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.

Bella’s POV

I woke to the sound of my bedroom door creaking open. Rosa slipped in carrying a garment bag over one arm and a silver tray of cosmetics in the other.

The smell of fresh espresso and warm cornetti followed her, but my stomach still turned.

“Buongiorno, mija,” she whispered, eyes soft with pity. “Your father says you must be ready for breakfast. He sent these.”

She laid three dresses across my bed: blood-red silk, emerald satin, black lace. All tight. All expensive. All screaming trophy.

“Prepare?” I sat up, heart already racing. “Why, what’s going on?”

Rosa doesn’t meet my eyes. She laid the dresses on the bed, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “You’ll wear this red one. It brings out your eyes.” She said.

“Rosa,” I whispered. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, busying herself with the dresses. “Just let me make you beautiful, dearest. At the end of the day… I still answer to your father.”

I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped me. She was scared for me.

So I let her.

I let her run the bath with rose oil. Let her wash my hair like I was a doll. Let her paint my lips the colour of fresh blood, line my eyes sharp enough to cut.

The red silk dress clung to every curve; the neckline hung low, the slit climbed high. Black stilettos that could double as weapons. Diamond studs in my ears that probably cost more than I could imagine.

When she was done, I didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror. I looked like the perfect puppet bride.

I felt like an animal headed to an auction.

Rosa kissed my forehead, her eyes glassy. “Be strong, my sweet.”

Then she left me at the top of the grand staircase.

I heard them before I saw them.

My father’s low, commanding tone.

My brother’s quieter voice, he spoke like he didn’t want to be a part of the conversation.

And a third voice, oily, amused, dripping with Naples accent.

I reached the dining room doorway and every hair on my body stood up.

Matteo Moretti rose from his chair like a snake uncoiling.

Thirty-two years old and dressed like money and violence had a baby: midnight-blue suit, no tie, his top was three buttons open to reveal a thick gold chain and the Virgin Mary tattooed over his heart.

More ink crawled up his throat — roses, daggers, a snake eating its own tail. His dark hair was slicked back, diamond stud flashing in one ear, Rolex the size of a fist. Rings on every finger. He smelled like wood and cigarettes and something chemical that made my nose burn.

“Good morning, Isabella,” my father said, not even looking at me. “Allow me to introduce Matteo Moretti. Matteo, my daughter.”

“So the Mendoza Princess returns.” He laughed.

Matteo’s black eyes dragged down my body…slow enough to feel like hands.

“So this is the woman I’m going to marry.” His voice was so smooth yet rocky. He stepped closer, lifted my chin with two fingers.

“Teeth.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Show me your teeth.” He repeated.

My father’s stare turned lethal. He looked at me like he would kill me if I didn’t listen.

I parted my lips. Slowly opened my mouth.

He tilted my head side to side, inspecting me like I was a horse at market.

“Hmm. Straight. Good.”

He circled me, one hand trailing across my shoulders, down the curve of my spine, stopping just above my ass. I felt him checking off his mental list — hips, waist, breasts, like he was already deciding how many sons I’d give him.

When he came back to face me, his thumb brushed my cheekbone.

“Bellissima,” he murmured, almost tender.

Then, louder, to my father — “She’s a virgin, you said?”

“Pure as the day she was born,” Alejandro replied, pride thick in his voice. “The pride of the Mendoza line.”

Matteo’s smile made my skin crawl. “Wonderful. Alejandro, a private word?”

My father nodded. “Rafael, please continue breakfast with your sister.”

The second the door closed behind them, I flew to my brother.

“Rafael—” My voice cracked. “You can’t let him do this. Please. You know what Matteo is. You’ve heard the stories—”

He caught my wrists, grip gentle but firm. “Bella, lower your voice.”

“I won’t marry that monster!” I hissed, tears burning. “He looked at me like I’m a puppet on sale! He’ll break me, Raf. He’ll—”

“Shh.” He pulled me into the hallway, away from listening ears. “I hate this too. But Dad’s in deep. Enemies are moving on half of our ports. If this alliance doesn’t happen, we lose everything. Maybe our lives.”

I stared at him, chest heaving. “So I’m the sacrifice?”

Rafael’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to find another way. Maybe talk him out of this or call Mom.”

“Call Mom? But Dad said Mom already knew about this.” I snapped.

“I find that hard to believe,” Rafael murmured. “Just… buy me time. Behave. Don’t give him a reason to hurt you early.”

Early?

The word made me want to throw up.

He cupped my face, eyes fierce. “One month until the wedding. I will fix this. Trust me.”

I wanted to believe him.

But the way Matteo had smiled at me—like he already owned every inch of my skin—told me time was something I didn’t have.

I nodded once, throat tight.

Rafael kissed my forehead and walked away.

I stood alone in the marble corridor, red dress clinging like blood I couldn’t wash off.”

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, the words cracking in my chest.

I turned and bolted up the staircase, down the hall, slamming my bedroom door shut behind me. My shaky hands fumbled with my phone.

I dialled my mother’s number, It rang once. Twice.

Then failed.

Over and over.

And that’s when the truth finally hit me — I was alone.

No mother.

No freedom.

No exit.

Just as my breathing started to spiral, I heard it.

“BELLA.”

Then a pause.

“BELLA.”

My father’s voice rolled through the walls like a storm.

I shot upright, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. The door flew open—hard, fast. But this time… he didn’t look angry.

He looked relieved.

“What is it, Dad?” I asked, sitting straighter. Something in my stomach twisted. “What do you want now?”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just had a discussion with Matteo. And we… came to a conclusion.”

My heart dropped.

“What conclusion?”

“He can’t wait one month,” my father said flatly. “You’re getting married in ten days.”