I shouldn’t have been there.

I knew better.

Father’s study was off-limits when he had "business" — especially with dangerous men like Luca Romano inside.

But something — maybe that sick, twisting feeling in my gut — had made me slip down the hallway anyway, barefoot and silent, hiding in the shadows by the half-open door.

Their voices were low, tense.

I caught only pieces at first.

Then—

"Will she agree?"

I froze.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt.

They were talking about me.

I inched closer, my palms slick with sweat.

Father’s voice came next — cold, merciless.

"We will make her understand."

My breath caught.

I clutched the wall, the ground shifting under me.

No.

No, I had to have heard that wrong.

This wasn’t happening.

I strained to hear more, my stomach knotting tighter with every word.

Luca Romano’s voice — deep, steady — filled the room again, sending shivers down my spine.

And somehow, even without seeing his face, I knew.

He wasn’t asking for my opinion.

He wasn’t even pretending.

He was claiming.

Like I was some pawn on a chessboard he was moving into place.

I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood, fighting the burning behind my eyes.

Not here. Not now.

They wouldn’t see me break.

Slowly, carefully, I backed away from the door, heart pounding so loud I was sure someone would hear it.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, to scream, to smash something.

Instead, I turned on shaking legs and slipped back down the hallway, every step harder than the last.

Because I understood now.

Luca Romano wasn’t just the man who had ruined my dress. 

Wasn’t just the arrogant bastard with the cold, assessing gaze.

He was about to ruin my entire life.

And the worst part?

Some twisted, reckless part of me wasn’t just afraid.

It was furious.

It was burning.

And it was ready to fight.