GIOVANNI'S POVThe words, thick with a bitterness I hadn’t known he possessed, scraped against the lavish silence of the Sokolov Foyer.“I don’t need your money,” Tristan choked out, the words tasting like ash, even to me, though it was his mouth they passed through. His voice, usually steady, wavered, but I pushed through, finding a strength I didn’t know I possessed, a cold, hard resolve. “I don’t need the luxury you gave me. My freedom is enough.”With that, Tristan turned on his heel. He didn’t look back.I watched, frozen, as Tristan’s figure banished from the distance, shrinking with every determined stride down the long, gravel path leading away from the estate.A scoff bubbled up from my chest, sharp and derisive. Dumb. That’s what he was. Utterly, irrevocably dumb. He’d refused the money I’d offered, a king’s ransom meant to buy my peace, to put a neat, transactional end to this disgusting entanglement. His pride, he called it. I called it idiocy. I’d thought he’d be shamele
TRISTAN'S POVGiovanni’s voice. It was a sound that had once held the power to soothe, to excite, to command. Now, it was a weapon. It kept ringing in my ears, cutting deeper with each echo, cold, devoid of any warmth or emotion. “Pack your things, Tristan. Get out of my house! A mistress’s son isn’t allowed to stay here. Not anymore.”My heart didn’t just break; it felt like it was carved out, leaving a hollow, bleeding cavity in my chest. He hated me. He truly hated me. So much that he couldn’t wait even a day, not even an hour, to kick me out. I stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to grasp the finality of his words, the sheer brutality of them, when my gaze fell upon Juliana.A smirk. A triumphant, venomous smirk played on her lips, her eyes glittering with a malicious satisfaction that made my stomach churn. She was basking in this. Every single line of her body exuded victory. She snaked her arm around Giovanni’s waist, pressing herself against him, leaning in closer, a cal
GIOVANNI'S POVThe air in my father’s study was thick with a silence that screamed louder than any shout. The scent of aged leather and Viktor’s noxious cigar smoke clung to the heavy velvet drapes, a tangible representation of the suffocating legacy I was born into. My gaze was fixed on the scattered papers on the antique mahogany desk... documents I’d barely glanced at, yet whose existence had shattered a fragile deceit.Then Viktor’s voice cut through the stillness, flat and devoid of the usual sneer or booming command. It was a statement, a declaration that felt more like an executioner’s pronouncement. “You’re Lucia Morano’s son?”My head snapped up, my gaze, cold and full of a hatred so primal it made my own teeth ache, flicked from the damning papers to Tristan, then to my father. Tristan stood across from me, his shoulders hunched, his usually defiant eyes wide with an unfamiliar vulnerability. The morning light, filtered through the ornate window, seemed to catch the slight t
TRISTAN'S POVThe first tendrils of dawn, pale and tentative, were just beginning to filter through the heavy drapes, painting the luxurious master bedroom in shades of muted grey. My eyes fluttered open, blinking against the lingering haze of sleep, but even before I fully registered the light, I registered the empty space beside me. A familiar, almost comforting ache settled in my chest. Giovanni wasn’t there.A smile, goofy and unbidden, stretched across my face. He was probably already downstairs, his ritualistic cup of rich, black coffee clutched in one of those strong hands I knew so intimately. My heart gave a familiar flutter. It was a secret, the depth of my feelings for him. A love I hadn’t dared utter, hadn't even truly acknowledged to myself until recently, but one that pulsed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. I knew Giovanni gravitated towards a certain… intensity in me, the aggressive streak he sometimes provoked, the thrill of the chase, the push and pull of our
GIOVANNI'S POVThe first rays of dawn, pale and tentative, dared to pierce through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a faint, anemic light across my bedroom. I stirred, a profound sense of satisfaction blooming in my chest. Beside me, Tristan lay, a masterpiece of slumber, his breath soft and even against the crisp sheets. His skin, a canvas of pale alabaster, was artfully marred by the vivid hickeys I’d left during the night—bruises of ownership, declarations of my claim. Each purple blotch, each bruised whisper on his collarbone, neck, and inner thigh, was a testament to the ruthlessness I’d unleashed. I’d fucked him senseless, driving into him with a primal need to bury myself so deep he’d forget his own name, remember only mine. He was mine. Every trembling moan, every gasp of my name, had been a victory cry in the silent war we waged.It was hard, excruciatingly hard, to refrain myself from putting my morning wood on Tristan's hole once more. The urge to wake him, to delve bac
TRISTAN'S POV The air in Giovanni’s mansion was thick with tension, the kind that clung to your skin like a second layer of sweat. Giovanni, his presence overwhelming, his jealousy a tangible thing that seemed to choke the air from my lungs. I knew Giovanni. I knew how he could be when his possessiveness took hold. And yet, there was a part of me that thrived on it, that craved the intensity of his obsession.“Tristan,” he said, his voice deceptively soft as he closed the distance between us. “You’re mine. And I’m never letting you go.”His words sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and desire. His body pressing into mine, his strength undeniable. His breath was hot against my ear, his lips brushing my skin as he spoke.“Giovanni—” I tried again, but he silenced me with a kiss, rough and demanding, his lips crushing mine. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t gentle—it was a claim, a reminder of who I belonged to. His tongue thrust into my mouth, dominating, and I couldn’t help but r