جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I don't sleep, not properly, not in the way I used to before everything went to shit. Every time I close my eyes, I see it again, the room, the restraints cutting into my wrists, the way they looked at me like I wasn't a person, just something they could use, something they could break if they pushed hard enough.And the worst part?They almost did.I stare at the ceiling, unmoving, my body still heavy from everything I went through, every muscle sore in a way that doesn't fade even after hours of lying still. The sheets beneath me are too clean, too soft, the kind of comfort that should feel like relief but doesn't, not anymore.Because I know what exists outside of it. I know what kind of world I'm in now.And there's no pretending otherwise.A slow breath leaves me as I shift slightly, my arm protesting the movement, my ribs aching just enough to remind me that this isn't something I can shake off overnight. I turn my head just enough to glance around the room, taking

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒ The first thing I noticed after the kidnapping was the silence. Not the silence around me, because this house was never really quiet. There were always footsteps somewhere, low conversations behind closed doors, phones vibrating, men moving through halls like ghosts carrying weapons under expensive jackets. No, it was the silence inside my own head that changed. Before all that, I reacted to everything. Fear, anger, confusion, panic, every fucking emotion hit me immediately, hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. I used to feel like I was constantly drowning in Raffaele's world, trying to survive one day at a time without getting dragged deeper into it. Now? Now I watched. I listened. I paid attention. And that scared me more than anything else. The kidnapping should have broken me. Honestly, part of me thought it would. Being tied up in that fucking room, listening to strangers discuss whether I was more useful alive or dead, hearing my father's name tos

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I stopped being in confidence a long fucking time ago.Maybe it started when my father disappeared and left me drowning in debt that didn't make sense, or maybe it started the first time someone tried to beat information out of me while acting like I was supposed to understand why. Either way, one thing had become painfully clear over the last few months.Nothing around me was random.Every threat meant something.Every fucking lie connected to a bigger one.And my father was sitting right at the center of all of it.The rain outside Pierre's apartment came down hard enough to blur the city lights through the windows, turning everything beyond the glass into streaks of gold and gray. The place smelled like coffee, cigarettes, and old paper, the kind of smell that settled into furniture permanently. Files were spread across the small dining table between us, papers layered over papers until it looked less like research and more like obsession.Maybe it was both.Pierre sat

༒ ℑ𝔪𝔯𝔞𝔫༒I didn't really sleep that night.Even after Raffaele got me out of the penthouse and moved me somewhere “safe,” my body stayed tense, my mind too alert to fully shut down. Every sound felt louder than it should have, every movement outside the room enough to drag my attention towards the door.His grandfather had sent people. Not to his rival or enemies, but to his own fucking family. That changed something inside me in a way I couldn't explain properly.Before, there was still a part of me that thought this world had lines, rules, limits. Family meant loyalty. Blood meant protection.Bullshit.I understood it now, power came first. Always.I was lying on the couch in the temporary apartment Raffaele had moved us to when the bedroom door opened quietly. My head turned immediately, instincts kicking in before thought could catch up.Raffaele stepped out already dressed, black shirt rolled to his forearms, expression calm in that way that usually meant something ugly was

༒ ℜ𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔢༒I knew my grandfather was watching me long before he finally decided to say something. That was the thing about men like him, they didn't waste words carelessly. They watched first, they waited, they let silence do half the work for them, and when they finally spoke, it meant they had already decided something. Which was exactly why the call from him at eight in the morning felt less like a request and more like a summon. “Your grandfather wants you at the estate,” one of the house staff informed me carefully, standing near the dining area like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. “Immediately.” I looked up from the documents spread across the table, my coffee untouched beside me, irritation already settling into my chest. “Did he say why?”“No, sir.” Of course he fucking didn't. I leaned back slightly in my chair, my eyes drifting towards the large windows overlooking the city. The weather outside matched my mood perfectly, grey skies, heavy clouds, the