I picked up my phone and immediately dialed Monica Buccella. “Monica, it’s me,” I said, my voice trembling just enough to betray everything I was trying to hide. “Oh dear, are you in trouble, Valentina?” she gasped. “How can I help? You sound awful! What happened, darling?” “I don’t have time to explain,” I rushed out. “Please—fly in Lorenzo for me, will you? I need him. And talk to Giuliana. She’ll understand.” “Of course, dear,” she purred. “Anything for you. No flaming hula hoops this time?” I let out a dry laugh. “No, thanks, Monica. Not tonight. We’re celebrating our honeymoon. Wish you could come—but it’s family only.” “Love you, darling.” “Love you too. Bye.” I had to slip back into my mask of power—to hide my pain. It was my only survival. My power to claim. The only way to reclaim agency in a world where I’m constantly being played, tested, and watched. If I don’t weaponize my femininity—my beauty—how else can I gain the upper hand in a man’s cold worl
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