.“Occurring,” I say.“In full sentences?” she presses.“Mostly,” I say.She hums, unconvinced.“You need an outlet that isn’t yelling at Kael or rearranging my pill schedule,” she says.I snort.“I have an outlet,” I say. “It’s called threatening to burn the music industry down.”“Verbal arson doesn’t count,” she says. “I meant something that burns adrenaline without burning you. Studio?”I hesitate.Then nod.“Yeah,” I say. “Studio.”She pats my arm.“Good girl,” she says, like I’m
I don’t sleep.Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice in the hallway—*She was always a bargaining chip, from the start*—and see my name under the word ASSET on a contract I never signed.By the time the sky outside my window turns from black to a tired blue, I’ve watched the same crack in the
Rafael doesn’t text from his number.Of course he doesn’t.Two days after the office confrontation, I get a message from an unknown contact on Mia’s phone while she’s in the shower.The screen lights up on the nightstand beside my bed. I’m half‑asleep, or pretending to be, Tessellating the cracks i
We don’t talk about the drawer the next day.Or the one after.The villa falls into a strange, brittle rhythm—me in the studio, him in his offices, our orbits close enough to feel the gravity, far enough not to collide.Mia clocks something is off, of course.“You’re doing that thing,” she says on
The song ends, but the tension doesn’t.Applause rises around us as if nothing sharp was just thrown at my feet. Dante eases us out of the final turn and releases my hand with a small bow as the quartet slides seamlessly into the next piece.He looks composed.I feel like my insides have been shake
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