POV: Emilia Conti
The notification came while I was brushing my teeth.
I almost ignored it.
Habit, more than intention. I'd learned quickly that most alerts here were meaningless—security updates I wasn't cleared to understand, system adjustments that happened without my consent. But this one buzzed differently. Sharper. Familiar.
My bank.
I froze, toothbrush hovering midair, foam dripping down my wrist.
I rinsed my mouth slowly and dried my hands before picking up the phone they'd given me—the restricted one, the one that only worked when they wanted it to.
The message stared back at me, clean and impossible.
Payment received. Balance: $0.00.
I blinked.
Once. Twice.
I opened the app.
Every red number that had haunted me for years was gone. Student loans. Credit cards. The private lender I'd taken out a loan from after my father died.
Zero.
Paid.
Cleared.
My stomach twisted violently.
That wasn't relief.
That was dread.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, the phone heavy in my hand, pulse pounding. I refreshed the page. Logged out. Logged back in.
Still zero.
I laughed once, short and breathless. "No."
This wasn't a gift.
It was a move.
I stood and left my room without bothering to compose myself. The guards outside straightened instantly, eyes alert.
"I need to see him," I said.
One of them spoke quietly into his earpiece. A pause.
"He'll see you," he said. "In the study."
Of course.
The study was darker than the rest of the penthouse, designed for privacy rather than comfort. Alessio stood near the window when I entered, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, city reflected faintly across the glass behind him.
He turned when he heard me.
"You're early," he said.
I held up the phone. "What did you do?"
His gaze flicked to the screen. Then back to me.
"I handled a problem."
"That wasn't your problem," I snapped.
"It was," he replied calmly. "You were distracted by it."
I crossed the room, anger sharpening my movements. "You paid my debts."
"Yes."
"You didn't ask."
"No."
"You didn't tell me."
"I knew you'd object."
"You think?" I demanded. "That was my life. My responsibility."
"It was leverage," he corrected.
My hands shook. "You don't get to decide that."
"I already did," he said evenly. "Just like I decided you shouldn't bleed out on concrete."
"That was different," I shot back.
"Was it?" He tilted his head slightly. "Both were problems that could be solved."
I stared at him. "You think erasing numbers erases consequences."
"I think removing pressure increases survival," he replied.
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "You didn't remove pressure. You shifted it."
"Onto me," he said. "Intentionally."
My breath caught. "That's not better."
"It is," he said quietly. "Because now they can't use money to control you."
"They?" I echoed.
"Yes."
I felt a chill slide down my spine. "Who?"
"People who prey on desperation," he said. "You had too many open doors."
"You closed them without my consent."
"I closed them because you didn't have the power to."
That hurt more than I expected.
"You think I was weak," I said.
"I think you were vulnerable," he replied. "There's a difference."
I turned away, pacing. "Those debts were mine. I chose to take them on."
"And they would have killed you eventually," he said. "Not with a gun. With exhaustion."
I stopped. "You don't get to rewrite my struggle."
"I'm not rewriting it," he said. "I'm ending it."
"That's ownership," I snapped.
"No," he replied. "That's insulation."
I spun back to face him. "Do you have any idea what that money meant to me?"
"Yes," he said. "It meant survival."
"It meant independence," I shot back. "It meant I owed no one."
"You owed institutions," he corrected. "And now you don't."
"You think that frees me?"
"I think it removes a chain."
"And replace it with you."
A pause.
"That depends," he said slowly, "on how you choose to frame it."
I clenched my fists. "You bought me."
"No," he said firmly. "I invested in your continued existence."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not," he replied. "I didn't ask for anything in return."
I scoffed. "You never do. You just collect later."
His gaze sharpened. "Is that what you think this is?"
"What else could it be?" I demanded. "You freeze my movements. You monitor my calls. And now you erase my debts like I'm a balance sheet."
He stepped closer, voice low. "If I wanted to own you, Emilia, you wouldn't be arguing with me right now."
"That's not comforting."
"It's the truth."
I swallowed hard. "Undo it."
He didn't answer.
"Undo it," I repeated.
"You can't," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because it's done."
"You could reverse it."
"Yes," he agreed. "And you'd be right back where you were."
"That's my choice."
He studied me for a long moment, something calculating shifting behind his eyes.
"Would you go back?" he asked.
I hesitated.
That infuriated me.
"That's not the point," I said finally.
"It is," he replied. "Because you survived under weight that would have crushed others."
"And now you've decided I shouldn't have to."
"Yes."
"You don't get to decide that for me."
"I do," he said quietly. "When the alternative is watching you burn out."
I looked away, throat tight. "You crossed a line."
"I crossed several," he admitted. "And I'll cross more if it keeps you alive."
"That's not protection," I said. "That's control dressed up as care."
"Call it whatever you need to," he replied. "It doesn't change the outcome."
"And what is the outcome?" I asked.
He held my gaze steadily. "You're no longer owned by fear."
I laughed softly. "Now I'm owned by you."
"No," he said. "You're protected by me."
The words hit differently now.
I thought of the man in the dark. The phone full of photos. The way he'd smiled at the camera.
"They'll notice," I said quietly. "Money disappearing doesn't go unnoticed."
"I know," Alessio replied. "That's why I did it openly."
My pulse spiked. "Openly?"
"Yes," he said. "Let them see I'm willing to remove pressure points."
"And what does that tell them?"
"That you matter," he said. "Enough that I'm willing to spend."
"That makes me more valuable," I whispered.
"Yes."
"And more dangerous."
"Also yes."
I stared at him. "You just painted a target on my back."
"I reinforced it," he corrected. "Now they know where not to aim."
I shook my head slowly. "You don't see how terrifying that is."
"I do," he said. "I just see the alternative more clearly."
Silence settled between us, heavy and unresolved.
Finally, I spoke again. "If you ever do something like this again—"
"I will," he interrupted calmly.
My jaw clenched. "Then understand this."
He waited.
"You don't get my gratitude," I said. "You don't get my loyalty. And you don't get to call this kindness."
A beat.
"I wouldn't insult you by asking for any of that," he replied.
I stared at him. "Then what do you want?"
He held my gaze, unwavering. "Your survival."
I turned toward the door, chest tight, thoughts spiraling.
As I reached for the handle, I paused.
"One more thing," I said without turning around.
"Yes?"
"You didn't erase my debts," I continued. "You transferred them."
"To me," he agreed.
I nodded slowly. "Then don't ever forget."
He waited.
"I don't belong to you," I said. "You just chose to carry my weight."
A pause.
"That," he said quietly, "was the point."
I left the room before he could say anything else.
Back in my suite, I sank onto the bed, phone still clutched in my hand.
The numbers were gone.
The fear they represented—lighter.
But the cost?
That was just beginning to show.
Because somewhere out there, people who didn't miss were recalculating.
And now, so was I.