The woman behind closed doors

She was never meant to be more than a secret. But now, she’s the one thing he can’t let go. Alessandro DeLuca is a ruthless mafia boss—married, powerful, and untouchable. His life is built on control, deception, and carefully guarded secrets. He’s married to Emilia not because of love but to disguise underneath her father to hide his dirty job, their marriage meant nothing. Not until one reckless night changes everything. Camila Rivera, a young, vibrant woman with fire in her eyes, with a passion of drawing, becomes his greatest weakness. Their affair was supposed to be meaningless—a stolen moment in the dark. But Camila is more than just his mistress. She carries his child. Twice. For years, she has lived in the shadows, hidden away like a dirty secret while Alessandro parades his wife to the world. He gives her everything—money, luxury, empty promises—everything except the one thing she truly wants: to be his. As the weight of secrecy and heartbreak pushes Camila to the edge, she realizes she can’t keep living like this. She was never meant to be his second choice. And when she threatens to walk away, Alessandro faces the one thing he never expected—the fear of losing her forever. Now, the man who swore he would never love is ready to burn the world down to keep her. But will she still be waiting when he finally decides to claim her? I didn’t hear the door open. I just felt it—the shift in the air, the way the atmosphere thickened with heat and tension. The way my skin prickled before I even turned. Alessandro. His name wasn’t spoken, but it echoed in my chest like a warning. My fingers curled tighter around the wine glass as I stood in front of the mirror, “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, my voice low, traitorous, trembling. He didn’t respond. Just stepped closer. And with every inch, my resolve cracked. “I told you I was done,” I said again, this time louder, stronger—even if I was lying to both of us. “I’m not your plaything. Not your secret.” Then I felt it—his fingers, brushing the strap of my dress. The slow slide of silk down my skin. The heat of his breath at my neck. “Then why,” he murmured, his voice like smoke, “do you always leave the door unlocked for me?” I turned to face him, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Because I’m weak,” I snapped, emotion burning behind my eyes. “Because every time you touch me, I forget how to hate you.” His hand came up to cradle my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, as if he didn’t know whether to kiss me or disappear. “I never asked you to hate me,” he said softly. “I only asked you to be mine.” The words cut deeper than I expected. Tears welled, hot and unrelenting. “But I’m not yours. Not really. I never was.” He came closer. I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve ended it. But I didn’t. “Then tell me to leave,” he whispered. “Right now. Tell me, and I swear—I’ll walk away.” Silence wrapped around us like a vice. My lips parted. But the words never came. Because no matter how many promises he broke, I still wanted him to stay.