Rosalie Bianco's world falls apart in one night, fired from her job, drowning in bills, and watching her mother’s health slip through her fingers. She’s desperate, out of options. Until a cold, powerful stranger offers her a way out. Alessandro Moretti, Italy’s most ruthless billionaire, remembers the fire in Rosalie’s eyes when she defied him. Now, he wants to own that fire on his own terms. He’ll pay for her mother’s treatment, give her a job, and protect her but only if she agrees to be his. His possession, his secret. But what starts as a cruel game spirals into something far more dangerous. Rosalie may be the pawn, but she’s not afraid to rewrite the rules. In a world of lies, obsession, and power, love was never part of the deal.
Lihat lebih banyakRosalie's POV:
He hit me again.
Not with his fist, not this time. Just a push, he shoved his hand at me hard, hard enough to knock me into the fridge door, hard enough, enough to bruise my hip, enough to remind me who I was to him. Nothing.
“You never shut up, Rosalie. You're always whining, always looking at me like I’m the problem. You’re lucky I even stay in this dump,”
Luca snapped, running his fingers through his messy hair like he was the one on edge.
“Do you think anyone else would put up with you?”
I stood there, stunned, heart racing. My lip stung from where he’d grabbed my face too hard earlier, I felt a trickle of blood drip down my nose. He hadn’t even apologized,just like always,I wasn't deserving of one
I had been quiet for weeks, careful, avoiding fights. Saying thank you every time he transferred money for Mom’s pills, even if it came with a side of insults. I cooked, I cleaned, I made excuses. I begged him not to leave. And for what?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said again, voice rising. With how loud he was being, I was sure the neighbours could hear. “I told you I’d help with your mom. I didn’t sign up to be your emotional support dog.”
That was it. Something inside me cracked, not like glass, but like a dam breaking. I snapped.
"You’re not helping. You’re controlling. You throw money at me just so I’ll shut up and take the way you treat me like dirt.” He smirked, stepping closer.
“Without me, you’d be begging in the streets.”
I didn’t back away this time. I clenched my fists, ready to retaliate.
“Then maybe I’ll beg. I’d rather be broke than be your punching bag.” He laughed, sharp and ugly.
“What are you gonna do, Rosie? Run to your waitress job? You think any rich guy’s going to save a girl like you? You’re just a broke town girl with a dying mom and nothing to offer, you're unnecessary baggage."
“Then why are you still here?” I snapped. "Why do you still pay for every pill? Why do you come to my apartment every night seeking the peace and solace you never give me?"
Silence.
He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. I knew. Because I was too easy to control. Because he needed someone to make himself feel powerful, I never realized how insecure he was. Deriving false superiority by stepping all over me.
Well, Not anymore.
I reached for the drawer, grabbed a kitchen knife. Scared he would retaliate, scared he would hurt me like always.
“Get out.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
He stared at me for a long time, like he couldn’t believe it. Then he laughed again, a soft knowing laugh.
"You’ll come crawling back. You always do. All these bills, you can't do it alone. You know where to find me when you're ready to beg."
But I didn’t. Not even when he slammed the door on his way out, not even when I sat down on the kitchen floor five minutes later, shaking and crying so hard I could barely breathe.
I showed up to work thirty minutes late for my night shift at Trattoria Del Fiore. My hair was still damp from the rushed shower, and my eyes were puffy from crying all day but I didn’t care. I tied on my apron and forced a smile for Maria, the hostess, who gave me a weird look.
“ Are you okay, rosalie?” she asked quietly as I passed.
“No,” I said. “But I’m here.”
"I don't need you lagging, we have a full house tonight and a lot of the big shots are here. No mistakes tonight, alright?" She asked, giving a curious glance at my swollen lip.
"Yes, ma'am. No mistakes."
The restaurant was as it always was: Candlelight, soft jazz, everyone speaking in hushed tones, all designed to convince rich people that this wasn’t just food, it was an experience. But to me, it was survival. Each tip meant Mom’s medicine. Each polite smile meant I could afford food for one more week.
I floated between tables like a ghost, refilling wine glasses and repeating the specials without thinking. It was all muscle memory. My head was still stuck on Luca’s words. The sting in my hip. The bruise forming just below my ribs. The swell on my lip. And then it happened.
Maria pulled me aside and whispered, “VIP table, Back left. He’s already in a mood, do not screw this up. Hurry."
I nodded numbly, grabbed my notepad, and walked towards the corner of the room.
The man didn’t as much as raise his head as I approached. He was typing something on his phone, one long finger scrolling with grace. His suit was charcoal black, tailored so well I knew it cost more than I made in seven months. His jaw was tight, defined, his hair slicked back with precision. He looked like money. Cold, polished, cruel money.
I cleared my throat, impatient. He hadn't acknowledged me standing there for over five minutes.
“Good evening. Can I get you something to drink?”
His eyes met mine then, sharp, dark, unreadable. I almost stepped back, not from fear, but from the weight of his gaze. It was like being pinned in one place. I knew his presence commanded people, he was intimidating.
“Do you serve anything worth drinking?” he asked.
“Wine list’s right here,” I replied, placing it on the table.
He didn’t take it.
“Bring me a 2004 Chianti. If you have it. Bring it immediately, I'm expecting company.
I'd had enough of arrogant men for one night.
“We don’t. But I can bring something close.”
His lips twitched, not a smile, something colder. “Then don’t bother. You already sound unsure.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?” it felt like Luca all over again.
"You’re shaking,” he said simply. “I can't accept a drink from a nervous wreck. Get me a more capable waitress."
Was I shaking? Maybe. Maybe it was rage or exhaustion. Or just the weight of the day collapsing over me like bricks. But something about the way he said it like I was a thing, a product to be judged and discarded made something snap again.
I straightened my shoulders, looked him in the eye. “Maybe if you were less of a jerk, people would want to serve you. Notice how no other waiter rushed to serve you? You probably have a reputation of getting people fired."
His eyebrow arched slowly. “What did you say?”
I took a step closer, practically fuming, I was pretty sure he could see smoke fuming out of my ears. “I said people like you, rich, condescending, entitled brats walk into places and think the world should grovel." I spat on his shoe and said in the highest tone I could muster; "Well, maybe today’s the day someone tells you to go to hell. And maybe keep a room for every other goddamn rich idiot in this room. You're all the same!"
The entire room went quiet.
Maria stood frozen near the bar. A couple at a nearby table turned to stare. The jazz still played, but now it sounded awkward.
He leaned back in his seat, arms folding as he studied me almost curiously. Like no one had ever talked to him this way.
"You always talk to customers like that?” he asked calmly.
“Only the ones who deserve it.”
He glanced at my name tag. “Rosalie.”
The way he said it made my name sound expensive, like it didn’t belong on a waitress apron.
“Well, Rosalie,” he said, voice low and lethal, “you’re fired. You don't have to wait for your manager to run along and drag you out.”
I turned and looked at Maria, she looked away.
“I figured.”
I untied my apron and threw it on his table, the fabric landing beside his untouched glass of water. I didn’t even look back as I walked toward the exit. My hands were shaking, my chest tight with a mix of panic and pride.
It started raining and I ran home screaming and crying, not in agony but in joy of finally finding freedom. Freedom from the shackles of a job I'd had since highschool.
One less job. One more mistake. But for once, I didn’t feel small.
I felt free.
Even if it was the kind of freedom that came with a heavy price.
Rosalie sat at the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the closet door, her fingers tugging at the hem of the oversized T shirt she wore. Beatrice's voicefrom a few minutes ago still echoed in her head: "Let's go out tonig, I'll find you something slutty to wear."Slutty.She hadn’t known how to respond then and even now, she wasn’t sure if Beatrice had been joking or serious. The way she'd said it, eyes wide, voice high and giddy, it almost felt manic. But Rosalie hadn’t questioned it, not after Beatrice had suddenly gone quiet, then apologized again for asking about whether she'd ever had sex with Alessandro."I'm sorry I was being a bitch" she'd said, curling her legs beneath her on the couch, her voice unusually soft. "I just wanted to understand"Rosalie had nodded, tight lipped, not wanting to go back into that swamp of memoryIt had been a long day, a loud oneDozens of messages, missed calls, mentions, and then, the video Alessandro's voice, sharp and venomous, filled t
The morning light streamed through the large floor to-L ceiling windows of my office, casting A goldEn glow over the glass table and leather chairs I stood by the window, hands in the pockets of my slacks, trying to center myself. The city below buzzed with life, people moving about like they had no idea that my world was moments away from crumblingWork had always been my anchor. Numbers, plans, contracts, they never lied to me, they didn’t talk back, they didn’t feel they just existed. Constant and obedient.Until now.I turned around and made my way to my desk, intending to get through the files lined up for the day. There were meetings to prepare for, calls to make, deals to finalize. I reached for my phone, planning to call security about the parking arrangements for the guests scheduled to arrive this afternoonThere was a knock, it was sudden, sharp. Followed by the door flying open“Sir” Amara’s voice cracked as she burst into the room without waiting for permission. Her he
Rosalie stretched under the weight of the morning, her arms sliding across thesheets of her bed, the sunlight streamed in, pale and drowsy, lighting the edges of the roomHer eyes blinked open slowly, staring up at the faint cracks in the ceilingAnother day.Another morning.For the first time in weeks, there was no dread dragging itself across her chest when she woke upJust a quiet sense of exhaustion and a fragile sense of relief, relief from the moretti enterpriseDario had made sure that her mother’s hospital bills for the next two months were covered.iThat gave her some breathing room, time to find another job ttime to figure out her next steps She wasn’t under Alessandro Moretti’s thumb anymore and while that was both a relief and a quiet ache she didn’t want to name, she was determined to move on.She sat up slowly, her hair tumbling over her shoulder. Her apartment was still, quietFor about three seconds.Then came the slam of a cupboard from the kitchen and the sou
Leonardo sat quietly in the back seat of his car, fingers drumming against the leather armrestThe windows were tinted dark, hiding him from the world outside, rain tapped gently against the glass, soft and steady, like a lullaby trying to calm his thoughts. But nothing could settle the storm inside him.He stared through the windshield at the grey building ahea.dThe sign read "Villa del Sole Recovery Centre" It didn’t look like much, just a quiet place tucked away from the city, surrounded by trees and silenceBut he knew what was inside, he had waited weeks for this.Lucia was here.He opened the leather notebook on the seat beside him. Inside were photos, neatly printed and slipped into clear plastic sheetsHe flipped through them slowly, Aessandro with Lucia in a dimly lit club, Lucia stepping out of a sleek black car, lucia entering a penthouse building, another photo of her leaving the same building alone, her shoulders slumpedAnd then at the very back, a still frame from a
The morning was too quiet.Alessandro sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the untouched coffee on the tray beside him The sun had risen hours ago yet the house felt like it was still asleepNo soft footsteps, no faint sounds of typing from the hall office. No Rosalie.He rubbed his hands together slowly, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, the silence was nothing new. Vivianna had stopped speaking to him two days ago. Emilia barely looked at him. But this silence, this one was differentBecause now, Rosalie was gone and she hadn’t looked back He stood up and crossed the room, grabbing his phone from the nightstand 8:13am. He was late for nothing, technically. There were no meetings Rosalie had reminded him about. No briefings she had printed. No gentle knock on his office door with “They’re ready for you, sir.”He hated how quickly she had melted into his routine and how quickly he noticed her absenceHis phone buzzed.Unknown Number: Upda
The morning sun crept gently into the small apartment, spreading warm light across the tiled floors and up the walls. The silence was a fragile thing, broken only by the distant rumble of traffic and the clink of porcelain from the kitchen Beatrice was already awake, she leaned against the counter in a silk robe, sipping coffee with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. Her hair was perfectly tousled, like she’d stepped out of a commercial instead of someone else’s cramped apartmentRosalie emerged from the bedroom slowly, eyes swollen with sleep, her body dragging like it had aged overnight. Her shoulders sagged with weight she never talked about"Morning" Beatrice chirped without looking up"Morning" Rosalie mumbled, heading toward the kettleThe silence stretched again, Rosalie poured water into the kettle and flicked it on. She moved on autopilot now, coffee, toast, hospital. Repeat.Beatrice sat at the table, her legs crossed lazily. "I was thinkin
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