Captured by shadows

The Monteverdi Fashion Gala was the pinnacle of luxury—a night where power, wealth, and beauty collided under the dazzling chandeliers of the Palazzo di Cristallo. Every camera lens, every whispered conversation, every carefully curated outfit was designed to make a statement.

And tonight, Alessandra Ricci was the statement.

She stepped onto the scarlet carpet like she owned the world. In a midnight silk gown, the fabric clinging to her curves with sinful precision, she was a vision of effortless elegance. A high slit teased long, sculpted legs, and the plunging neckline was a masterpiece of temptation—enough to make headlines, but not scandal.

The cameras loved her.

"Alessandra! Over here!"

"Who are you wearing tonight?"

"Look this way, darling!"

She turned slightly, flashing them a smile that had taken years to perfect—one that concealed everything she wished she could say.

Then Luca Corsini stepped into the light.

The shift in energy was immediate. Where Alessandra was fire and allure, Luca was ice and control. The heir of the Corsini empire, draped in a custom Armani tuxedo, exuding old-money arrogance as though it were stitched into the fabric itself. He placed his hand on the small of her back—a subtle possession, a silent claim.

The press went feral.

"Alessandra, are you and Luca Corsini officially together?"

"Is this an engagement announcement?"

"The Ricci and Corsini families—are we witnessing the birth of Italy's ultimate power couple?"

Alessandra's stomach coiled with resentment.

She wanted to correct them, tell them she was here tonight because it was expected, because her parents had already started orchestrating a future she never agreed to. Instead, she played her role.

A practiced smile, a small tilt of her head as Luca leaned down, whispering just loud enough for the press to capture the illusion of intimacy.

"Smile, bella. You don't want to start rumors, do you?"

Her fingers curled into her gown, but she obeyed.

The moment they stepped past the flashing cameras and into the grand gilded hall, she pulled away from him, ignoring the way his lips twitched in amusement.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Luca mused, adjusting his cufflinks as they made their way toward the VIP champagne lounge.

Alessandra exhaled slowly. "I'm not in the mood for games, Luca."

"It's not a game, amore," he said smoothly. "It's our reality. Might as well enjoy it."

She ignored him.

Reality.

That was the word that trapped her—a world crafted by her parents, a future dictated by alliances, and a name that came with a price.

She had never belonged to herself.

Inside the VIP champagne lounge, the elite of Italy mingled beneath golden chandeliers, their laughter melodic, their conversations a careful balance of power and pretense. Waiters floated between guests, offering crystal flutes of Dom Pérignon, while conversations shifted effortlessly between business, fashion, and scandal.

Alessandra barely heard any of it.

Luca had drifted off to talk with his father, and for the first time in hours, she was alone.

Or so she thought.

"You wear your cage well, Ricci."

She turned sharply, her eyes colliding with a familiar smirk.

Adriana Ferrara.

A fellow supermodel, renowned not just for her beauty but for the sharp tongue that could slice through egos like glass. Dressed in crimson Valentino, she looked every bit the predator she was known to be.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alessandra said lightly, taking a sip of champagne.

Adriana arched a brow. "Oh, please. The perfect gown, the perfect smile, the perfect fiancé." She leaned in, voice dropping. "Tell me, does perfection taste as bitter as it looks?"

Alessandra's grip on her flute tightened. "Careful, Adriana. People might think you're jealous."

The other woman laughed softly. "Jealous? No. Pitying? A little."

Alessandra's nails dug into her palm. She didn't need anyone's pity.

Before she could respond, a voice cut through the air—her mother's voice.

"Alessandra, darling."

Adriana's smirk deepened before she slipped away.

Alessandra turned to face Isabella Ricci, her mother, draped in elegant Chanel, her presence commanding.

"You did well tonight," Isabella said, handing her a fresh glass of champagne. "The press will run with the rumors, and soon, the world will see you and Luca as Italy's perfect couple."

Alessandra took the glass, but didn't drink. "We're not a couple."

"Not yet," Isabella corrected. "But you will be."

Her stomach turned.

"Mother, I—"

"You will marry him, Alessandra." Isabella's tone was as smooth as the champagne in her hand, but her words cut like steel. "The Corsini family is power. Luca is the perfect match."

Alessandra clenched her jaw. "I don't love him."

"Love is for fools," Isabella replied without hesitation. "This is about legacy. Power. Your father and I have spent decades securing the Ricci name. You will not ruin it over something as trivial as your feelings."

Alessandra felt trapped—her own mother reducing her to nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard.

"I won't do it." Her voice was quiet, but firm.

Isabella's expression never wavered.

"You already are, mia cara."

Alessandra's pulse pounded. The truth was there, unspoken but absolute.

She had never had a choice.

She was already his.

By the time she returned to her penthouse that night, the world outside was still buzzing with rumors and speculation. Social media was already ablaze:

"Alessandra Ricci and Luca Corsini—the power couple Italy never knew it needed!"

"Will the supermodel be walking down the aisle soon?"

She tore off her jewelry first. The earrings, the bracelet, the diamond-studded necklace—all gifts from Luca, all reminders of a future she wanted nothing to do with.

Then the gown. The masterpiece of the night, the dress that had made headlines, the one that had made her look untouchable.

It crumpled onto the floor.

Alessandra stared at herself in the mirror, her bare skin kissed by moonlight.

She looked like herself again.

No labels. No expectations. No Luca.

For the first time that night, she breathed.

But the truth was undeniable.

No matter how much she wanted to escape, the world had already claimed her.

And she had no idea how to break free.