Morning sunlight spilled gently across the silk sheets, warm and soft against Alessia's skin. For a moment, she forgot where she was — her lashes fluttering as she sat up, rubbing her eyes with both hands like a sleepy child waking from a dream.
Then it hit her.
This wasn't her room.
The walls were too white. The air smelled faintly of coffee, vanilla, and salt from the sea. And the bed — far too large and soft to belong anywhere near her family's stone estate.
She froze, heartbeat quickening, until her gaze fell on the small table beside the bed.
Breakfast.
Fresh fruit, croissants, eggs, and a cup of hot chocolate steaming beside a white flower in a glass vase.
For a second, her stomach growled — but pride kicked in faster.
No, Alessia. Don't let your guard down.
Still… the chocolate smelled too tempting.
Her fingers twitched toward it just as the door opened.
Lorenzo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, wearing a half-smile that looked infuriatingly calm. "Come on," he said casually, "eat it. I won't dare kill someone I value."
He chuckled, then turned away, leaving the room before she could respond.
Alessia blinked, staring after him. Someone he values? Me?
She frowned and whispered under her breath, "I know what he's doing. He's trying to win my trust, make me believe he's different. But I won't fall for it."
Her stomach growled again — loudly this time.
"Ugh, fine," she muttered. "But only because I'm starving."
She ate, carefully at first, then faster once she realized it wasn't poisoned. Whoever cooked for him knew what they were doing.
After some time, she stood and stretched, the silk ties gone from her wrists and ankles. She spotted a young boy — maybe eighteen — walking past the hall.
"Hey," she called softly. "Can you get your boss for me?"
The boy hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Minutes later, Lorenzo appeared. He didn't storm in like most men would. He moved — calm, deliberate, dangerous — until he sat down beside her, close enough that she could feel his breath.
"What is it, Alessia?" he asked, voice low.
She tried to ignore the way her pulse jumped. "Can I speak to my father, please? He'll be worried by now. He's old — I don't want him to think I'm… gone."
Lorenzo's expression softened slightly. "Oh, about that… don't worry. He knows where you are."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean he knows where I am?"
He smiled — calm, secretive, infuriating. "Don't worry, queen. You'll understand soon."
"Queen?" she repeated sharply. "Why do you call me that?"
He looked away. "Never mind."
"Hold on," she said, standing to face him. "Who are you really, Lorenzo? Why are you not helping your father?"
He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "Because I don't hate people who've done nothing to me. My father's enemies aren't mine. I don't fight innocent people."
She blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.
He continued, voice rougher now. "My father would kill his own blood for power, money, and fame. I don't have a father anymore, Alessia. But you…" — his gaze softened — "you have a man who'd risk his life for you. I saw it that night. The night I saved you."
Her jaw tightened. "You didn't save me. You kidnapped me."
He gave a small laugh, shaking his head. "Think whatever you want, miss. I don't care."
He stood to leave, but her voice stopped him.
"Wait."
He turned.
Alessia's eyes met his — strong but searching. "Tell me something, Lorenzo. How did you get that white ribbon? And why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"
He paused for a long time before walking slowly back toward her. His voice dropped low — soft, but dangerous enough to make her breath hitch.
"Like I told you," he said, eyes locking on hers, "I don't hurt or kill what I value."
He leaned a little closer, the storm in his gaze mirroring the one rising in her chest.
"I only protect them."
And then he walked away — leaving Alessia standing there, her pulse racing and her thoughts a tangled mess of anger, confusion… and something else she refused to name.