All Chapters of Beautiful But Unlucky : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

POV: Silvia – It started over espresso.Not with yelling. Not with slamming doors or flying plates or anything dramatic enough to make headlines.No. Just a perfectly brewed cup of espresso. And Mariam Moretti’s voice slicing through the morning like it was born to ruin peace.“You were supposed to be a Moretti,” she said, crossing one leg over the other, “not a tabloid star.”I stared at my coffee. Stirred the spoon once. Twice.Didn’t look up.“You don’t have anything to say to that?” she added, her tone impossibly smooth.“I haven’t had caffeine yet,” I muttered. “I’m trying not to throw it at anyone.”Her lips curled into what she probably thought was a smile. “Charming.”I stood, walked to the window.The carefully groomed rows of floral stared back at me, smug as ever. Everything about this house screamed success - polished floors, custom lighting, curated silence. But somehow, Mariam’s voice managed to echo louder than any of it.“You know,” she continued behind me, “when yo

POV: Calvin –I always wondered what Torreto was planning to do to my Father, cyber sabotage?, blacklisting across their contacts?, or maybe worse… but I didn't have the patience to wait, I promised to make Damon pay for all the times he had fiddled with my life and all the times he ever tried to touch Silvia's.And I'd be damned if I had to wait for her father to fight my battles.It started with just a flicker.Just a flicker in Grand Villa’s internal system that made their Friday morning reports two hours late.That was enough.Enough for their board to panic. Enough for a dozen major investors to start texting questions no one had answers to. Enough for someone - some poor intern, probably - to realize their payroll database had been erased from the inside out.By noon, the emails started flying. By two, so did the accusations.Insider trading.Fake stock valuations.Unregistered offshore accounts suddenly blinking red on regulatory radar.And through it all, Damon Riego stood at

POV: SilviaIf this mansion was a chessboard, I was the piece everyone assumed had already been moved off the board.Too quiet. Too contained. Too… still.But I was learning.Learning how to play while sitting still. How to listen through closed doors. How to make moves in silence.Torreto didn’t speak much these days. Eliza stayed busy. The guards patrolled like machines. Mariam alternated between polite detachment and unsolicited comments about my posture.It was all fine.I’d gotten good at pretending.Every hallway, every locked room, every watchful gaze - I knew how to smile past it. How to nod at my father’s men like they didn’t make my skin crawl. How to sit through Mariam’s fourth breakfast comment about “discipline and modesty” without stabbing my croissant.I didn’t say much. But inside?I was strategizing.---It started in the sitting room.A quiet afternoon. Gray outside. The kind of weather that made the city look like it had been washed in bleach.I was flipping throu

POV: Calvin Silence stretched longer than I thought humanly possible.The kind of silence that didn’t just sit in a room - it pressed down on you. Heavy. Measured. Like Torreto was giving the air itself permission to breathe again.I stayed where I was.Still kneeling. My knees ached. My suit was wrinkled. My throat felt raw.But I didn’t move..I kept my gaze steady on his polished desk, his still hands, the unreadable look in his eyes.Finally, he spoke.“Stand.”The word cut through the air like a thread snapping.It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t barked. Just low. Sharp. Final.I stood.Slowly. Carefully.My joints protested, and every inch of my body screamed for rest, but I stood anyway. Shoulders square. Heart pounding.Torreto walked around the desk. Each step sounded like a decision being made.“You have my daughter’s heart,” he said.I swallowed.“That should terrify me,” he continued. “But what terrified me more is knowing she chose someone I didn’t respect.”He stopped in front of m

POV: Silvia – We didn’t tell anyone where we were going.No PR team. No Mariam in heels asking what I was wearing. No Eliza raising a brow with her quiet little smirk. No Sentinel guards trailing us like polite shadows.Just me and Calvin.And quiet.The good kind.The kind that feels like air after a thunderstorm.He picked me up in an old car I swear I’d seen parked under the Deva garage months ago, half-covered in dust and completely out of place among the sleek black SUVs. It was a navy-blue vintage BMW, with a stubborn passenger window and a radio that only played jazz on three stations.I loved it immediately.“You’re seriously driving this?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat with a little laugh.He grinned. “You said no suits. No drama.”“This looks like it might explode at a red light.”“Romance,” he said, turning the key. “With a side of nostalgia and possible combustion.”---We ended up walking along the Hudson.It was late afternoon - one of those slow golden hours