Mag-log in
𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼
What is stupidity? Stupidity is deciding to confront your father’s nemesis instead of being at the only job that keeps the lights on. Stupidity is marching into Moretti Towers with nothing but anger and a handful of courage from how triggered you are from a single post. That’s where I am right now, stupid, reckless, and I've thrown the consequences of what im about to do, out the window Currently, I'm still outside the building, looking up at the tall sky scraper. There's still time for me to let go of this foolishness and just go to work. But I won't. I've come too far to back out now. I smooth down my shirt and I walk in. Immediately I pass through those revolving doors, I'm instantly taken aback by how cold it is in here. Shivering a little, I make my way towards the receptionist desk. “Hi,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I’d like to see Mr. Moretti.” The too polished receptionist looks up from her desk. Her eyes scan me, pause at my shoes, and then my unruly curls. “Do you have an appointment?” “No. But he knows who I am.” That’s a lie. He doesn't know who I am, but he should know my father. Her smile is all condescension. “Mr. Moretti doesn’t take walk-ins.” “I just need five minutes.” “Then email his office.” “I...look, please. Just tell him Alera Vance is here. He’ll know what to do. “Ma’am.” Her smile drops. “You need to leave. Now.” I freeze. From the corner of my eye, I spot a man in a suit slowing down near the elevator and a woman in blue, near the lounge. They both turn to stare. I get an odd uncomfortable feeling from the eyes currently on me. I look back at the reception. "Please Miss. It's very urgent I see him. Just...you can send him a notice. He'll know who I am?" I plead. She doesn't respond, instead, I see her press something under the desk. Security. I step back just as two men in uniform approach. “This way, ma’am.” “I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say quickly, trying to smile. “I just...please, can you just tell him” But they’re already walking me out. Their grips aren’t rough, but it still feels like I’m being shoved. The moment the doors close behind me, the tears come. I blink hard, refusing to let them fall. I should’ve just gone to work. I wipe under my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. My stomach twists when I think of the time. "What a waste of time." I wipe my eyes again, sniffing, avoiding the eyes zoning in on me. I move forward a little, then back again, a few people curse at me and I whisper an apology, but they are already moving ahead. I scratch the side of my ear. I should probably just go home. There's no way I can make it to the store today. I'll tell her I'm sick. Just as I'm settling these thoughts in my mind, the doors begin to move again, I turn and I'm faced with a group of suited men walking out the door. There are two men walking ahead, but my focus is on the third one, looking down at his phone as he walks out behind them. It's Dante Moretti. I'm in disbelief. His stupidly rude receptionist just threw me out because I don't have an appointment with the almighty bastard. I can't believe my luck. He and the men head toward a sleek vehicle, signaling how quickly I can loose this luck if I don't act now. The anger from seeing him moving like he owns the world pushes me forward and without thinking, my small voice calls out. "Hello!” “Mr. Moretti?” "Mr Moretti!" The two men turn first and they come towards me and instantly keep me from getting any closer to Dante. “Hey! Let go!” I yank my arm, but the suits gripping me don’t care. I push forward anyway, shouting past their shoulders. “I just need to talk to him! He knows me!” One of them shoves me back. “Miss, step away.” “I said..." My voice cracks, but I push through. “...I just want to speak to him!” They don’t even look at me. They’re focused on getting me out of sight before he notices. So I do the only thing left. Which is the stupidest thing I've done today. “You fucking thief!” The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “Answer me!” Everything around me pauses. The guards freeze, and a few people on the sidewalk slow down just to watch me embarrass myself. The attention instantly weakens my resolve, but it's too late to back out now, because Dante Moretti ,the man who destroyed my father’s company three years ago, slowly turns towards me. And instantly, my throat dries up. The photos online didn’t prepare me for this. Not even close. Neither did my memory of when he was within my vicinity, do justice to the man facing me right now. He's alot taller than I remembered or was it just me that grew shorter? He's definitely more broader too. And so handsome it’s so distracting I almost forget why I’m here. Almost. He lifts one hand, flickers a finger and the men holding me back release me instantly. I yank my arm free, rubbing the sore spot where one of them had dug in. But when he starts walking toward me, I freeze up. I will my legs to move, but they refuse, keeping me rooted in one spot. Heck all the bravery I marched in with all gone. He’s close now. And looking down at me like I’m some insect that wandered into his perfect world. And his eyes, icy blue, cold enough to make me shiver, pin me in place. I want to run, but I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that. He doesn’t say a word. With the way he's staring down at me, I can’t tell if there’s recognition in his eyes or nothing at all. Then, suddenly, his focus shifts. And he's looking over shoulder. My instinct is to turn, but before I can move, his hands land firmly on my shoulders. They steady me in place. His thumb hooks under my chin, forcing my head up. My eyes widen at the contact. “Stay calm,” his Italian accented voice drawls. "Wh–". He doesn't let me finish my sentence and he slams his mouth onto mine. This busy street in Manhattan goes into abrupt silent. My brain short circuits, I stop breathing. And all I can think is... Oh. Shit. Dante Moretti is kissing me, right in front of random passers by. And in all my stupidity today, nothing would have ever prepared me for the bizarre turn of events.Dearest reader, When I first started writing this story, I had no idea what I was stepping into. Dante and Alera’s world began as a whisper in my head. Thier love was a messy, aching kind that demanded to be told and somehow, it became my very first published book on GoodNovel. This journey has been everything but easy. It’s been a learning and humbling curve. I’ve stumbled, grown, rewritten, cried, and smiled through every chapter. But most importantly, I’ve learned that stories have a way of healing not just the characters but the person writing them too. To my editor, thank you for taking a chance on me. For your patience, your honesty, and for seeing potential even when I couldn’t always see it myself. You helped me find my rhythm. And to every single reader who turned the pages, who rooted for Dante and Alera, who stayed even when things got hard, thank you. You are the heartbeat behind this book. Your messages, reactions and quiet presence, it all means more than I can e
𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 There’s a tiny pair of feet pounding across the garden again. “Ricardo!” Alera’s voice carries through the warm afternoon. “No running, sweetheart!” The boy only laughs, his black curls bouncing as he darts through the hydrangeas, his little shoes kicks up bits of soil as he runs. Two years old and faster than lightning, he's definitely her son, though he’s got my grin, my stubborn streak, and my complete disregard for rules. I’m kneeling beside a half finished ramp that I swore I’d build myself. Ten minutes in, I’ve already lost a screw and my patience. The nails don’t sit right, the boards are uneven, and there’s a hammer mark somewhere it doesn’t belong. I sigh, drag a hand through my hair, and mutter under my breath, “I was built for deals, not carpentry.” From the patio, Alera waddles out. She's radiant and round with our second child, one hand on her back, the other shading her eyes from the sunlight. She’s in one of my old shirts that now barely fits over her
𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 A few months after that dinner, I think I now have an idea of what he's up to. We’ve fallen into this strange rhythm with, calls every other night, quiet walks through the city when he’s free, long silences that somehow say more than words ever could. Sometimes he drops by my office just to bring me lunch and pretend he was “passing by.” Sometimes we sit in his car for an hour, talking about everything and nothing, like we’re trying to make up for all the months we lost. And every single time, I catch myself wondering, what are we now? Friends? Exes with unfinished business? Two people circling something that still burns between them but neither brave enough to touch it? He’s softer these days. I notice it in the way he listens, how he apologizes when he slips, how he doesn’t try to fill the silence. He even laughs more, they’re these real, unrestrained laughs that always catch me off guard. I’ve learned new things about him too. He's told me about his past, and
𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 Dante rises from his seat. The light from the window hits his face, those deep blue eyes, that sharp jawline, the faint stubble that makes him look both refined and devastatingly human. He’s dressed simply: a dark blue sweater that fits too well, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black trousers and a watch gleaming faintly on his wrist. He looks a little older, but a lot calmer. And in all, a lot more devastatingly beautiful. Then his lips stretch into a slow smile. And he spreads his arms. Before I can even think, I walk straight into them. He wraps me up instantly, his arms strong and warm, his heartbeat loud against my ear. For a moment, everything just fades and the only thing in my focus is just him, being wrapped around him as his woodsy scent envelops my senses. When we finally pull apart, he cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone as he looks down at me like I’m something miraculous. His lips curve slightly. “It’s so good to see you.” I bite my lip, unabl
𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼 “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” The room erupts in laughter and clapping as everyone joins in, their voices mixing with the faint music from the speakers. I can’t help but blush, my cheeks burning hot as Mauve and Marisol cheer the loudest. Dad’s clapping off-beat, grinning from ear to ear. My employees have crowded around, phones in hand, taking pictures and recording videos. “Make a wish, Miss Alera!” someone shouts. I close my eyes, inhaling softly as I lean toward the cake. And for a brief moment, I remember another birthday, just last year. Outside, under the stars, in that quiet garden Dante built for me. The sound of crickets. His hands around my waist. His deep voice humming something soft while we danced on the grass. The memory tugs sharply at my chest, but I push it away. That was then. This… this is now. I open my eyes, smile, and blow out the candles. Cheers burst around me. My team whoops and claps. Mauve squeezes me into a
𝘿𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙀 Mama returns a few minutes later with a file clutched to her chest. The way she holds it, carefully, almost reverently, makes my stomach twist. “What's that?” I ask, even though I already have a guess. She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are soft, but they are accompanied by an invisible weight in them now. She walks back to the bed, sits, and places the file on her lap. And in that moment, my heart sinks. I know exactly what this is about. No. Not again. “Mama…” I start, shaking my head. “Please don’t.” She exhales, ignoring my plea. “Before mio padre died,” she begins calmly, “he wrote a will. And in that will, he left a clause for who would inherit the family estate. You remember I told you he never had sons. Only me and my sister, Valeria. The first of us to give birth to a boy—” “Mama, stop,” I demand desperately. She keeps going, almost like she’s afraid if she stops, she’ll lose the courage to finish. “The first of us to give birth to a boy would have it w







