Masuk(Authorâs POV) Vincenzoâs words landed like a physical blow, stripping the arrogance straight off Tiziana and Stefanoâs faces. The shame that followed was thick, suffocating, almost impossible to ignore. Carmelita didnât hesitate for even a second. A sharp, mocking laugh slipped past her lips, cutting cleanly through the silence that had settled over the group. âWow,â she drawled, her voice carrying easily to everyone nearby. âStraight to âMamaâ? And here I was being accused of spreading rumors. That has to be the joke of the year.â Whispers erupted around them almost instantly. The surrounding guests leaned in subtly, their gazes sharpening as they dissected Stefano with open curiosity and thinly veiled disdain. Stefano stood frozen in place, his face burning as humiliation crept under his skin. For a fleeting moment, he wished the polished marble floor beneath his feet would crack open and swallow him whole. Serenaâs expression twisted as though she had just tasted something s
(Celesteâs POV) I didnât want to play along, but I had absolutely no choice. A few yards away, around the blind corner of the terrace, the wet, sloppy sounds of kissing and heavy, desperate breathing echoed through the night air. It was excruciating. My ears burned. The intrusion was so clear, so intimate, that a wave of sharp discomfort mixed with irritation washed over me. I was trapped in the dark with a stranger, listening to his brother cheat on his wife. I tried to lift my head, pressing my hands lightly against the solid wall of muscle in front of me. We were too close, far beyond the boundaries of social comfort. Our bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Just as I shifted, a large, warm hand clamped onto the back of my head. Vincenzo was dominant. He forced my face back against his broad, hard chest. The scent of cold cedarwood filled my nose, mixed with the faint trace of tobacco lingering in the night air. I usually detested men who smoked.
(Authorâs POV) The black sedan sliced through the busy Milan night. Inside, the air pressure dropped to freezing point. Stefano sat like a stone statue, his face frosty. He had not said a word since they left the boutique. Tiziana sat beside him, her nerves frayed. She watched his profile, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The chemistry that usually filled the car was dead, replaced by a suffocating silence. She glanced down at Bianca, who had exhausted herself crying and was now asleep in her lap. Tiziana stroked the childâs hair absently, her mind racing. The divorce papers. They were still sitting in the nightstand drawer in the master bedroom. Should she remind him to sign them tonight? She bit her lip. No. It was too risky. If Stefano realized Celeste was serious about leaving, his pride might make him refuse just to spite her. Or worse, he might try to keep her. She did not dare make a move. Stefano was not thinking about divorce papers. He closed
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) Vincenzoâs low, magnetic voice echoed through the boutique, dripping with undisguised mockery. âLittle girl, where are your manners?â The air in the shop seemed to freeze. I stared at him in shock, my hand instinctively clutching the neckline of the dress. I never expected to see him here, of all places. Stefano and Tiziana looked at him, their expressions shifting from annoyance to wariness. The man standing before them exuded a suffocating pressure, an aura of absolute command that did not match his simple action of holding a suit jacket. Because Vincenzo had been managing the overseas markets for years and had only recently returned to Los Angeles to take the helm of Vitale Group International, very few people outside the core board of directors knew his face. To Stefano and Tiziana, he was just an arrogant stranger interfering in their business. They had no idea they were glaring at the supreme ruler of their own family tree, the man whose name alone
(Celeste Morettiâs POV)The VIP ward was so quiet I couldnât hear the hum of a single machine. The air didnât smell of antiseptic, but of fresh lilies arranged in a crystal vase.Leo leaned back against the plush pillows, his lips pale, and he looked at me with hesitant eyes.âThe mysterious sponsor⌠is it Stefano Conti?âMy hand paused over the apple I was peeling, and the skin broke.âNo,â I said firmly. âIt isnât.âThe light in his eyes dimmed, and he looked down at his hands.âI knew it. He must want to cut off my medical bills,â Leo whispered. âIâm just a burden. Iâve dragged you down for years, and now Iâm making you suffer in that family.âI set the fruit knife down on the bedside table with a soft clatter, then reached out and gently ruffled his hair.âDonât say that. The suffering I went through was my own choice. I was blinded by love,â I said softly. âNow that I see Stefano for who he really is, Iâm free. I just want God to help you recover.âA shadow passed over his face.
(Authorâs POV) Stefano Conti was jerked awake by the harsh ringing of his phone. The digital clock read 5:00 AM, and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Only a disaster of serious magnitude could justify a call at such an hour. He grabbed his phone, his expression darkening when he saw it was his PR Director. The manâs voice trembled through the line. âMr. Conti, you need to check X. Now.â âWhat is it?â Stefano demanded, already sitting upright. âItâs a bribery scandal involving Miss Bianca Contiâs preschool. The hashtags #ContiEntitlement and #VittoriaCrownCorruption have been trending all night.â Stefano opened his tablet, and whatever remained of his sleep vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, controlled fury. The internet was merciless. Someone had leaked an audio recording of Tiziana at the school. Her voice rang out clearly, arrogant and sharp. âMy time is billed by the minute⌠Conti family funding.â Stefanoâs jaw tightened painfully. Tiziana had no idea the kind
(Celesteâs POV) The moment the man walked into the conference room, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out. My breath caught in my throat as I took him in. His profile was sharp, almost unreal, like something carved out of cold marble. Every line of his face was precise, flawless, and
(Authorâs POV) Tiziana stared at the orange Hermès bag sitting on the desk, untouched and rejected. A sharp wave of disbelief surged through her, followed closely by irritation that settled deep in her chest. How dare this woman refuse her, and worse, do it in front of an audience like this. She
(Celeste Morettiâs POV) His voice echoed up the stairwell. I felt nothing. I looked down at him. He was kneeling on the landing below, Tiziana pressed tightly against his chest, his hands trembling as they cupped her face like she might slip away if he let go. My mother shoved past me and grab
(Author's POV) No one in the Contifamily iMessage group noticed when Celeste Moretti quietly left. Not that anyone would have. Adelina used the group maybe twice a week to share videos of Bianca Conti at her riding lessons or ballet recitals, and the rest of the family treated it like background







