familiar pain.

"You’re late."

The voice was cold, sharp like a blade, and it made Noel’s stomach churn. He hadn’t even stepped inside yet.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he stood frozen outside the grand three-story house, his childhood prison. The sight of it alone made his chest tighten, the air around him suddenly feeling too thin.

He hated this place.

The memories clawed at him, dragging him back. The shouting matches in the kitchen, plates shattering against walls, his mother’s piercing screams. He used to squeeze his eyes shut, hands pressed tightly over his ears, wishing it would stop. But it never did.

Sometimes, she took her anger out on him instead. A slap across the face, a yank of his arm, and then the dreaded sound of the basement door unlocking.

"You like hiding so much? Stay there."

Cold. Cramped. Suffocating. His breath would quicken, his chest tightening as the shadows pressed in on him. He'd claw at the door, scream until his voice went hoarse, but no one ever came.

Not his mother.

Not his father.

And when his mother vanished one night when he was sixteen…gone without a word, without a single glance back…his father turned on him completely.

"It’s your fault she left."

Noel flinched as if the words were whispered into his ear all over again. He clenched his jaw, shaking off the memory. That was in the past. He had escaped.

So why was he here again?

Because his father had summoned him.

"I’m getting married," the message had said. "Be here."

Like he had a choice.

Noel sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to move. Each step toward the house felt like walking toward his execution.

The door swung open before he could knock.

His father stood there, tall and rigid, with the same piercing eyes Noel had inherited but wished he hadn’t. He looked him up and down with mild disinterest before stepping aside.

"Come in."

The air inside was thick with cigar smoke and whiskey. The same suffocating scent from his childhood. It made his stomach turn.

Noel’s eyes swept over the room, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw her.

A woman, elegant and poised, sitting on the couch with a small smile.

"You must be Noel."

Her voice was warm, too warm. It made his skin crawl.

His father took a slow sip of his drink before speaking. "This is Olivia.My fiancée."

Noel’s jaw clenched. "Congratulations."

His father smirked. "Sit."

Noel stayed standing.

The older man sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Still stubborn, I see." He swirled his drink lazily before meeting Noel’s eyes. "I have something to tell you."

Noel didn’t respond.

His father took his silence as permission to continue. "I’m cutting you off."

The words should have shocked him. But they didn’t.

Noel scoffed. "I was never on your payroll to begin with."

His father chuckled, low and humorless. "Don’t be so sure." He leaned forward, eyes dark. "This university you attend, the place you live, the life you have…it exists because I allow it."

A cold chill ran down Noel’s spine.

"If you want to keep it," his father said smoothly, "you’ll behave."

Noel forced his expression to stay neutral, even as his stomach twisted. He had spent years trying to separate himself from this man. And now, just like that, he was being reeled back in.

His father smirked. "Good. Now, let’s talk about your future."

Noel clenched his fists.

He needed to get out of here.

Now.

"What the hell is she doing here?"

Vincenzo barely concealed his sneer as he stepped into the grand dining hall of his family estate. His sharp eyes locked onto Elene, who was sitting comfortably beside his mother, her fingers delicately wrapped around a glass of wine as if she belonged there.

Elene smirked, tilting her head. "Nice to see you too, Vincenzo."

His jaw ticked. He hated her voice. Too sweet, too calculated.

His mother’s gasp interrupted his thoughts. "Figlio mio! Finally, you come home!" She rushed to him, immediately fussing over his suit, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders before gripping his face between her hands. "You look thinner! Are you eating properly? No, you aren’t, I can tell! You never visit, never call!"

Vincenzo sighed, gently prying her hands off. "Mamma, I’m fine."

His father, sitting at the head of the long table, let out an amused chuckle. "Let the boy breathe, Isabella. He’s not a child, mi amore."

His mother scowled. "Breathe? He barely exists in this house anymore!"

Vincenzo ignored her complaints and shot a glance back at Elene. "Still didn’t answer my question. What is she doing here?"

His mother waved a dismissive hand. "We invited her, of course! Elene is like a daughter to us."

Vincenzo scoffed. "Is that right?"

Elene placed a delicate hand on his mother’s arm, playing her role perfectly. "Vincenzo, no need to be so cold. Your mother and I were just reminiscing about the old days."

"You mean the days where you lied, manipulated, and betrayed me?"

Elene’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she composed herself, letting out a light laugh. "Still so dramatic."

"Still so fake."

His mother clapped her hands, clearly irritated. "Enough! Vincenzo, sit down. We’re having dinner as a family."

Vincenzo hesitated, every instinct telling him to turn around and leave. But he knew better. His father didn’t call him here just for a friendly dinner.

Something was coming.

With a slow exhale, he took his seat, eyes flickering between his father and Elene.

As the staff served the meal, Elene continued her act…laughing, making conversation with his mother, throwing in little comments about the past as if she and Vincenzo had been some great love story.

He gripped his fork tightly, barely touching his food.

Then his father spoke.

"We want you and Elene to get back together."

Silence.

Vincenzo stilled. He slowly placed his utensils down, his expression unreadable.

"Excuse me?"

His mother beamed, reaching for his hand. "It’s time, Vincenzo. You’re not getting any younger. You need a stable woman by your side. And who better than Elene?"

"You can’t be serious."

His father took a sip of wine before speaking calmly. "We are."

Elene smiled, leaning slightly toward him. "We had something good once, Vincenzo. We can have it again."

Vincenzo turned to her, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You really think I’d ever trust you again?"

His father sighed, setting his glass down. "Vincenzo, this isn’t a request."

His grip on the table tightened.

"You will marry her."

A slow smirk spread across Elene’s lips as she gazed at him with triumph.

Vincenzo leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.

This wasn’t just about him. This was control.

His father was testing him.

But Vincenzo De Luca did not like being controlled.

And if they wanted to play games, he was more than ready.