In the dazzling city of Monaco lived Hanna, a girl whose beauty could turn every head as she passed.
When she walked down the street, the air itself seemed to change. You could feel the arrogance, the charm, and the pride she carried—like an invisible signature, impossible to ignore.
Hanna was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. And she knew it.
Yet behind the luxurious facades and dream cars, her reality was very different. Hanna was poor. She helped her mother in a small neighborhood restaurant, a modest place wedged between two rundown buildings, far from the Monaco of the rich and powerful. Her mother, a brave but exhausted woman, struggled alone to support her family. Hanna also had a younger brother, seventeen years old—still too young to carry such heavy responsibilities, yet already marked by the harshness of their daily life.
At twenty-four, Hanna hated her life.
She hated the smell of grease in the restaurant, the rushed customers who never really looked at her, the sleepless nights spent counting money that was always missing. Most of all, she hated the feeling of having been born on the wrong side of the city.
In the neighborhood, everyone talked about her.
She was the crush of many boys, the object of countless fantasies. But Hanna rejected them all, without exception. In her eyes, they were not on her level. She refused to settle for a mediocre life with a man who had nothing to offer her—no dreams, no future.
Hanna wanted more.
Much more.
She had developed a risky habit: in the evenings, she left her neighborhood to go into the city, where the real Monaco shone. Luxury hotels, chic bars, wealthy men. She knew how to dress, how to speak, how to look. She knew how to seduce without getting attached, how to promise without ever giving.
To Hanna, these men were not love.
They were a way out.
And Hanna was ready to do anything to escape her situation… even if it meant playing with fire.
What she did not yet know was that Monaco never forgives those who try to rise too fast.
And that a single glance could be enough to turn an entire life upside down.
The alarm did not ring.
It never did.
Hanna opened her eyes to the familiar sounds of the street: a scooter backfiring too loudly, a voice swearing in Italian, the sharp clang of a metal door being lifted too early. Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the small bedroom she had once shared with her brother, before he grew up and they awkwardly decided to separate them.
She lay still for a few seconds, staring at the yellowed ceiling.
"Another day…," she murmured.
Slowly, she sat up, ran a hand through her tangled black hair, and placed her feet on the cold floor. The apartment was small and old, and every sound echoed. She put on denim shorts, a simple tank top, grabbed a light jacket, and slipped out quietly.
In the kitchen, there was only a little tea left in the teapot.
"Great…," she muttered.
She took her bag, slipped a few coins into her pocket, and went out.
The Bampi neighborhood was waking up with her.
A working-class area, far from Monaco's luxurious storefronts, a place tourists never saw. Here, buildings stood close together, balconies overflowed with laundry, and everyone knew everyone.
"Hanna!" a voice called out.
She turned around.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rosa."
The elderly woman, sitting on her chair as she did every morning, looked her up and down with a knowing smile.
"Still just as beautiful, my girl. My son is single—you could get three cows if you agreed to marry him."
Hanna smiled politely.
"You're exaggerating."
"Not at all. If I had your age and your face, I'd already be married to a prince. My son would take good care of you."
Hanna shrugged.
"Princes don't come around here."
Mrs. Rosa burst out laughing.
"Go get the bread before it's all gone!"
"I'm going."
Hanna continued on her way, nodding to the shopkeepers opening their stores. She walked confidently, back straight, steps steady. She knew people were watching her. She felt it on her skin, in the air.
"Hey, Hanna!"
She sighed inwardly before turning around.
It was Marco and Léo, two guys from the neighborhood, always standing on the same corner, always commenting on everything that passed by.
"What now?" she asked sharply.
Marco looked her up and down shamelessly.
"Honestly… nice ass today."
Hanna stopped dead.
"Say that again."
Léo raised his hands.
"Oh, come on, it was a compliment."
Hanna stepped closer, staring them straight in the eyes.
"You know what's exhausting? Thinking I exist for your comments. If you want to talk, talk properly. Otherwise, shut up."
Marco snorted.
"You're always so uptight."
"And you're always so stupid," she replied calmly.
A tense silence settled.
"Have a good day, guys."
She walked away without looking back, her heart pounding but her head held high.
"Who does she think she is…," Marco muttered.
"Someone better than us, apparently," Léo replied quietly.
Hanna reached the bakery, already crowded.
"Hanna!" the baker exclaimed. "The usual?"
"Yes, two baguettes."
"For your mother?"
"Always."
He handed her the bread.
"She works too hard."
"I know."
"You should think about yourself too."
Hanna gave a bitter smile.
"Maybe one day."
She headed back home.
When she entered, the smell of warm bread mixed with that of milk.
"You're finally back!" a voice shouted.
Her younger brother, Eliott, was sitting at the table, his mouth full of milk.
He ran toward her, grabbed a loaf of bread, and stuffed a piece into his mouth.
"Couldn't you wait?" Hanna said.
"I was hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"And you're always commenting."
They stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Don't worry, I'll leave you some. Did you argue with someone again?" Eliott asked.
"You better. And yes—two idiots."
"Classic."
They bickered, threw jabs at each other, laughed too loudly.
"Can you calm down?" their mother called from the doorway.
She entered with her arms crossed.
"You sound like children."
"He started it," they said in unison.
"Hanna, come help me at the restaurant. And you, Eliott, clear the table."
"Again?" Hanna sighed.
"We don't have a choice."
Hanna nodded.
"I'm coming."
The restaurant was small, modest, but clean. A few tables, regular customers.
"Hello, Maria!" a client called out.
"Hello, Mr. Paul."
Hanna served, listened, answered.
"You should smile more," a customer told her.
"I smile when I feel like it."
"You've got character."
"I know."
Conversations flowed—politics, money, exhaustion, broken dreams.
"And you, Hanna, what do you plan to do with your life?" a woman asked.
Hanna stopped.
"Something else."
"Like what?"
She smiled.
"I don't know yet. But not this."
When the restaurant closed, Hanna stepped outside for some air.
Monaco glittered in the distance.
And she made herself a silent promise:
She would not stay here. Never.