All Chapters of Too Broken To Be Healed : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Matteo Rinaldi’s POV I arrived at the forecasting company right around the time I calculated Alessia would be done with her interview. I waited in the car for a few minutes until one of the staff mentioned she had just stepped out of the building. The moment I got out of the car, my eyes locked with hers. Damn. How had I ever failed to notice how beautiful she truly was? The shock on her face was unmistakable. For a brief second, time seemed to freeze as we stared at each other, the noise of the world fading into the background. But just as quickly as she noticed me, she recovered. She looked away and continued walking, clearly intent on avoiding me. I couldn’t allow that. Not again. I reached out and gently caught her arm, turning her around to face me. After a tense moment in my arms, she finally spoke. “Matteo?” Her voice was low and strained. “What are you doing here? Let me go—we’re in public.” “Alessia,” I said calmly, my voice firm but gentle, “we need to talk.” Sh

Matteo Rinaldi’s POV As I stepped into my office, my mind was still consumed with thoughts of Alessia. Why the hell couldn’t she understand my intentions? I sank into the leather-bound swivel chair that was meant to bring comfort, yet I felt none. Comfort was a luxury only a few things—few people—could give me. “Excuse me, sir.” Federico’s voice broke through my thoughts. I shot him a cold glance. Years ago, he would have flinched under it, but time had toughened him. He no longer cowered like the others. “We’ve just received new intel on the lawyer’s case,” he began. My interest sharpened instantly, though my face remained unreadable. “The investigation into the accident has revealed new evidence. The car was tampered with. The accident wasn’t accidental at all—it was orchestrated.” “By who?” I asked coldly. “We don’t have any concrete leads yet,” Federico replied. “But whoever did this clearly had a lot to gain.” I closed my eyes briefly, forcing myself to think

Giulia’s POV As I walked into the grand foyer of our family estate, I made no effort to hide the frustration and anger weighing heavily on my heart. The space stretched before me—polished marble floors gleaming beneath towering columns that rose toward a magnificent crystal chandelier. “Why are you crawling behind me like a disfigured snail?!” I snapped at Belle, my assistant. She hurried to my side at once. I shot her a demeaning look and flicked my wrist gracefully, tossing my bags into her waiting arms. I knew she would handle them with the utmost care, no matter how badly I treated her. I strode deeper into the mansion. “You there,” I barked at one of the housekeepers. “Fetch me some water at once.” The maid rushed off immediately and returned moments later with a crystal glass filled to the brim. As she approached, I noticed the exhaustion etched into her face. “Why do you look like an old hag?” I remarked coldly. Her expression faltered, but she remained silent as she h

Alessia’s POV I sat behind my desk, surrounded by paperwork and carefully arranged evidence, but my thoughts drifted far away—to a time long ago. Back when I was just a child, only a few years older than my own little angels now sleeping peacefully in their rooms. I flipped through the evidence I had gathered on Tiziana. Her fight was only days away, and I needed to send these files to Camellia, so she could pass them on to the blogger. Everything had to be timed perfectly. My fingers trembled slightly as I studied the photographs of my injuries—the fractured arms, the bruised ribs stained deep purplish red. My chest tightened with pain, as if I were reliving every blow all over again. Lost in those memories, my mind dragged me back to the days when my sisters’ bullying left me battered and broken, both physically and emotionally. Every time I tried to speak up, they twisted the truth, turning me into the villain of our family story. “Alessia, stop trying to blame your sisters f

Alessia’s POV Time flew faster than I expected, and Friday night arrived before I could properly prepare myself. I paced back and forth in my bedroom, uncertainty twisting in my chest. Was going to this dinner with Raffaele Ricci really necessary? He was my children’s teacher, after all. Crossing that line felt… complicated. As I debated cancelling for the fifth time, my phone lit up with a message from an unknown number. I understand. Seven p.m. at L & S Cuisine. —Raffaele I’ll be there. Whatever you decide. I stared at the screen, my heart skipping. How did he get my number? The answer came quickly. Of course—he would have my parents’ contact from the school records. And my home line was linked to my personal number for emergencies. After reading his message again, I exhaled slowly. Nervousness mixed with a strange sense of determination. Giving another man a chance—someone other than Matteo Rinaldi—was something I had never allowed myself to consider. But Raffaele seem