MasukThe mansion was quiet, its halls dim and waiting. Outside, the night had grown heavy — the kind that pressed down on glass and whispered through marble corridors.Valentina’s heels echoed softly as she descended the staircase, a single glass of red wine swaying loosely in her hand. The clock read a few minutes past one in the morning. Leo still wasn’t home.She’d called twice, then thrice, each time hearing nothing but the cold silence of a line gone unanswered. When she’d tried Luca, his phone too had gone straight to voicemail. Antonio, the loyal head of household security, had been her last resort.“Mr. Leo is out with Mr. Luca,” he’d said, his voice measured and steady. “They went to meet an investor.”“At this hour?” she’d asked sharply, disbelief rising in her tone. “Leo doesn’t hold meetings after eight.”Antonio had only offered a polite shrug. “That’s what Luca told me before they left, ma’am.”And just like that, he’d walked past her, leaving her to the company of her own su
The city was quieter than usual that night. A rare calm had settled over Monaco, the kind that came before the sea winds changed. From Maya’s apartment window, the streetlights shimmered like distant fireflies, their glow spilling across wet pavement after an earlier drizzle. She sat at her desk, textbooks open but untouched, the ticking of the clock marking every minute since her family left.Days had passed since her father and the twins boarded the train. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, that she would fill her days with work and school until her heart stopped reaching for what it missed. But every night ended the same — her eyes drawn to the quiet phone beside her, waiting for a name she didn’t want to see but longed for all the same.That name was Leo.She’d buried herself in hospital shifts and coursework, tried drowning him under layers of exhaustion, but the silence he left behind had its own heartbeat — steady, stubborn, impossible to ignore.It was almost ten when th
Pamela froze when she saw Cristiano standing at the end of the corridor. His tall frame leaned casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket, but his eyes—cold, calculating—did not match the nonchalance in his posture.The low hum of the chandelier filled the silence between them, and for a moment, Pamela wished she could vanish into the marble floor.Cristiano offered a thin, polite smile. “Evening, Pamela. Long meeting with the boss?”Her pulse stuttered. “Just some housekeeping matters,” she replied lightly, trying to sound casual.Cristiano tilted his head, his gaze following her every move like a predator tracking something small but significant. “Of course. He’s been… busy lately. You are aware that things concerning the house should be reported to Mrs. Conti first and why when Valentina is away?”Pamela gave a soft, nervous chuckle. “Yes, of course. I didn’t know—he told me to refer my concerns to her from now on.”Cristiano’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You should,” he s
“Valentina,” Alicia said at the end of the line, her voice clipped and urgent. “The marriage has to happen now—there’s no time.”Valentina could sense the strain in her mother’s tone. She wanted to be Mrs. D’Angelo badly, yet she couldn’t understand why her mother suddenly demanded haste. She believed she could still win Leo’s love, make him see she belonged in his world.“But Mama,” she said carefully, “Leo doesn’t trust me yet. Forcing him to marry me won’t work.”“Don’t worry about that, Val,” Alicia replied. “Your father’s handling it. Just be ready for what comes after.”Pamela, who was dusting the room’s shelves, paused at the mention of Alicia. She had worked for the Morettis once; she knew that when Alicia’s voice carried that kind of urgency, it meant trouble.When the call ended, Valentina set her phone aside and turned to her. “Pamela, what would you do to please your mother?”Pamela gave a small, weary smile. “Everything—except compromise my happiness. Why do you ask, Ms.
The scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the small apartment as sunlight poured through the window. Maya stood by the counter, wiping her hands on a towel while Darren and Sarah hovered nearby, arranging plates and balloons in uneven rows.“Careful with the cake,” Maya said, trying to sound stern but smiling anyway.Sarah grinned. “Relax, everything’s perfect. He’s going to love it.”Darren straightened a banner that hung crookedly above the couch. Welcome Home, Dad! written in uneven paint strokes. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”Maya laughed softly. “Exactly.”When the knock finally came at the door, she froze for half a heartbeat. The twins ran ahead, shouting, “Dad!” before she could even reach the handle.Her father stood in the doorway — thinner, older, but with the same kind eyes she remembered. His hair had more gray now, his face lined with the kind of exhaustion hospitals leave behind. But when he saw them, he smiled — a real, full smile that softened the room.“Hey,
The morning sun crept through the tall windows of the D’Angelo estate, spilling liquid gold across the marble floors. The air inside the vast house was still — the kind of stillness that carried both power and unease.Leo stood in the center of his study, buttoning his cufflinks, already dressed in crisp white shirt and tailored slacks. The wheelchair sat abandoned near the desk, polished and perfectly aligned — a prop that still served its purpose. His reflection in the glass caught his attention for a fleeting second. A smirk tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth.The phone on the desk buzzed once, sharp against the quiet. Leo picked it up.“Where did you see her?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it — steel wrapped in silk.“Monaco Harbor,” the investigator replied. “La Terrasse. She was with a man — Ethan Cross. Architect. Owns a firm called Cross & Co. Small, but well-connected. Seems clean.”Leo’s jaw flexed, though his tone didn’t change. “How long have the







