CHAPTER 8: The weight of yesterday

Rosalie's POV

     The moment I stepped through the door of our small apartment, the air felt heavy ike a punishment. It was too quiet.

 My blouse stuck to my skin, wrinkled and damp with sweat. I didn’t bother turning on the lights,Istood there for a long time, my back against the door, head raised upwards like if I looked at the ceiling long enough, the guilt would disappear, it didn’t.

    When I finally tookmyself off the door, I didn’t go to my room. I went straight to the bathroom sink and washed my face with cold water, my reflection in the mirror was one I didn’t recognize, blushed cheeks, swollen lips, tiredeyes. My body still carried the memory of his hands,Alessandro.

It had happened,I let it happen. And worse, I had wanted it.

That truth scared me 

I dragged myself to the couch and collapsed into it, holding the throw pillow like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. And then I did what I hadn't done in years, I cried.

I cried because I felt used, I cried because I had liked it, I cried because I had sworn never to feel powerlessness to a man again and yet, here I was.

I closed my eyes as memories pulled me over

I was sixteen

      It was my second year of high school, I wasn’t popular, but I wasn’t invisible either. I had a close friend named Beatrice and a dream of someday studying business. I stayed out of trouble, I focused on school,helped my mom with chores and was the one who always volunteered to clean the board after class.

And then came Matteo.

He was a year older,he had dark eyes that always looked tired and a cigarette tucked behind his ear like an accessory. That cigarette was always there.

Rumors about him surrounded the school like wild fire, he dealt pills, skipped class, had a stash of drugs somewhere in the school.

I should’ve stayed away.

But he had charm,not the flashykind, the dangerous kind. The kind that made you feel chosen, like you were special.

He started talking to me after school, said I looked like someone who listened, said I was beautiful.

I was flattered,Stupid,Naive.

It started with him walking me home. Then touching my hair. Then siding his arm around my waist in the hallway, not caring who saw us

Beatrice warned me, so did my teachers. Even my mother, though she never said it openly or with words, she looked uneasy whenever I mentioned his name.

But he was my first kiss, my first real boyfriend and my first heartbreak and my first trauma.

One day, he pulled me into the janitor’s closet, he saidhe missed me,said he wanted to be alone with me. 

I said no but he didn’t listen.

He didn’t hit me, not with fists but words, words can be just as violent. He forced himself in me, he told me I owed him.

When I walked out, I didn’t feel like a girl anymore, I felt like an empty shell.

I never told anyone., I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be that girl, the one everyone stared at whispering. I didn't want to be the girl who got raped.

But that moment carved itself into me, I never forgot.

     Now, here I was older, but still scared. Still crying in the dark after a night where I let myself be touched without fully knowing why. The difference was, Alessandro didn’t lie. He made it clear from the beginning what he wanted.

And I had said yes,that didn’t make it better.

But it did make it mine, my decision.

    I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Once the sun rose, I dressed and called Moretti Enterprises to ask for a day off.

My voice was even and calm, Like I wasn’t shaking

Then I made tea, packed a small bag, and helped Mom into her cardigan.

"Going somewhere, baby?" she asked, her voice low

" The hospital. They said they need to run more tests, I thought I would stay with you until it’s over."

She smiled weakly "You're such a good girl, too good to me."

"Not good enough"

We rode to the hospital in silence, she held my hand the entire time.

They took her in for the tests  while I sat in the waiting room, playing with my hands, still tense. The place still smelled like bleach and had the smell of the sick, I hated it.

When mom returned, I helped her into bed, the doctor had said she would have to stay in the hospital.

We talked for hours about everything and nothing.

"Remember when your dad tried to cook pasta?" she said chuckling "He burnt the whole and still claimed it was his 'famous recipe'"

I smiled "He also wore that uglyapron with the muscles drawn on it"

"God, he loved that apron."

We both laughed, then there was silence.

"Rosie" she said softly "Something's bothering you, what is it?"

"I'm just tired"

She turned her head to face me "You were always such a brave girl but tired isn't the same as broken. Last time you looked like this, you were in highschool"

I looked at her, The way her eyes still sparkled despite everything. The way her hands frail hands still reached for mine.

"I'm trying, Mom"

"I knowyou are, baby. I love you for being so strong."

I stayed until she drifted off to sleep.

Then I left, slowly, quietly. Like if I made too much noise, it would hurt her more than she already was

   The evening air was warm, sunlight peeked through the trees as I walked through the streets near the hospital, the sun was low and the sky was pink.

I passed a bookstore, a bakery, a street musician playing an old guitar. I stopped and listened, I felt peaceful.

And for a few minutes, I wasn’t Rosalie the secretary or Rosalie the daughter of a dying woman or Rosalie the woman who had given herself to a man who would never love her.

I was just a girl, walking, breathing.

The breeze picked up, my phone vibrated

One new message.

Unknown number:

"You think you know who he is. You don't. Check your desk drawer tomorrow."

 I stared at the screen, The air turned cold and just like that, peace slipped through my fingers again.

Alessandro's POV

The silence after she left was absolute, I didn’t move for a long time.

The conference room felt different now not because anything had changed, but because everything had. 

The smell of sex hung in the air like smoke after a fire, the sting of her nails on my shoulders was already fading, but the weight of what had just happened remained.

Rosalie Bianco.

I shouldn’t have touched her, but I hadand I would again. That much, I knew.

I dropped onto the leather couch and poured myself a glass of scotch. I stared out the windows, the city stretching into the distance, beautiful under the moon light.

I should go home, it was late.

Viviana would be awake, she always was when I didn’t come home. Her silence would be loud, her anger engulfing 

Our daughter, Emilia would be asleep, hugging the little teddy bear I gave her when she was three. If she woke before I came in, she’d ask the same question she always asked

"Dad, did you win today?" She would giggle. Our little inside joke, to her I was a hero leaving home everyday to save the city. To save her.

She never asked if I was tired, never asked if I was angry. Just if I was winning. 

Like I was a warrior off to war each day annd maybe I was.

But tonight, I had los

    I remembered the first time I held Emilia. She was tiny. Her fist had held the edge of my tie and I had frozen,terrified,awed. She had looked like Viviana, perfect.

Viviana had looked up from her hospital bed, barely awake, exhausted "She has your eyes."

I had nodded, unable to speak.

    Back then, things were still good.

     I met Viviana when I was twenty six. She was bold and elegant. An architecture student.

Then, we collided at a charity gala. I remembered her red dress, the way she sipped her wine like she had rehearsed every movement. Her intelligence was as sharp as her beauty.

We married a year later, everyone approved. 

My parents, her family, the press. We looked good together. And we were good, for a time.

She understood me, my world. She didn’t ask for more than I could give. We planned our future like a business: clean, promising. Our daughter was the miracle we hadn't asked for.

   The first year after Emilia was born, Viviana baked every Sunday, our kitchen always smelled of cinnamon and warm cookies.

I’d lift our daughter high above my head while she giggled and asked to fly. I still remember that sound that pure, unfiltered joy.

But then the empire needed more and I let it devour me.

I missed her second birthday, missed the school show where she played a tree, missed our anniversary three years in a row.

Viviana began to change.

She stopped smiling with her eyes. Her laughter, when it came, was short, businesslike, cold

We grew silent, distant

The same house, different lives.

We had everything; money, power. But the warmth had slipped out the door like a ghost

We still shared a bed, but hardly ever talked

We stayed for appearances, for Emilia, for control.

   I rubbed my face. My reflection in the glass window stared back at me.

What the hell was I doing?

Rosalie had stood in front of me vulnerable and fierce, ready to drown just to save someone she loved,she didn’t beg. She challengedme. Even when she gave in, it wasn’t with submission, It was defiance. She had fire, and I’d fueled it

Why her?

There were hundreds of women, thousands even. Beautiful, willing, silent. But I didn't want silence, I wanted that look in her eyes when I pressed her against the glass. That moment when she moaned and tried to hate it, tried to hate me.

But she couldn’t and I couldn’t walk away.

   I set the empty glass down and leaned back. Her scarf was still on the couch, light pink, soft, probably forgotten when she'd hurriedly left. I picked it up.

Her scent hit me again, smelled like flowers and something darker. The memory of her lips on my mine, her nails on my back. My body betrayed me all over again.

It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated, she was supposed to break, crumble, obey. 

That was the agreement. And yet... I was the one coming crumbling

  The sun sun rose, The city already awake, oblivious to my storm.

I showered in the executive room upstairs. Hot water washed away the remnants of the night, but not the memory. I could still feel her on my hands, In my mouth.

I stood under the shower too long, thinking about Emilia, about how she always slept on the left side of our bed when I wasn't home. How she would hum while coloring tongue poking out in concentration.

I had missed too much already.

And if Viviana ever found out about Rosalie… no, she couldn't.

Viviana wasn't just my wife, she was my partner. She was the co-owner of Moretti Enterprises. 

Her father had invested the first million. If she left, it wouldn’t just ruin our home, It could ruin everything.

She wasn’t stupid, she knew the rumors. But she never asked. Never disturbed. She let me have my secrets, so long as I kept them silent.

This? This wasn’t silence, this was risk.

Rosalie had something I hadn’t felt in years, need.

Not just for me but for something bigger, a future, hope. She still believed in things I stopped believing in.

     By the time I dressed and returned to the conference room, her scent was still there. Her scarf still on the couch, I picked it up again.

What the hell are you doing, Alessandro?

I put it in my coat pocket.

I didn’t want to forget and I couldn’t afford to remember.

I stared at my reflection in the elevator mirror as I descended to the lobby. The man who looked back at me was cold, in control, unreadable.

But inside, I was cracked.

For years, I had been ice, strategy, power. But rosalie made me feel and I didn’t want that.

And yet, I craved it, Her laughter, her resistance, her body.

Outside, the car waited. I nodded at the driver and got into the back seat.

"Home, sir?" he asked

I hesitated.

Then nodded "Yes"

But I wasn’t sure what home even meant anymore.

As we drove through the streets, I glanced at the scarf in my lap, my fingers dancing through it.

I could still taste her.

And for the first time in years, Alessandro Moretti felt unsteady.