The mansion felt unusually quiet that evening. The remnants of sunlight cast long shadows across the polished floors, but Luca barely noticed. His mind had refused to rest.
He needed to see her. To hear her voice. Just for a moment.
That was all he told himself as he made his way to Sophia's room.
But when he arrived, the room was empty.
At first, irritation prickled at him, but then something caught his attention.
Her belongings were scattered across the bed—clothes, trinkets, small notebooks, and other personal items. His fingers grazed over them, not out of curiosity, but out of possession, a subtle claim that made the pulse in his veins quicken.
And then—
A half-opened bag was tucked beneath the pile of clothes. He reached down and pulled it out carefully.
Inside, he felt something that made his breath catch.
A photograph.
His photograph.
Taken when he was in his early twenties, sharp jawline, dark eyes that had already learned to command respect—and command fear. The edges of the photograph were torn, and the surface was smudged, as if someone had traced their fingers over it countless times.
Beneath it lay a diary. Her diary
His fingers trembled slightly as he opened it, flipping through pages filled with her handwriting. The ink varied in shades, from soft pencil to dark pen, as if her younger self had spent hours pouring thoughts onto the paper. And everywhere he looked, there was his name.
His name. Written over and over.
On several pages, her name appeared alongside his, joined as if in some secret vow, some whispered fantasy of a child longing for someone she could never have.
Luca's jaw tightened, his grip on the diary firm. A slow, dangerous smirk curved on his lips.
She had been thinking about him. Obsessed with him. While he had spent years resenting her presence in the family, hating her as the orphan who had been plucked into his life… she had wanted him.
And the knowledge was intoxicating.
Every careful thought, every memory of disdain, every calculated step he had taken to keep her at a distance—it all burned away, replaced by a single, consuming desire.
He didn't believe in love. Never had. Never would.
But he could claim her. He could make her his.
Every nerve in his body screamed that he would.
⸻
Then—
The door clicked open.
Sophia.
She stopped dead, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.
His dark gaze was fixed on the diary in his hand.
The photograph and the pages of her secret thoughts—the proof of years she had hidden, of feelings she had never confessed and probably never would.
Her breath caught.
And in that moment, the room seemed to shrink around them.
Sophia's mind raced, fear and realization twisting inside her.
Luca looked up slowly, the smirk never leaving his face. His eyes, dark and unyielding, met hers.
And just like that, the balance of power in the room shifted irrevocably.