LOGINI was only eleven when my life changed. My parents were gone, and my innocence was taken away. I grew up in a world where danger wore a suit and love felt like power. I learned to guard myself. But nothing prepared me for him, Lorenzo Vitalio. He is my guardian’s stepbrother. He watched me grow up. He is the man I shouldn’t want. Yet he is the only one I do. He’s 32, and I’m 20. The age difference is wrong. The feelings? Right—so painfully right that it hurts. I’ve loved him for as long as I’ve known what love is. But to him, I was just the girl he had to protect, not the woman he could claim. So I did what any heartbroken girl would do—I pushed him away. I made him notice me. I broke rules, crossed boundaries, and opened up the cracks in both of us. Just when I thought I’d finally lost him, he came back. Now the question is, can love survive the burden of secrets, danger, and years of denial? Or am I doomed to suffer for a man who knows how to protect but not how to love? This is the story of Evelyn Rose and Lorenzo Vitalio. A love too forbidden to begin. Too deep to end. And far too reckless to ignore.
View MoreHis lips brushed my neck once—slow, deliberate—like he was testing himself more than me.I gasped softly, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Enzo…please”“That sound,” he murmured against my skin, “is exactly why this is feeling so good.”“I hope this also feels good,” I whispered, and getting my hips closer to his lower body. I don't know about him but I was feeling something. My body betrayed me, I was desperate now.He didn’t stop.His mouth traced a line along my throat, lingering just below my ear. His arms tightened around me, instinctive, protective, and before I realized it, my legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted me effortlessly.“You’re impossible,” he muttered.I was sliding up and down while his fingers dig into my ass cheek.I smiled against his temple. “You don’t sound like you hate it.”He carried me to the sofa, laying me back carefully—as if control still mattered, as if he was afraid of himself. He hovered over me for a second, breathing hard
I led her into the kitchen and gently guided her to one of the chairs by the island.She sat down stiffly, her shoulders folding inward the moment she did. Then—quietly—she began to cry.No sobs. No sounds.Just tears slipping down her face as she stared at the floor, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as if she were holding herself together by force alone.“Do you want anything?” I asked softly. “Water… tea?”She shook her head once. Then she looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed, searching.“You are…?” she asked, her voice hesitant, unfinished.I recognized it instantly.A diversion.She didn’t want to talk about what had just happened. About Lucas. About the pain clawing through her.So I answered.“Evelyn.I’m–” I stopped not knowing what to say.“Are you his-” I knew what she was implying.“My parents are no more,” I said quietly.Her eyes widened slightly.“After they died, Enzo’s step–older brother, Antonio, and his wife Lily became my guardians. Antonio was my father’s best fr
I couldn’t stay inside anymore.The garden air was cool against my skin, the scent of damp grass and night-blooming flowers doing nothing to slow the frantic rhythm in my chest. I paced along the stone path, fingers curling and uncurling at my sides, my heartbeat so loud it felt like it might echo.What if this is connected?The thought lodged itself deep, refusing to loosen.The email.The timing.The woman.Lucas’s reaction.None of it felt random.Enough.I turned sharply and headed back toward the house, my steps quickening as I crossed the lawn. With every step closer to Enzo’s study, a strange unease crept up my spine—an instinctive warning, quiet but insistent.Something was wrong.I was only a few feet from the door when I heard it.Raised voices.Not Enzo’s.A woman’s—sharp, trembling beneath fury.“You left me there, and you want me to trust you?” she cried. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Lucas— I th—”Her voice broke.The sound cut straight through me.I didn’t knock.I pu
Before I could even think about replying, before my thumb could hover over the screen again, voices drifted up from downstairs. They were muted at first, polite, and unfamiliar. I paused. My phone was still warm in my hand, the email pressing heavily against my thoughts. I quickly locked the screen, flipped it face-down onto the bed, and stood up. For a moment, I debated staying put, pretending I hadn’t heard anything. But curiosity and something sharper took over. I stepped into the hallway and slowly descended the stairs, my hand brushing the banister, my movements careful. The voices became clearer with each step. At the bottom, I saw her. She stood near the entrance, framed by the soft glow of the foyer lights. She was a beautiful woman in a pale pink dress, the fabric flowing lightly around her legs as if it barely touched her skin. Her hair fell in long, loose curls down her back, glossy and purposeful, as if she had taken her time getting ready. She looked composed. Too com


















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