Under his control

Alessandro's Point of View

I should ignore her. Not think about her. But her image refuses to leave my mind. This girl... my servant... is a problem. I run a hand through my still damp hair as I step out of the shower. My body is finally relaxed, but my mind is in turmoil.

Damn.

I grab a black t-shirt and sweatpants before leaving my room. It’s late, and I need to eat something. The house is silent as I descend the stairs. The atmosphere is the same as when I left: too big, too empty, too heavy. But as I approach the kitchen, a faint noise catches my attention.

A sizzle of hot oil. The light clatter of a knife on a cutting board. And… a figure. I stop at the kitchen entrance, silently.

And I see her. Livia is there, focused on her task, completely unaware of my presence. She’s still wearing her servant’s uniform. Too short. Too tight.

My eyes glide over the curve of her hips, the slimness of her waist, the subtle arch that hugs the dark fabric. Her hair is tied up in a high ponytail, exposing the delicacy of her neck. She moves with a natural fluidity, as if every gesture is carefully choreographed.

I should look away. I should announce my presence. But I stand there, leaning against the doorframe, watching her work. I don’t like this. This feeling.

This strange obsession that is beginning to grow within me. I barely know her. She’s an employee. Nothing more. So why do I feel this uncomfortable warmth deep in my belly? Why does seeing her like this, in the middle of the night, busy cooking in my house… affect me?

I squint, frustrated. It’s nothing. Just a whim. A passing impulse. She’s just a servant. A girl like any other. Nothing that can touch me.

And yet… I still don’t move. I keep looking at her. I want her. Suddenly, she turns slightly, reaching for an ingredient on the countertop. Her gaze rises… and meets mine. She jumps violently.

— Oh my God!

Fear crosses her features, and I see her breath quicken.

I remain silent, still dominating her with my piercing gaze. Then, slowly, I uncross my arms and move closer to her. She instinctively steps back.

An almost imperceptible smile touches my lips.

— You still cook this late, servant? I ask, my deep voice finally breaking the silence. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She’s flustered.

And me… I love it.

LIVIA'S POINT OF VIEW

My heart skips a beat. He’s here. Leaning against the doorframe, dominating the room with his mere presence. Alessandro. His dark gaze is fixed on me, piercing, impenetrable. I feel a shiver run down my spine. Not just from fear… but something else. Something I refuse to admit.

I grip the spoon I have in hand, trying to mask my unease, but my fingers tremble slightly. Since our first meeting in his room, he intimidates me. He’s cold, arrogant, and yet… he exudes this magnetic aura that keeps me from looking away.

He takes a step forward. I instinctively step back. An almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. As if he enjoys my discomfort.

— You still cook this late, servant? he lets slip, his deep voice resonating in the silence of the kitchen.

The way he pronounces that word, servant, makes me grit my teeth.

— I… I was preparing something for Madame Isabella, I stammer, trying to maintain my composure.

His gaze slowly slides over me, from head to toe, lingering on my uniform. Too tight. Too short. Too revealing under this dim light. I look away, feeling my cheeks flush.

"Stop reacting like this, Livia!"

I take a deep breath and decide to focus on my task. Ignore his presence. As if that were possible… The moment too much

I reach for a glass resting on the countertop, but my mind is elsewhere. My fingers awkwardly slide over it.

The glass falls.

Shatters with a deafening crash.

— Damn it!

I immediately bend down to pick up the pieces. Then a sharp pain courses through my finger.

— Ouch!

I straighten up suddenly, bringing my hand to my mouth. A fine cut has formed on my index finger, and a drop of blood beads on my skin. Before I can react, a firm hand grabs my wrist.

I jump.

Alessandro is there. Too close. His imposing body dominates mine. His touch is warm, almost burning against my cold skin.

— You’re really clumsy, he says in a blasé tone.

I look up and meet his gaze. His face is impassive, but his grip on my wrist is firm. My breath catches.

— It’s… it’s nothing, I can handle it, I try to say as I pull my hand away.

He doesn’t let me.

— Shut up and let me see.

His order is sharp, commanding. I hate that arrogance. I should struggle, tell him to let me go. But I don’t.

Because despite his authoritative tone, he hasn’t released my wrist. He holds me, and his thumb brushes against my skin in an involuntary contact that sends a shiver through me.

— It’s just a scratch, I murmur, avoiding his gaze.

He grunts slightly, annoyed.

— And that’s exactly how you end up with an infection.

He pulls me toward the sink without letting me protest. Turns on the faucet and runs my finger under the cold water. I hold back a shiver. From the cold… or something else. He’s so close that I can smell him. A mix of soap and something more raw, more masculine.

My heart beats too fast. He grabs a clean towel, wraps it around my finger, then gently squeezes.

— Do you still insist on handling things on your own, or will you admit I’m right? he says, a hint of mockery in his tone.

I grit my teeth.

— Thank you, I say simply, refusing to give him that satisfaction.

He gives a slight smirk.

— Wise decision.

He finally releases my wrist, and I step back hurriedly. I’m short of breath. I hate what he makes me feel. This sensation of being both terrified and fascinated. I’m about to look away, but he’s still staring at me. His dark pupils shine with a strange glint. As if he can read me. As if he knows exactly what I feel… and is playing with it.

My stomach tightens. I need to get out of here.

— I… I’ll clean up the glass, I say hurriedly.

— Go ahead, he replies lazily.

I turn on my heels, feeling his burning gaze on me. 

And as I walk away, a single thought crosses my mind:

"Alessandro is a danger."

A danger to my heart. A danger to my reason. And I’m not sure I can resist him.