Bella’s POV

I wasn’t supposed to be home this early.

The diner had been dead all afternoon, just two truckers nursing cold coffee and a drunk who kept calling me “sweet cheeks.”

My manager shrugged and told me to clock out at six. Fine by me. My feet were killing me, my head was splitting, and all I wanted was to fall face-first into the couch and let Micah rub my shoulders until I forgot how much I hated my life.

I climbed the three flights of stairs to our tiny apartment, already tasting the cheap wine we kept in the fridge. I was smiling like an idiot, thinking maybe tonight I’d finally let him go further than second base.

Three years of “waiting till marriage” felt less romantic and more stupid every month.

The door was cracked open. But I didn’t think anything of it. I pushed it slowly. The living room was dark except for the flicker of the TV nobody was watching.

And suddenly — I heard a woman’s high, breathy moan leak down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable wet slap of skin on skin.

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

I told myself it was porn. It had to be porn. Micah watched it sometimes when I was at work. Normal guy stuff, right?

Then I heard her voice, sweet and fake-innocent, the same voice that used to call me “bestie” while stealing my clothes.

“Yes, Micah… right there… oh fuck, you’re so much bigger than—”

I knew that voice.

I walked down the hallway like I was walking to my own execution. The bedroom door was half open, just enough.

And there they were.

Micah, my Micah, on his knees behind Stacy, my best friend since I moved to America. Her fake blonde hair stuck to her sweaty back, mouth open in a perfect O, moaning his name like it belonged to her.

He had one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, pounding into her like the bed was on fire.

I must have made a sound, because his head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and for one single second I waited for shame but I didn’t get it.

“Bella?” He didn’t even stop moving. “You’re home early.”

That was it. Not “I’m sorry.” Not “This isn’t what it looks like.” Just “you’re home early.”

Something inside me snapped clean in half. Stacy finally noticed me. She shrieked, scrambled for the sheet, and clutched it to her chest like I was the intruder.

“Bella, wait—”

I laughed. It came out ugly and cracked. “Don’t bother.”

Micah pulled out, still half-hard, and reached for his boxers like we were discussing the weather. “Baby, listen—”

“Don’t call me baby.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine. “How long?”

Stacy’s fake tears started. “It just happened, I swear—”

“How. Long.”

Micah shrugged. “A couple of months. You’re never here, Bella. A man has needs.”

A couple of months?

I looked at the bed we picked out together. The sheets I washed last night. The pillow I cried into when my dad cut me off.

I looked at Stacy wearing my favourite pink silk nightie, the one I’d been saving for a special night.

I looked at Micah, the man I gave up my family, my name, and my future for, and felt nothing but hate.

“Enjoy each other,” I said, calm and cold. “Hope she was worth it.”

I turned and walked out and then….they chased me.

“Bella, wait!” Stacy’s bare feet slapped the hallway. “Bella please wait, okay? It was a mistake!”

I spun around so fast she almost crashed into me. “A mistake?” My voice cracked. “You’ve been fucking my boyfriend for months and you say it was a mistake?”

Micah tried next. “You’re overreacting—”

“Screw you.”

I slammed the apartment door so hard the frame shook.

Outside, the night air slapped me awake. I had twenty-three dollars in my purse, a half-dead phone, and nowhere to go. Because I’d burned every bridge for him.

I walked until my legs gave out, then climbed into my beat-up Camry and locked the doors. The backseat became my bed. Leftover fries from the diner became dinner.

I sat there in the dark, replaying every lie Micah ever told me, every time I defended him to my father.

I used to be Isabella Mendoza, heiress to Mendoza Enterprises. Private schools, bodyguards, a black Amex with no limit. I gave it all up because Micah said he loved the real me, not the money.

So I changed my last name on every form. Took a waitress job. Moved into his shitty one-bedroom. Told my father I’d rather be poor and happy than rich and trapped.

Dad warned me.

“He’s using you, Isabella. When he’s done, he’ll spit you out.”

I didn’t listen.

Now here I was, eating cold fries in a parking lot, mascara running, virginity still intact because I wanted to “wait for marriage” like an idiot.

My phone buzzed with texts from Micah.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Come home so we can talk.”

I stared at the screen until it went black.

Then I scrolled to the one contact I swore I’d never call again.

The line rang twice.

“To what do I owe this call, Bella?” My brother’s voice was calm, amused, and a little cold. “I thought you were done with the Mendoza name.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m ready to come home.”

Silence settled between us.

“You sure?” he finally asked. “Because Dad’s not gonna throw you a welcome party. You humiliated him.”

I nodded to myself, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. I know. I don’t have anywhere else to go. And I’ll face whatever consequences.”

There was a pause, then a smirk in his tone.

“Alright then, lucky for you, I just happen to be in Chicago for the last night.” Raf said. “Pack your bags. You’re coming home.”

Bella’s POV

The loud pounding on my windshield cut through my sleep like a gunshot.

My eyes flew open, my heart slamming against my ribs. For a second I didn’t even know where I was—just the cold glass, the smell of my own breath, and the ache in my neck from sleeping upright.

“You can’t park here, ma’am. Move.”

A flashlight beam sliced across my face.

I jerked back, squinting until the shape in front of me became clearer—a stern-looking security guard, tall, broad, tapping his knuckles against the windshield again.

His hand rested a little too close to the baton hanging from his belt, and that alone sent fear rushing through my chest.

I sat up straight, my fingers trembling around the steering wheel.

“Sorry… I’m sorry,” I mumbled as I quickly turned on the ignition.

The guard stepped back, shaking his head like he was tired of seeing people like me—sleeping in cars, parked where we weren’t supposed to be, looking like a mess.

Heat crept up my throat. God. Look at me.

Then it hit me.

The memory of last night, my brother’s voice on the phone, the way he said I should pack my things, I’m coming home.

Home. That sounded nice.

I tightened my hold on the wheel, breath shaking out of me. I couldn’t stay parked here anyway waiting for him to come.

Not when my chest felt like it was caving in. Not when everything was pushing me toward a place I didn’t want to go but had to face.

Micah’s house.

The place I once pretended was mine.

I pulled out of the empty parking lot, the early morning sky still grey, streets half-asleep as I drove. Every mile closer made my stomach twist tighter. I tried to swallow the feeling down but it sat heavy, thick and refused to move.

By the time my car rolled to a stop in front of the house, a soft groan escaped my lips. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to see them. But I needed my things.

I forced myself out of the car, my legs weak, my heart pounding like a trapped animal fighting for its life.

I walked up the path I’d walked a hundred times before, but today it felt wrong, colder somehow.

My knuckles barely brushed the door when it swung open.

And there she was.

Stacy.

Her face looked like someone had punched her with guilt. Sadness. Confusion. All of it smashed together in a way that made my stomach turn.

“Bella!” she breathed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharp enough to cut.

She opened her mouth—probably to explain, probably to say something useless—but I shut her down with a glare.

“You know what? Don’t answer that. I just want to get my things.”

“Bella, please. Can we talk? This isn’t how I wanted things to go.” Stacy said, not moving from the doorway.

“You and I have nothing to talk about.” I groaned bitterly.

I pushed past her, my boots hitting the hardwood floor louder than usual, like the house itself knew I was angry.

I took the stairs two at a time, my throat burning.

When I entered the room, Micah was sitting on the bed, looking like a little boy caught doing something terrible. His eyes went wide.

“Bella, baby you’re here,” he said sharply.

I didn’t even flinch. I grabbed my suitcase from the corner, yanking it open and shoving clothes inside with no care, no folding, nothing. Just pure frustration.

“Bella, I’ve been so worried about you,” he whispered. “What….what are you doing?” He stuttered when he noticed I was packing.

“I’m leaving,” I said flatly. “I’m going home.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Home? What home is that? You don’t have a home or money. You’re working as a waitress. Where exactly do you think you’ll go?”

I froze for half a second. Then the anger hit.

“What do you want me to do, Micah? Stay here? Pretend none of this happened? Pretend I didn’t catch you screwing my friend?” I snapped, already turning away and dragging my suitcase down the stairs.

He stood up fast and followed me down the stairs.

“Bella, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Save it,” I snapped. “I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

I stormed past him, past Stacy, straight to the door. I needed air. I needed out.

“Bella, listen,” Micah said desperately. “You can’t go. This is madness. We can talk about this.”

“The only madness is you expecting me to stay while pretending you didn’t cheat on me.”

“I get it. You’re upset.” He sighed, looked around as if searching for something. “But if you’re going to leave…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “…take this. Use it for now, and when you calm down, we can talk.”

He pressed the money into my palm and grinned like he was doing me a favourite. I looked at the money like an insult, then I pushed it back into his hand like it was poison.

“Keep it. I don’t want your pity.”

And then—

As if the universe decided to give me one break today— a row of sleek black cars rolled to a stop in front of the house.

Relief washed through me so hard my knees almost buckled. I already knew who it was, before they even showed their face.

Stacy and Micah both stared, frozen.

The door opened, and out stepped Rafael Mendoza.

Calm. Confident. Sharp suit. His hair fell perfectly over his forehead. His eyes locked on me immediately, reading everything I couldn’t say.

He walked over and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“Glad you’ve finally come to your senses, little sister.”

Silence exploded between all of us.

Micah’s jaw dropped.

Stacy’s eyes almost fell out of her head.

“Little sister?” Micah croaked.

“That’s Rafael Mendoza,” Stacy whispered. “The son of that billionaire business mogul we saw on TV last night.”

Rafael gave me a gentle smile, that familiar smirk creeping onto his face.

Micah snapped, “Who’s this, Bella? And why the hell is he calling you his sister?”

“You don’t get to ask me anything,” I said without looking back.

“She doesn’t have to answer to you,” Rafael added, his voice sharp.

He stepped forward, motioned his men to take my bags from my hand with one easy motion.

And then stretched his hand out. I placed mine in his. “Let’s go, Sis.” He smirked.

I walked toward the black car. The door opened for me and I slid into the leather seat. The engine growled beneath us, powerful and loud.

Behind me, Micah’s voice cracked with desperation.

“Bella! Come on, what the fuck is this? Bella!”

I rolled the window up slowly and his voice faded behind the glass.

“Bella! Bella! Come back here!”

I stared forward, my eyes on the road ahead.

“Goodbye, Micah,” I whispered. “I’m so done with you.”

Bella’s POV

The flight back to Venice dragged like a death sentence, but I didn’t sleep.

I kept picturing my mother’s arms around me the second we landed. She was the only one who never obeyed Dad’s order to cut me off completely.

Secret bank transfers.

Burner phones at 2 a.m. just to hear my voice.

I needed her now more than ever.

The car rolled through the gates, and the mansion rose in front of me like a tomb.

Same manicured lawns. Same marble steps. Same silence that swallowed screams.

It didn’t feel like home.

It felt like a cage I’d voluntarily walked back into.

Rafael squeezed my hand as we stepped out. “Breathe, Bella. He’s not going to kill you.”

“I gave a short laugh, dry and humourless. “That’s easy for you to say. He didn’t threaten to cut you off and erase your existence.”

“You were a kid and you were in love. He was angry. He’s cooled off since then.”

I didn’t answer. I just kept staring, unsure whether to run away or march forward.

The door creaked open before we even knocked. Rosa — the help, stood there, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth. “Dios mío… Isabella?”

I managed a tired smile. “Hey, Rosa.”

She pulled me into a tight hug, murmuring prayers in Spanish as if trying to hold me together with her arms. For a second, I let her. Let the familiarity wash over me.

Inside, everything smelled like money and million-dollar deals.

I strolled through the hallway, running my fingers over the edges of framed family portraits. I used to belong in these walls. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Rafael didn’t speak again until we reached the main hall. “He’s in his study.”

“Of course he is,” I muttered.

Alejandro Mendoza—my father, the man who built an empire and buried emotions beneath it, stood by the window, reading something with too much intensity.

He didn’t look at me, but he could tell when I stepped into the room.

“I see you finally came to your senses,” he said without turning.

“Micah cheated,” I answered, voice flat.

He turned then, one eyebrow raised. “I’m not surprised. I told you that boy was trash.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight that battle again.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Milan. She doesn’t know you’re here.” His eyes flicked over me—cheap jeans, tired eyes, broken pride. “And she won’t. Not until you’ve earned the right.”

He gestured to the chair like I was a business associate, not his daughter.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, every movement slow, my stomach twisting.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my worn frame, the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

Then, without a trace of warmth, he spoke.

“What really brings you here, Bella?”

I swallowed hard. “I just… I had nowhere else to go. And I was tired of running. I want my place back in the family. However, I have to earn it.”

He gave a slight nod, the barest hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips like he was savouring some private joke only he understood. “Then you’ll have to follow my rules.”

Really? No welcome. No soft words. Just that —an order?

I braced myself.

He turned to pour a glass of scotch, his movements slow and cold. The golden liquid caught the light, glowing like a warning.

When he spoke again, his voice was smooth but sharp like a razor.

“I said I’d give you a future.”

His eyes flicked briefly to mine, but he looked through me, not at me.

“Your mother and I wanted to speak with you before you decided to run off with that riffraff.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Speak to me about what?”

He took a slow step forward, the quiet confidence of a man who knew he had me trapped.

“Before you ran off, there were some ties I had to cut loose and some that needed fixing.”

“Where are you going with this?”

I asked, sitting up straight.

“Let’s just say I made some decisions and crossed some people. And in order to correct that, I need to make an alliance. And as the saying goes — the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And you, my child —are going to be the wife of my new friend.”

The words felt like a cold snap to my face. “What did you just say?” I asked, like I didn’t hear him right.

My father didn’t flinch. “You’re getting married, Bella.”

My heart dropped. “What…to whom?”

“Matteo Moretti.”

My mouth went dry. Matteo Moretti? That name wasn’t just familiar, it was a damn warning.

“You want me to marry that sleaze?” I snapped, standing from the couch. “The man who used to traffic girls and have them dance half-naked in his clubs for fun? That’s the kind of man you want me to spend the rest of my life with?”

He gave a slight shrug. “He’s agreed to make changes. For your sake.”

I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was insane. “You think a man like that changes? You’re delusional if you believe—”

“Enough. This isn’t a negotiation, Isabella,” he growled, his voice low and sharp. “You left this family. You spat on everything we stood for because you thought you’d found love with a fucking nobody. And what did it get you? Humiliation. A waitress's uniform. Betrayal.”

“You’re selling me to that animal?” I screamed. “You hate him! Everyone knows what he is!”

“I hate weakness more,” he said calmly. “You showed the world this family could be humiliated. Matteo’s name erases that stain. You will smile, you will say yes, and you will give him whatever he wants on your wedding night. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You threw away your future for love,” he continued, stepping closer. “Now you’ll secure mine with obedience.”

I laughed—sharp, ugly, hysterical. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me dad? Is this my punishment?”

“I’m correcting a mistake,” he said. “Be ready. The wedding takes place in a month.”

He walked out. The door shut. And silence filled the room.

I stood there shaking, nails digging crescents into my palms.

I came home to escape one hell…

and walked straight into a worse one.

I’d rather set myself on fire than let Matteo Moretti touch me in that church.

His name tasted bitter, like poison lingering on my tongue.

I wanted to scream, to run, to claw my way out of this nightmare—but my legs felt weak, refusing to move.

I’d rather rot than wear that man’s ring.

But what choice did I have?

I’d walked away from this life three years ago. Burned every bridge on my way out. Now I was back, and I wasn’t the girl I used to be. I had no leverage, no freedom, and no voice.

I left Micah only to be handed over to a man ten times worse. A man who saw women as trophies. As property.

And now I was about to be chained to him. Sold to a creepy drug dealer who knew nothing but sex and getting high.

I wondered what my father had gotten himself into to hand me over to someone like that.

Was it for protection? For security? But from whom? Who was he hiding or running from?

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t marry Matteo.

And I would do anything…to make sure that doesn’t happen.