The first light of dawn crept through the tall windows, spilling across the room in soft gold. The city outside was still quiet, the hum of life not yet awake. Inside, Damian Moretti stirred, his body heavy with the remnants of exhaustion.
Alessia lay beside him, her face turned toward the light. Her hair was spread across the pillow. There was a calmness about her that disarmed him—a serenity he hadn't known he needed until that moment.
His gaze softened. He noticed the faint curve of her lips, the way her hand rested lightly on the blanket.
He reached out, almost without thinking, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Then he caught himself, withdrawing his hand quickly. When her lashes fluttered and her eyes opened, he turned away, pretending to adjust his watch.
"Good morning," she said, her voice still soft with sleep.
He cleared his throat. "Morning."
She sat up slowly, studying him. "How are you feeling now?"
"Better," he said. "Thanks to you."
She studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, "What happened last night?"
He hesitated. His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's nothing," he said finally, his tone low.
Her eyes softened. "You don't have to tell me," she said gently. "I'm just glad you're fine."
He looked at her then, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or guilt. "You shouldn't have stayed up," he murmured.
"I couldn't sleep," she replied simply. "Not when you came home like that."
He said nothing more. The silence between them wasn't heavy; it was quiet, almost fragile. She rose from the bed, smoothing the sheets, and he watched her for a moment before standing to dress.
"I'll be going out to shop. I'll have one of your drivers take me."
He paused, buttoning his cuff. "I'll go with you."
"That's not necessary," she said gently. "You should rest."
"I said I'll go," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
She looked at him, then smiled faintly. "Alright."
By late morning, the city had awakened. The streets shimmered under the sun, and the air carried the hum of weekend life.
Damian drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. Alessia sat beside him, her gaze turned toward the window, the wind teasing strands of her hair.
They stopped at a luxury shopping plaza—a place of glass, marble, and quiet opulence. Damian parked the car and stepped out first. He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and extended his hand. Alessia took it gracefully, her fingers brushing his as she stepped out.
The gesture was simple, but it carried a quiet intimacy—one that didn't go unnoticed.
Across the parking lot, Isabella Rossi had just stepped out of another boutique, a small shopping bag in hand. She was about to enter her car when the sight caught her attention.
Her breath stilled.
Damian Moretti.
She froze, narrowing her eyes as she watched him gently close the car door after Alessia. The woman turned toward him, smiling softly. Then, side by side, they began walking toward the boutique entrance.
Isabella's pulse quickened. She stood there for a moment, unable to move, her fingers tightening around the handle of her bag. The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears.
She watched Damian reach for the boutique door, holding it open for Alessia. The woman stepped inside, her hand brushing his arm lightly as she passed. He followed, his expression calm and protective.
The sight burned.
She turned sharply, slipping into her car. Her reflection in the rearview mirror was composed, but her eyes betrayed her—dark, furious, alive with something dangerous.
She started the engine and waited.
Minutes later, Damian and Alessia emerged again, carrying a few small bags. He opened the car door for her once more, his movements instinctive and practiced. She smiled up at him, and he returned it faintly before circling to the driver's side.
Isabella's jaw clenched.
As their car pulled out of the plaza, she shifted into gear and followed, keeping a careful distance. Her eyes never left the black sedan ahead of her.
The drive wound through the city's quieter streets until the buildings gave way to the gated calm of the Moretti estate. Isabella slowed as she approached, her heart pounding. She parked a few houses away, her hands trembling slightly as she watched the gates open and the car disappear inside.
She sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed gates. Her reflection in the mirror was calm, but her eyes burned with quiet rage.
It should have been her.
She leaned back in her seat, her mind already spinning. She hadn't planned this, but fate had handed her a path.
If she couldn't have Damian Moretti, she would make sure no one else could.
And Alessia Moretti had just stepped into her shadow.