Captured by shadows

The city of Milan never truly slept. Even at this hour, the skyline was alive with the soft glow of streetlights, the hum of engines slicing through the night air. Alessandra sat curled up in an oversized chair by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse, her gaze fixed on the world below.

Her phone vibrated on the glass table beside her.

She didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was.

Luca.

Her fiancé.

The man she was supposed to marry.

The man she didn't love.

Alessandra reached for the half-empty glass of wine instead. The red liquid swirled as she tilted it against her lips, the taste bitter on her tongue.

Her mother's voice from earlier still rang in her ears.

"You will marry him, Alessandra. The Corsini family is power. Luca is the perfect match."

A perfectly calculated union. A marriage meant to merge their families, strengthen alliances, expand control. Love had never been part of the equation.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She didn't want this life.

She didn't want him.

Her eyes flickered to the phone again. It had stopped ringing, but a new notification pulsed on the screen.

Unknown Number.

Her heartbeat slowed.

It wasn't Luca this time.

She hesitated for a moment before picking it up. Her thumb hovered over the answer button. Logic told her to ignore it.

Instead, she pressed it to her ear.

"Who is this?"

A long silence. A beat too long.

Then—

"You don't want to marry Luca Corsini, do you?"

The deep, measured voice sent a chill skittering down her spine. It was the kind of voice that carried weight. The kind that didn't need to be raised to be heard.

Alessandra stiffened. "Who the hell are you?"

A quiet chuckle. "Someone who can help you."

Her grip on the phone tightened.

Was this a joke? A journalist fishing for a scandal? A rival family trying to stir trouble?

"I don't need help," she said coolly.

"Liar."

A breath hitched in her throat.

"I know you, Alessandra." His voice dropped to something darker, softer. "I've known you for a long time."

A flicker of unease curled in her stomach.

She swallowed. "If this is some kind of—"

"You were never meant to be his."

Her entire body went still.

She parted her lips, but no words came out.

He continued, unbothered by her silence. "You were born in a cage, Alessandra, but that doesn't mean you have to die in one."

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

This wasn't random. This man knew her—truly knew her—in a way that felt too personal, too intimate.

"And what exactly do you want?" she asked, carefully controlled.

Another pause.

Then, "A meeting. Tomorrow. Midnight. The Black Orchid."

The Black Orchid.

Alessandra's stomach twisted.

It wasn't just a club. It was a sanctuary for the damned. A place where deals were made with blood-stained hands. Where men with power brokered empires and destroyed lives in the same breath.

It was also a place she had no business stepping foot into.

"No," she said automatically.

The man exhaled softly, as if amused. "Then enjoy your wedding, tesoro."

A sharp click.

The line went dead.

Her hands trembled as she lowered the phone. The weight of the call settled over her like a storm about to break.

This was insane. Reckless.

But she was going.

Because for the first time in her life, someone had offered her a choice.

Midnight. The Black Orchid.

Alessandra had never walked into a room where she was invisible.

Until now.

The club was a world of its own—dark, intoxicating, laced with sin. The scent of whiskey and cigars clung to the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. Red velvet draped the walls, dim chandeliers casting shadows across the polished black floors.

Men in tailored suits lounged in the booths, their murmured words soaked in power. Women draped in silk and diamonds moved like ghosts between them, their laughter sharp, knowing.

No one spared her a glance.

She had dressed for anonymity—black silk that hugged her curves, a mask covering the upper half of her face.

A hand brushed against her lower back.

Alessandra stiffened, turning sharply—

And met his gaze.

Her breath caught.

The man from the call.

She knew it instantly.

He was seated in the farthest corner, half-hidden in the shadows. A man who didn't need the noise of the room to command attention—his presence did that effortlessly.

He was tall, devastatingly sharp. The light caught the angles of his face—strong jaw, high cheekbones, a slight stubble that made him look rugged yet refined. His suit was perfectly tailored, but there was something about the way he wore it—like it was a second skin rather than a luxury.

But it was his eyes that trapped her.

Storm gray. Cold. Calculating.

Eyes that had watched her before.

Eyes that had wanted her for far too long.

"Sit," he said.

The single word was a command.

Alessandra's throat tightened, but she moved.

As she lowered herself into the seat across from him, she forced her voice to remain steady. "You went through a lot of trouble to arrange this. You must be desperate."

His lips twitched, but the amusement never reached his eyes. "I don't do desperation."

"Then what do you want?"

He leaned forward slightly. "A deal."

Her pulse kicked up. "A deal?"

His gaze burned into hers.

"I want to offer you freedom."

Something in her chest clenched.

"Freedom from Luca," he continued. "From your mother. From the life they've trapped you in."

She swallowed.

This was madness.

This was dangerous.

And yet—

"Why would you do that?" she whispered.

His jaw flexed.

Then—so quietly she barely heard it—

"Because you were never meant to be his."

Her breath stalled.

The truth slammed into her, cold and suffocating.

This wasn't just about freeing her.

This was personal.

Alessandra's lips parted, her heart hammering against her ribs.

He had always been there. Watching. Waiting.

Luca Corsini's younger brother.

Matteo.

Her fiancé's brother.

And the man who had just offered to ruin everything for her.