Word count: 1032
The Corsini estate always smelled like polish, old money, and quiet violence.
Belle noticed it the moment the car door shut behind her. The gravel driveway crunched under her heels as she walked past marble columns tall enough to intimidate the sky itself. The sun was dipping low, staining the estate gold and blood-orange, the kind of sunset that pretended nothing bad ever happened here.
Her body still hummed.
Not loudly.
Not painfully.
Just enough to remind her that something inside her hadn't settled since school.
She had a really long day at school —as always.
Inside, the house moved around her like it always did—maids lowering their heads, guards pretending not to notice the tension rolling off her shoulders. Someone took her bag. Someone else opened a door before she reached it.
Belle ignored them all.
She pushed into the study without knocking.
Marcello Corsini stood by the window, phone in one hand, the other resting loosely at his side. He wore black—tailored, sharp, unwrinkled—as if chaos simply respected him too much to touch his clothes. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, a quiet reminder that time itself answered to him eventually. The mafia Lord to others but a caring dad to her.
He ended the call without looking back.
"You're home early," he said calmly.
Belle scoffed, dropping into the leather chair across from his desk. "Define early."
Marcello turned then, dark eyes sharp but not cold. Never cold when it came to her. He studied her face—her smudged eyeliner, the tight set of her mouth, the way her fingers kept flexing like they were itching for something.
"School made the news," he said.
Her jaw clenched. "Of course it did."
"Jayce Holloway," Marcello continued, voice smooth. "Careless. Loud. Not very intelligent."
Belle's lips twitched despite herself. "You did background already."
"I did background the moment his name crossed your mouth six months ago."
She leaned back. "Then you know."
"I know, why didn't you tell me her circulated your..." a pause "nudes" the last part came out in almost a whisper.
She wouldn't lie, that sounded very wrong coming from him.
She had to admit that no matter how close of a bond they have, they never actually spoke about things like that.
Silence stretched—not heavy, not awkward. Familiar.
Belle stared at the ceiling. "Everyone was looking at me today. Like I was… something they could pass around."
Marcello's expression hardened—not explosive, not dramatic. Just dangerous.
"Did he touch you?" he asked.
"No."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"Then he's already dead," Marcello said mildly. "He just doesn't know it yet."
Belle laughed, short and sharp. "Dad."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
He stepped closer, crouching in front of her so they were eye level. The most feared man in half the city—kneeling like this, only for her.
"You can do whatever you want to him," Marcello said quietly. "I'll clean it. I'll bury it. I'll make sure your name never touches it."
Her pulse jumped—not fear. Power.
"I don't want him gone," Belle said after a moment. "I want him scared."
Marcello smiled. "That's my girl."
Upstairs, Belle locked her bedroom door and kicked off her heels. Marmalade was already on her bed, orange tail flicking lazily, green eyes tracking her like he knew something she didn't.
"Don't look at me like that," she muttered, wiping off her lipstick. "You're just a cat."
Marmalade blinked.
Belle changed into shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy bun that still somehow looked intentional. She paced the room, replaying school in her head—Jayce's pale face, the whispers, the phones.
And Kieran.
She frowned.
She didn't even know why he stood out. He hadn't touched her. Hadn't laughed. Hadn't filmed. He'd just watched her like he was trying to solve a puzzle that wasn't meant for him.
Well that aside, her plan for jayce was complete and all she needed was a perfect way to execute this perfect plan
The next day, Belle arrived at school in a black SUV that cost more than Jayce's future. She stepped out slow, sunglasses on, chin high.
Let them look.
Jayce was already there, leaning too casually against a locker, trying to pretend his hands weren't shaking. His friends laughed too loud. His eyes darted.
Belle walked past him deliberately—then stopped just like the other day.
"Oh," she said lightly, turning. "Jayce."
He swallowed. "Belle."
She took off her sunglasses. The hallway went quiet.
"You dropped something," she said.
"What—"
She held up her phone. His phone. The one he'd left unlocked in panic the other day at the cafeteria.
Jayce's face drained of color.
"You know," Belle continued, voice sweet, "people forget screenshots work both ways." Turns out she also had something against him...his own nudes to be precised
Kieran stood a few lockers down, watching openly now.
Belle stepped closer to Jayce, lowering her voice. "You're going to apologize. Publicly. Loudly. And then you're going to disappear from my line of sight forever."
Of course that isn't what she truly wants....she just wanted him to be a little shaken before she executed the final plan.
Jayce laughed weakly. "You don't own this place."
Belle leaned in, eyes dark. "No. I own you."
Something fluttered in her chest then—warm, sharp, alive.
Jayce backed away like she'd struck him.
She can't make this plan work in school....it had to be somewhere far from school...like a party at a friends house.....but having extra curricular activities wasn't really her thing.
By lunchtime, the apology video was already circulating.
Great one part of her plan had turned out perfect.
During her free period, Belle sat alone on the school rooftop, legs dangling, enjoying the view of the marvelous city below.
Then suddenly, she felt heat on her pinky.
"I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered.
Her hand trembled.
She stared at her pinky.
Heat gathered—not burning, not painful. Just… there. A pulse. A breath.
A spark flickered to life at the tip of her finger.
Tiny. Controlled. Real.
Belle froze.
The flame danced once—then vanished.
Her heart slammed.
What was that just now?