Todos os capítulos de Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers: Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

Five years later They call me The Swan of Rome. The world does. But my name is no longer Pearl Hart. Not here. Not anymore. I changed it the day I landed in Italy with a single suitcase and no voice left to scream. I am Amara Liora now—a name whispered backstage in breathless awe, scribbled on concert programs in gold. A name that carries light and mystery, not history. I'm 23 years old now, the youngest ballerina, Rome has ever seen in her entire history. I’ve danced in Paris, Vienna, Florence. I’ve graced the stage in Milan and Istanbul, once under a ceiling of glass where light fell like water. But Rome—Rome is my home. The place where I became something else, someone new. To them, I’m not a girl with a vanished past or a heart that once bled quietly on marble floors. I’m just The Swan of Rome, the youngest principal ballerina in the Compagnia Reale. I belong to velvet curtains and the trembling hush before the music begins. But in private, in the silence between rehearsals

The sky over Rome shimmered like brushed gold, melting softly into lilac as the sun began to sink into the arms of evening. My heels clicked gently on the polished floor of the studio, echoing faintly, like the last memory of music still hanging in the air. The interview had gone well. I’d smiled, answered kindly, even laughed once. But my eyes had strayed once or twice toward the fading sky beyond the arched windows—toward home. A different kind of spotlight waited for me there. Warmer. Quieter. I stepped into the backseat of the sleek black car. The driver greeted me with a nod, and we slid into traffic. I leaned my head against the window, watching the ancient streets blur past, golden lamps flickering to life, shadows dancing on cobbled stone. --- Their house stood at the edge of the Tiber River, on the quiet side of the city where green ivy laced through marble balustrades and the windows always glowed with golden light. It wasn’t just a house—it was a villa, a sprawling blen

The city was quiet at dawn. Rome always woke slowly—like a lover reluctant to leave bed, curling back into warmth and marble silence. I stood by the tall window of my apartment, my hands wrapped around a cup of black tea. Below me, the street was just beginning to stir. A Vespa buzzed. A café owner unlocked his doors. The sky above was pale lavender, the kind of color that made me feel like I had already danced through a dream. I turned away from the view and moved through the apartment—barefoot on cool, polished floors, the silk hem of my robe whispering at my ankles. My rehearsal bag was packed. Hairpins ready. Pointe shoes tucked in like sleeping swans. A knock at the door broke the quiet. Three knocks. Not loud. Not urgent. Just... expectant. I didn’t even need to ask. It was him. I opened the door and found him standing there. Black suit, no tie, simple white shirt. Tall, lean, not brutish. The kind of man who blended into any hotel lobby or opera house. You wouldn’t rememb

The city changed as I left the café. At first, it was subtle—a black car that lingered too long at a turn, a woman with a phone pointed just a second too long in my direction. I tightened the collar of my sweater and kept my face angled away from the street. But I knew that feeling. The air grows tighter. And the world, smaller. My driver opened the door for me, and I stepped into the backseat with practiced grace. We pulled away from Verde Fiore, winding through the ancient veins of Rome, heading toward the studio. The second rehearsal was due in less than an hour. I didn’t notice the third car until it sped up beside us. The first flash came like lightning. Then came another. And another. The sound of camera shutters, like mechanical gunfire, filled the space around us. My driver cursed under his breath. “Signorina—paparazzi.” I turned sharply. Three cars now. One directly behind us. One to the left, keeping pace. One ahead, slowing to block our path. From ever

My breathing was too slow that my heart skipped a beat. Caelum stood there, smoking slowly. I couldn't see his face clearly but I could bet my life on the fact that he was staring straight at me and for some strange reason it made my stomach drop. but not in a bad way, not because I was feeling anxious or nervous no, it was the opposite. I was feeling a strange type of peace that made my stomach feel weird and that fact scared me to my bones. " Caelum " I whispered slowly as if he would hear me. And I saw him leaning his head back exactly at that moment like he heard me whisper his name, and it relieved him in some way. My ringtone startled me. I looked down at my phone, he was calling me. I picked it up and moved it closer to my ears. I heard his deep breathing first and then his deep, velvety voice came next. " Amara " He spoke my name with so much care, that he made it sound almost sacred. " Caelum " " How are you my swan? " I closed my eyes. After