Alessandra pushed past the heavy backstage curtains, her mind clouded with her grandfather's chilling words. The echoes of the crowd's cheers still reverberated in the distance, but she barely heard them. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she moved away from the flashing lights and suffocating conversations. She needed air—needed to think.
The afterparty was in full swing, with champagne glasses clinking and the world's most influential people indulging in whispered deals and indulgent laughter. But Alessandra wasn't interested in any of it.
She was leaving.
She had no choice.
As she maneuvered through the halls of the extravagant venue, she felt the weight of her decision crushing her. Returning to Italy meant walking straight into the cage she had fought so hard to escape. It meant Luca. It meant giving up everything she had worked for.
A sharp breath left her lips as she rounded a corner, her pace quickening—until she froze.
Just a few feet away, in the dimly lit corridor, a scene unfolded that made her blood run cold.
A man, tall and commanding, had a woman pinned against the wall. The woman's golden dress shimmered under the soft lights, her long brown waves cascading over her shoulders. Her lips were parted, and though she didn't seem afraid, there was something about the way she looked at the man—something strained.
The man himself was terrifyingly composed. His dark suit fit him like a second skin, exuding power and precision. His face was unreadable, sharp angles and piercing eyes that held an authority she had never seen before.
Alessandra didn't know them.
But the scene before her made her stomach tighten in disgust.
The man's presence was suffocating, his sheer dominance overwhelming. The woman—was she scared? Was she trapped?
Alessandra stepped forward, her voice firm. "Hey—"
The man's head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto her with an intensity that sent an immediate chill down her spine.
His eyes—dark, cold, calculating—pinned her in place like a blade pressed against her throat.
Alessandra's breath caught.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
The weight of his gaze alone was enough to paralyze her.
For the first time in her life, she felt small.
The woman against the wall—Marina—let out a soft, almost exasperated sigh and touched the man's wrist. "Viktor, let go," she murmured. "You're scaring her."
Viktor.
The name sent a flicker of recognition through Alessandra. She had heard whispers of it in the high society circles—Viktor Castellano. A man shrouded in wealth, power, and something far darker than either of those.
His eyes lingered on her for another agonizing second before he finally turned back to Marina, releasing his hold.
Alessandra barely noticed Marina smoothing out her dress. She could still feel the way Viktor's gaze had stripped her down, assessed her, and dismissed her all in the same moment.
It rattled her.
A hand suddenly grasped her wrist, pulling her back into the shadows before she could process what had just happened.
She gasped, only to be met with the scent of expensive cologne and the familiar warmth of a man who had always known exactly where to find her.
Matteo.
"Are you insane?" he hissed, his grip firm yet gentle. "Do you have any idea who that was?"
Alessandra's pulse was still erratic as she turned to face him. "I don't care who he is," she snapped. "He was—"
"He was handling his business, and you were about to cause a scene." Matteo's voice was sharp, but his eyes held something else—something close to worry.
She swallowed, the tension in her chest tightening. "That doesn't mean I should stand by and watch—"
"Yes, it does," Matteo cut in, his voice low. "Because when men like Viktor Castellano handle things, you don't interfere."
Alessandra clenched her fists, her mind still reeling from what had just happened. The way Viktor had looked at her… it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. He had made her feel like a child walking into a war zone with no armor.
Matteo exhaled, his hands moving to cup her face. "You don't belong in that world, Alessandra. You don't understand the lines that shouldn't be crossed."
She flinched. "And you do?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was both possessive and desperate.
But Alessandra—she couldn't bring herself to respond.
Her body was there, her hands resting on his chest, but her mind was miles away—trapped in the conversation with her grandfather, in the weight of the decision she had to make.
Matteo pulled back slightly, sensing the shift. His brows furrowed. "What's wrong?"
Her throat tightened. "My grandfather called."
A dangerous flicker passed through Matteo's gaze. "What did he say?"
Alessandra hesitated, then whispered, "He's forcing me to go back. Tonight."
Matteo's jaw tightened. "And?"
"And… if I don't, he'll destroy everything I've worked for."
His grip on her waist tightened. "Bastardo."
Alessandra let out a breath, feeling the weight of it all. "I can't let that happen, Matteo."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, softly—"Marry me."
Matteo's eyes darkened at her words.
For the first time, he looked genuinely taken aback.
"Come to my family," she pressed, desperation lacing her tone. "Convince them. If we're married, they won't force me into marrying Luca."
Matteo didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at her, really looked at her, as if measuring the depth of her resolve.
Then, he exhaled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Alessandra, this isn't something we can decide in one night."
She flinched. "You don't want to?"
He cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "It's not that. But I need time. There are things I have to handle here first."
"How long?" she whispered.
He hesitated. "A few weeks."
Her stomach twisted. "Matteo—"
"Trust me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll come to you. I promise."
But Alessandra wasn't sure promises were enough anymore.
Because in just a few hours, she would be on a plane back to Italy.
And time was running out.