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The Man No One Knew
Last Updated:
2025-09-05 19:48:36
Latest chapter
I was more than pretty Unforeseen storm
The cars left like a royal procession.Black.Polished.Silent.Three sedans pulled from the curb, guards in dark suits closing the doors with military precision. The lead car bore the Bellandi crest — a silver falcon on midnight blue — barely visible, but known to those who mattered.Soren stood at the window of his office, hands in his pockets, watching them go.Not with relief.Not with defiance.With stillness.Like a storm had passed through, and he was the only one who remained standing.The moment the convoy turned the corner, George entered.Not the man who had followed Luca Bellandi — that one was sharper, colder, a soldier in a suit.No.George Valea was different.Mid-thirties.Dark hair, slightly tousled.Eyes that missed nothing.A navy blazer over a gray turtleneck — not corporate, but precise.He didn’t knock.Didn’t announce himself.Just walked in, closed the door, and said:“You’ll never escape them, you know.”Soren didn’t turn.“I don’t want to escape,” he said. “I
I was more than pretty Seven women, one truth
The elevator doors closed behind Luca Bellandi.I watched from the end of the hall — not close enough to be seen, but near enough to feel the silence he left behind.He didn’t walk like a man who’d just lost an argument.He walked like a man who’d lost the future he’d planned.Inside the elevator, he didn’t speak at first.His secretary — the same sharp, composed man who’d followed him earlier — stood beside him, eyes forward, hands clasped.Then, just as the car began to descend, Luca exhaled — long, slow, like he’d been holding his breath for years.“He said he loves her.”Not a question.A statement.A wound.The secretary didn’t look at him.But he listened.“My son,” Luca continued, voice low, “who once told a woman he would rather die than marry her… says he loves someone.”He shook his head.Not in anger.In disbelief.“You know how many women I’ve introduced him to? Seven. Seven of the most brilliant, beautiful, powerful women in Europe. And he treated each one like a business
I was more than pretty Over Legacy
It was the shoes that gave him away.Not the entourage.Not the security.Not the hush that fell over the sixth floor like a held breath.Just the shoes.Black.Polished.Italian.Moving with a rhythm that said, I don’t need to rush. The world waits for me.I was on my way back from the archive room, a misplaced design file tucked under my arm, when I saw him.Luca Bellandi.He didn’t look like a man who built an empire.He looked like one who inherited the world and made it sharper.Tall.Silver-haired.Eyes like cut glass.A navy overcoat draped over one arm, revealing a charcoal suit beneath — no logo, no flash, just perfection.And beside him, silent, calm, walking with the same effortless command:Soren.His son.They didn’t speak as they moved toward the executive wing.Didn’t gesture.Didn’t acknowledge the staff who suddenly found reasons to stand taller, straighten their blazers, disappear into side rooms.But I stayed.Not out of courage.Out of curiosity.Because I had seen
I was more than pretty Your nosy author speaks
There are moments in life when silence is more dangerous than war.We are taught, from childhood, that to speak is strength, that to fight back is power, that to scream is survival. But what if the most dangerous weapon is not the cry of outrage — but the whisper of restraint?Evelyn’s voice, in this chapter, is the voice of a woman who knows. She has already lived the storm. She has already drowned in the flood of betrayal. And now, she stands in the ruins, watching the cycle begin again.Most people think betrayal happens suddenly. They think it is sharp, like a knife slipped between the ribs. They think it comes in a single night, with a confession or a discovery.But betrayal is slower than that.It grows.It grows in the quiet rooms where glances linger too long.It grows in the offices where excuses are handed out like candy to the favored few.It grows in the pauses between laughter, in the seconds of silence where two souls lean too close and pretend it is nothing.Serena is t
I was more than pretty Love, all I need is for you to bloom
It didn’t take long to see.Serena wasn’t just liked at Parsons.She was cherished.Not in the way people love a star — loud, flashy, temporary.But in the way they love a secret.I saw it in the way the creative director paused when she walked into a meeting — just a second too long, his eyes lingering before he looked away.I saw it in the way the finance manager always had a spare coffee for her — “Oh, I grabbed one by accident. You can have it.”I saw it in the way the head of PR, a man in his fifties with a wedding ring and three kids, once muttered to a colleague: “She’s the kind of woman who makes you question every life choice.”No one acted.No one crossed a line.But the admiration was there.Quiet.Unspoken.Real.And because of it, she floated.Never late.Never reprimanded.Never questioned.When she missed a deadline, her supervisor said, “Don’t worry, Serena. We know you’ve been busy.”When she wore jeans on a formal day, someone joked, “Rules don’t apply to her.” — and
I was more than pretty Stillness in motion
It was a Tuesday.Nothing special.No meetings.No deadlines.Just work.I was in the design annex on the third floor, finalizing a sketch for the seasonal textile review — a coat with asymmetrical shoulders, one sleeve longer than the other, stitched with silver thread like a scar. I’d titled it “I Am Not What You Threw Away.”It was the first time I’d named a design after a truth.And when I looked at it, I didn’t see fashion.I saw survival.I needed to submit it to the digital archive on the sixth floor.No rush.No urgency.Just a quiet walk, a scan, a save.So I walked to the east elevator bank.The same one Soren Bellandi used.I’d noticed that about him — he didn’t take the private lift.Didn’t demand clearance.Didn’t avoid people.He used the main elevator.Like he wasn’t afraid of being seen.I pressed the button.The doors opened.And my breath stopped.Inside, standing near the back, was Soren Bellandi.Not alone.Beside him, his secretary — a man in a tailored charcoal s
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