The Fleeing Princess

I’m Isabella Russo, the mafia princess everyone loves to hate. Adrian Moretti—ice-cold underboss in a tailored suit—was sent to “discipline” me. I torched his villa, wrecked his meetings, even tried to make him lose control. At night, he did. Against glass, leather, marble—he taught me surrender and I hated how much I craved it. Then I learned the truth: Adrian was only a mask. His real name is Leon Moretti—heir to the empire and the fiancé promised to me since birth. It should have been a fairytale. Except my parents crowned a miracle sister who wasn’t a miracle at all. Elena slipped into my room, my heirloom, my future—and into his arms. When I was framed, caged in a walk-in freezer, whipped for a lie, he chose her. So I sold the engagement for $200M, left a single recording as proof, and vanished. By the time Leon becomes Don, he finally listens—to the tape that proves Elena’s an impostor… and to the echo of my footsteps leaving him for good. Now the most dangerous man in New York is done being careful. He’s hunting the woman he broke. Chapter 1 The first time I crossed paths with Adrian Moretti, I thought I could break him. Turns out, I was the one who shattered. He wasn’t just the cold, calculating underboss of the Russo crime family—he was the man my father assigned to “discipline” me, to smooth out my reckless edges. “He’s supposed to tame me?” I scoffed, eyeing the man in the tailored black suit, his expression carved from stone. “He looks like a goddamn accountant.” In our world, the Moretti family ruled the city’s underground. Adrian wasn’t just another soldier. He was the family’s most trusted enforcer—cold, precise, untouchable. And I, Isabella Russo, the spoiled mafia princess, was not about to take orders from him. So I fought him. On his first day, I set fire to his lavish villa, watching flames devour the marble walls and glass ceilings until the estate collapsed into ashes. He only looked at me once, his voice flat and merciless: “Send the bill to Miss Russo’s paycheck.” The next day, I switched his board presentation with a porn reel. He didn’t flinch. He recited the entire plan by memory and closed a multimillion-dollar deal, leaving the room in stunned silence. The third day, At a high-profile business gala, I slipped a powerful aphrodisiac into his drink, hoping he’d lose control and make a scene. But I was the one carried into a penthouse suite, ruined until my knees gave out under his brutal, relentless control. Everyone in New York whispered that Adrian was disciplined, untouchable—a gentleman in tailored suits. But only I knew the truth—at night, when his control snapped, he was fire and steel, merciless in the ways he made me surrender. The backseat of his Rolls. The mahogany table in the conference room. Against the glass window of his skyscraper office, the city burning below. I should have hated him. Instead, I craved him like a drug. Until the night I learned the truth. Adrian Moretti wasn’t just the Russo family’s enforcer. He’s true name is Leon Moretti—the heir to the entire empire. The man I was promised to since birth. The man I had hated, desired, and belonged to in every way—was the very heir I was supposed to marry. It should have been perfect. But my chest felt hollow. I dialed my father. My voice was steady, though my hand shook. “I’ll give the engagement to Elena,” I said. “But I have conditions.” On the other end, his voice lit up with joy. “Anything, Isabella. Just say it.” “I want two hundred million.” Silence. Then an outraged bark. “You’ll bankrupt us!” I laughed coldly. “Don’t play dumb. The Morettis offered three hundred. You’ll pocket a hundred, Elena gets the title of Mafia princess, and I disappear. That’s profit, not loss.” Silence again. Then, a sharp breath. “Deal.” But my mother’s voice cut in, wary, sharp as glass. “And how do we know you won’t change your mind?” The distrust sliced deeper than I expected. I forced my voice calm. “In two weeks, I’ll be gone. Out of the country. You’ll never see me again.” There was a pause. Then, quiet satisfaction on the other end. “Good girl.” I hung up, my chest burning. I once was the family’s little princess. Until they brought Elena home. Elena.——The daughter who had been stolen as a child, only to be found years later. Broken. Fragile. Perfect for their guilt to cling to. And me? The master bedroom my mother promised would one day be mine—given to her without a word. The family heirloom necklace, passed from daughter to daughter for generations—clasped around her throat as if I’d never been born. Even my place at the university abroad, the future I’d spent years preparing for—handed to her like it was nothing, while I was told to stay behind and be “grateful.” Whenever I protested, I was told: “She suffered so much, Isabella. You’ve had everything. Can’t you let her have this?” Piece by piece, I was hollowed out. Even the marriage contract my grandmother had signed with the Moretti family—mine since birth—was being stolen, handed to Elena like a prize. I’d smashed things, screamed, fought until my throat bled. But in the end, they had sent me away. To Adrian——To be broken, reshaped, “tamed.” And the cruelest part? It worked. Because against all reason, I had fallen for him. Not just for the man who pinned me against cold glass and whispered my name like a command. But for the man who shielded me from predators in the clubs. Who took bullets meant for me. Who carried me through five miles of mud after a landslide buried us alive on a trip up north. The man whose sharp, proud profile was burned into my soul. I loved him. God help me, I loved him. So when I planned to confess, I carried a gift to his study, my heart pounding. And then I heard his voice. “Leon, how long are you going to play this role? Pretending to be an underboss, working for scraps, when you’re the heir to everything?” A friend’s voice, mocking, carried through the crack in the door. Adrian’s reply was flat, cold. “Without Elena, I’d be dead. I owe her everything.” “You can’t be serious. You have Isabella. She’s your fiancée. The whole city thinks—” A low, humorless laugh cut him off. “She’s just a spoiled girl. Reckless. Immature. Not fit to be my wife.” The words drove through me like knives. I stood frozen, the gift box slipping from my hands, shattering on the floor. So that was the truth. The man I had given my body, my heart, my soul—his thoughts had always lingered on Elena. And me? I was nothing but a lesson. A distraction. A body to punish, to tame, to use. My throat closed. My chest burned. Adrian—Leon—whatever name he wore, he was never mine. And in that moment, I knew. Not only was I done with the engagement. I was done with him. Forever. My eyes burned red, tears clawing at me, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The bathroom door suddenly opened and Adrian came over. When he saw my eyes, he paused for a moment and asked, "My princess, why are you crying?" Chapter 2 His thumb dragged across my swollen lower lip, the gesture deceptively tender, voice rough velvet that curled around me like smoke. Beads of water slid down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the half-unbuttoned shirt clinging to his lean, hard frame. Power coiled beneath his casual elegance, a predator disguised in silk. I flinched, turned my face away. “Get the hell off me.” Adrian’s mouth tugged into the faintest smirk, as if my fury amused him. “Want me to carry you into the shower?” But before I could spit back a retort, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He killed the screen quickly, too quickly. I still caught a glimpse. [Adrian, it’s storming. I’m terrified. Please… come.] —Elena. My sister. His brows furrowed. Then his decision was instant, merciless. “Business. I have to go.” Coat over his shoulders, he was out the door before I could even stand. The slam of the door was drowned by a crack of thunder that rattled the windows. I froze, pulse spiking, nails digging into my palms. I hated storms. Once, I had buried myself in Adrian’s arms during a storm like this, shaking until dawn. I’d clung to him, desperate, ashamed of my fear. He’d only laughed softly, brushing a hand through my hair. “The mafia princess, scared of thunder? Don’t be dramatic.” But now—Elena whimpered over the same storm, and he ran to her without hesitation. Concern etched into every line of his face. Love and indifference. The contrast was brutal. Obvious. Another thunderclap split the night. I curled into myself on the bed, trembling so hard my teeth ached. Minutes later, my phone lit again. A photo. Adrian, the man who never broke composure even while taking me apart, sat with Elena wrapped in his arms, his jacket draped around her shoulders. He was stroking her hair, soothing her like she was something fragile and precious. His expression—God. I’d never seen that kind of tenderness. Not for me. I bit down so hard my lip split, then hurled the phone across the room. I didn’t sleep. By dawn I dragged myself into black jeans and a leather jacket, driving back to the Russo estate. Inside the marble dining hall, my father looked up from his espresso. His mouth twisted. “Out all night again, Isabella? You shame this family. Why can’t you be more like your sister? Graceful. Obedient.” I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Graceful? Maybe you should schedule an eye exam, Father. While you’re at it, get your heart checked too. Because you’re blind and empty both.” His hand slammed against the table, silverware rattling. “Watch your mouth!” “Don’t be angry, Papa,” a honey-sweet voice chimed behind me. Elena glided into the room like a saint, all smiles, and right beside her—Adrian. My Adrian. Carrying her coat, her handbag, her world. The man who left me shaking in the dark storm now stood beside her like the perfect gentleman, expression cool and unbothered. My mother beamed. “Adrian, darling, come join us. You must be starving.” “I came to update Don Russo on the project,” Adrian replied smoothly, but Elena tugged at his sleeve with a soft pout. “Papa, I’m starving.” And the Don, the feared head of the Russo family, transformed instantly into a doting fool. “Sit, cara. Eat. Maria, bring out Elena’s favorites.” I glanced at the table. The platters of cured meats, fresh bread, even the orange juice—it was all chosen for Elena’s taste. Mine, forgotten. As always. “Elena, darling, try the eggs,” my father urged. “I had them made just the way you like.” I let out a sharp laugh under my breath, the sound tasting like blood. My sister’s gaze flicked to me, all innocence. “Isabella, aren’t you eating?” Then, feigning thoughtfulness, she slid a glass of red wine toward me, her smile saccharine. “Have some. You’ll feel better.” “I don’t want it.” “Oh, come on. Just one sip.” “I said no.” My hand shoved the glass away. Elena’s wrist jerked—too convenient, too staged—and the cream of mushroom soup spilled, scalding, across my hand. I hissed as it burned the torn skin on my knuckles, but her shriek pierced louder. The glass shattered on the marble floor. “Elena!” My parents bolted from their seats, crowding around her, fussing over her hand, though she wasn’t even scratched. No one looked at me. At my bleeding hand. Instead, my father’s glare cut through me. “She was only trying to be kind, Isabella. How dare you lash out and hurt her?” My fists trembled at my sides. “I didn’t hurt her. I can’t even touch cream without breaking into a rash—you know that.” But they weren’t listening. They never listened. And across the table, Adrian stood silent, his gaze unreadable, Elena tucked safely under his arm. It hit me harder than the thunder ever could. In this family, I would always be the storm. Elena would always be the shelter. And Adrian… would never be mine. Chapter 3 “Papa, don’t be angry,” Elena’s voice floated across the dining hall, soft as honey. “Isabella didn’t mean it. She just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s all.” Her smile was angelic, her tone dripping with sympathy. But I’d known her long enough to hear the venom beneath it. When she first returned to the family—our long-lost, tragic dove—I pitied her. I was stupid enough to hand her my favorite teddy bear, thinking it might comfort her. I didn’t know then that this fragile little bird would one day sink her claws into everything I loved. It began with small things. She sent anonymous threatening messages to my teachers, making it seem like I had cheated. She hid my carefully prepared audition tape and claimed I’d simply misplaced it. She spread rumors online that I had stolen a friend’s scholarship, turning everyone against me. Once, she even faked a sprained ankle and insisted I had pushed her during gym class.And every time—every single time—my parents believed her. My protests became “excuses.” My anger, “jealousy.” My entire childhood was slowly rewritten as if I were the villain in her perfect tragedy. And now, she was at it again, painting herself as the saint. Papa’s fist slammed onto the table. His voice cracked like a whip. “You ruin breakfast with your temper, Isabella! Why can’t you be more like your sister? Gentle. Obedient.” The words sliced deeper than I expected, though I should have been used to it by now. Elena leaned closer to Mama, eyes glittering with satisfaction. From behind their wall of love and concern, she looked back at me with a flicker of triumph. I almost laughed. Once, I would have cried, begging them to listen. But not anymore. “You want to see temper?” My lips curved, sharp as broken glass. “This is temper.” I seized the silk-draped tablecloth and yanked. Crystal shattered. Plates crashed. Scarlet wine bled across the marble floor. The room froze. Papa’s roar shook the chandeliers. “Get out, Isabella! You’re nothing but a disgrace—” I laughed in his face, high heels snapping like gunshots against the marble as I walked away. Let them choke on their perfect picture of family. I was done. At least, I thought I was. I hadn’t made it past the courtyard when a hand clamped over my mouth. A sharp sting flooded my nose, my body buckling as the world tilted black. When I came to, my bones ached with cold. I was sprawled on the frozen concrete floor of the estate’s industrial walk-in freezer. From above came the muffled voice of one of Adrian’s men. “Orders from Mr. Moretti. Teach her a lesson. Make sure she remembers not to lay a finger on the elder daughter again.” The door slammed shut. The lock clicked. Ice spread through my chest. For Elena’s little “accident”—barely a mark on her wrist—Adrian had sentenced me to this? I hammered the door with my fists. “Let me out!” My voice cracked, then broke. Silence answered. Only the endless hum of the freezer. Darkness. Cold. The kind that seeps into your bones, into your soul. I curled into the corner, shaking so hard my teeth ached. But inside, I was colder than the air around me. Before my phone died, one last message slid across the screen. From Elena. A photo. Adrian. My Adrian. Carefully wrapping a bandage around her unmarked skin, his face softened into tenderness I’d never seen. His hand lingered, stroking her as if she were glass. The same man who once slipped his coat over my shoulders when I confessed I hated the cold. I thought that moment was ours. Mine. But it was nothing. An illusion. His tenderness was never for me. I laughed, raw and broken, as tears cut down my face, stinging in the cold. By the time the lock finally clicked and the freezer door swung open, my vision had blurred. A tall figure filled the doorway, dark and commanding. Adrian. Before I could move, he lifted me into his arms. “Put me down!” My voice was hoarse, but I thrashed against him anyway. His grip only tightened, his breath hot against my temple. “It’s over,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “I’m here now.” The lie burned colder than the ice. Chapter 4 The moment his words reached me, my chest tightened painfully. Once, I had been locked in a storage unit by a rival company. Everyone thought I’d been careless, but he had searched the city for me, found me, pulled me into his arms, and whispered words I thought I’d never forget— “It’s okay. I’m here.” Back then, I let myself believe he might care for me. That maybe he even loved me. But now? Now I knew better. He didn’t care. He never had. He punished me without even asking for the truth. He chose her—every damn time. “Don’t touch me!” I tried to break free, desperate, and when his grip only tightened, I sank my teeth into his hand until he cursed and let go. His face darkened, but instead of arguing, he simply started the car. When we reached his penthouse, he didn’t give me a choice. He scooped me up, carried me inside like I weighed nothing, and dropped me on the velvet couch. I shot to my feet, ready to scream, when he pressed a warm sandwich into my hands. “Eat,” he ordered flatly. “You’ve got work after this.” I shoved it away. “I don’t need your pity. Stay the hell away from me.” His lips curled into something between a smirk and a threat as he leaned close, one hand braced beside my head. “Stay away? Tell me, sweetheart—could you really?” The words sliced through me, because he was right. Once, I couldn’t. Once, I was his no matter how much it burned. But now? Now it only made me hate him more. I forced myself to look away, jaw clenched. For a long moment, he studied my face, then asked quietly, “Why didn’t you defend yourself today? You weren’t the one at fault.” My breath caught. He’d seen? But the bitter laugh tore from me before I could stop it. “What good would it do? No one believes me. They never have. And they never will.” “I would.” Two small words. Soft. Steady. Like a promise. I froze, but then the reality came crashing back, cold and merciless. His version of “believing me” was throwing me into a freezing hell for something I hadn’t done. His belief was worth nothing. Then came the blade that twisted deeper: “But Elena is still your sister. She’s kind. Gentle. Why do you hold such hatred for her?” I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “Stay out of my life.” Shoving him back, I stormed upstairs and slammed the door. He didn’t follow. Not that day. Instead, it was Elena who came slithering into my phone screen with her texts and photos. He walked her through the bustling art fair, pointing out details I had once described to him first. Later, they ducked into a quiet café, leaning close over steaming cups, his laughter soft and intimate. By the time they stepped outside, the autumn breeze had him draping his scarf around her shoulders. Every gesture, every glance, every small touch—I had imagined them with me, not her. He had never done any of that for me. Not once. I curled under the blanket, clutching my phone so hard it hurt. My flight was already booked. Just two more weeks. Two weeks and I’d be free of this nightmare. The next morning, I left early, nerves raw. Today was everything. My thesis defense. My chance to prove myself. But the universe wasn’t done with me. He was waiting by the car. “Get in.” I turned away. “I’ll walk.” His hand closed around my arm, shoving me into the seat with a strength that made my bones ache. “You want me to drag you in front of everyone and make you late?” The threat was real, sharp as glass. I sat still, heart hammering. I couldn’t afford to be late today. Not when I’d poured blood and sleepless nights into this work. But fate was cruel. When it was finally my turn, I froze. Because Elena was standing at the podium before me, smiling sweetly, her slides glowing across the giant screen. And they weren’t just similar to mine. They were mine. My research. My analysis. My words. Everything I had worked for, stolen and displayed as hers. “This thesis,” she said brightly, “is the product of years of effort. I am honored to present it—” “Stop!” My voice cracked through the silence. I shot to my feet, fury shaking every nerve. “That’s my thesis. She plagiarized me!” Gasps rippled across the hall. Elena turned, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Isabella… what are you saying? This is my work. You can’t accuse me without proof.” “You lying snake!” My chest burned as I spun toward him—toward the only man who knew the truth. He’d seen me draft it. He’d given me notes. He knew. But his face was blank, voice cool and condemning. “Isabella, this isn’t the time. Don’t cause a scene.” My world collapsed with those words. He silenced me. For her. Again. Whispers broke out behind me. “She’s always been arrogant.” “Typical. Trying to steal credit when she has none.” “Thank god the elder sister is here to save the family’s name.” Elena’s gaze locked with mine, a flash of triumph glittering there as she turned back to the committee. “Shall we continue?” Something inside me snapped. I walked forward, calm as ice. Lifted a glass of water from the desk. And before anyone could stop me, I slammed it down on her laptop. Water exploded across the table. Gasps filled the hall. Chapter 5 The crash of the water on Elena’s laptop silenced the entire hall. She let out a sharp scream and stumbled straight into Adrian’s arms. “Adrian, I—I’m scared…” He pulled her close instantly, his hand stroking her shoulder, eyes snapping to me like shards of ice. “Isabella Russo,” he said, voice hard as steel, “I told you to sit down and let her continue. If you keep this up, don’t blame me for what happens next.” My chest constricted. He never called me by my full name—unless he meant to wound. But instead of cowering, I laughed, the sound bitter. “You said this thesis was yours, didn’t you, Elena? Then prove it. If you really wrote it, you should be able to present every detail without your precious laptop.” Color drained from her face, but she clutched Adrian’s sleeve with trembling fingers. “There’s too much data, I… I can’t remember it all…” “Then let me help refresh your memory.” I turned toward the committee, my voice clear and steady. “First section: a summary of the migration patterns recorded across the North American and Southeast Asian regions…” Pages rustled. Professors bent over their copies of the thesis. “Second section: detailed genetic sequencing results. Sample population—1,193. Success rate—92.4 percent. Anomalies catalogued—forty-nine. The full statistical variance ratio is exactly 2.39155622…” Gasps echoed around the room as I continued, laying out line after line of figures, each one a perfect match. By the time I finished, the room was silent. Even those who’d sneered at me earlier now looked at me with something like respect. And Elena? She was pale, trembling, eyes darting wildly as if searching for an escape. “So,” I said coolly, turning back to her, “now that everyone knows exactly whose research this is, maybe you’d like to explain yourself, thief.” Her knees nearly buckled. But before she could speak, Adrian was on his feet, slipping an arm around her to hold her steady. His glare cut through me like a blade. “Isabella, enough. You’ve disrupted this defense long enough. Security—remove her.” My nails dug into my palms until blood threatened to break skin. “What? I was defending my work! I’m the one whose thesis was stolen, and you’re throwing me out?” “Take her out.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Miss Russo, please don’t make this harder,” the guard muttered, stepping toward me. “Don’t touch me!” I snapped, wrenching free, tears burning in my eyes as I glared at Adrian. “You bastard. You can’t even tell right from wrong!” But he didn’t even look at me. His only concern was the trembling woman clinging to him. And the triumphant spark in Elena’s eyes as I was dragged away pierced me deeper than any blade. I laughed then. Low. Broken. My vision blurred. “Fine. I’ll leave myself.” My ankle twisted as the guard released me, pain lancing through my leg, but I forced my spine straight, chin high, and walked out one step at a time. Straight into his office. I yanked the stack of magazines off the shelf, sending them tumbling across the floor with a loud crash. Papers scattered, coffee mugs teetered and clattered to the ground. My hands trembled, chest heaving, as I kicked at the pile, each thud echoing my frustration. I collapsed into the only untouched armchair, hair disheveled, cheeks burning. When Adrian finally entered, his expression didn’t change—not a flicker of surprise. Just that faint, almost indulgent shake of the head he reserved for children throwing tantrums. He closed the door behind him with infuriating calm. “Feel better now, princess?” I lifted my eyes to his, a cold smile tugging at my lips. “What’s wrong? Not running back to comfort the thief who stole my research?” “She’s your sister,” he said sharply, jaw tight. “Do you have to be so vicious? Even if she made mistakes, you didn’t need to humiliate her in front of everyone.” I laughed, bitter and raw. “And you didn’t need to protect her while letting them spit on me.” “You’re a grown woman, Isabella. Control your temper. Stop acting like a child.” My stomach turned. God, how had I ever loved this man? But it didn’t matter anymore. Not for long. My phone buzzed on the table. A new notification lit up the screen before I could stop it. [Your flight has been confirmed. Please find attached your ticket and seat number.] My heart lurched. I reached for it too late. His eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a lethal chill. “Flight? What flight? Where the hell are you going?” Chapter 6 “None of your business.” I reached for my phone, but Adrian was faster. His hand snatched it out of mine with the speed of a predator. “Give it back!” I lunged for it, but he caught my wrist, his grip tightening until I winced. “Let go!” “Tell me the truth. That ticket you booked—where are you running off to?” His dark eyes burned into me like gunmetal. I raised my chin. “The Maldives. With a male escort. Satisfied?” The silence that followed was brief and lethal. Adrian’s jaw flexed; his laugh was sharp and hollow. “A male escort? Cute. I see I’ve been far too lenient with you.” Dread surged through me. I turned to bolt, but he dragged me back, slamming me against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of his office. “Adrian!” Panic cut through my voice as his fingers slid down the back of my dress, tugging at the zipper with brutal precision. Cool air hit my skin. “You’ve lost your mind—this is your office—” “So what?” His mouth brushed my ear, voice low, dangerous. “Not the first time.” Pinned between him and the glass, my pulse raced like a trapped bird. The city stretched out beyond us, the skyline glittering. Anyone could look up and see silhouettes—my silhouette. “Stop!” I gasped, fighting his hold, nails pressing into his arm. But he wasn’t aiming for gentleness. He pressed harder, keeping me caged, his lips trailing heat down my neck. His dominance was suffocating, but laced with a brutal kind of desire. “Adrian, someone will see us!” “That’s the point,” he murmured against my skin, his breath scorching. “You provoke me, you take the punishment.” His hands forced me to surrender inch by inch, stripping away the illusion of control I clung to. I fought not to make a sound, biting my lip until I tasted blood. But he knew exactly how to break me. My body betrayed me, arching against the cold glass, nails scraping down in helpless resistance. The sound made my stomach twist in humiliation. Outside, people moved through the corridor—shadows, blurs. Did they see? Did they know? Tears blurred my vision. My heart cracked with something sharper than fear. Why? Why was Elena treated like a jewel to be polished, protected… while I was nothing but a pawn to be disciplined, humiliated, used? The answer was in his merciless grip, the heat of his mouth, the way he claimed me until I shattered. My strength drained away. When my knees buckled, he caught me easily, pulling the zipper back up with one swift motion. “Relax,” Adrian whispered, softer now. “The glass is one-way. Soundproof. No one saw. No one heard.” The sting of his words was worse than the act. Crack! My palm struck his cheek, sharp and furious. My voice trembled with rage, eyes brimming red. “You’re a bastard, Adrian Moretti!” I staggered toward the door, legs weak, pride in tatters. He didn’t stop me this time. Thank God he didn’t push about the ticket. If he had, with his obsession for control, I knew he’d have gone even further. Clutching my phone like a lifeline, I stepped onto the street, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But there she was—Elena—leaning casually against a sleek, cherry-red sports car, keys twirling around her manicured fingers. “Look what Adrian got me,” she said, voice sweet but sharp, eyes glinting. “Limited edition. Only one in the world.” My stomach churned. “Want a ride, sis?” she purred, stepping closer, her perfume sharp and suffocating in the cold air. I forced a humorless laugh. “No thanks. I can’t stand the smell of desperation.” Her mask snapped. Sweetness twisted into venom. “You think words can save you? Soon enough, everyone will see the real you—worthless.” I spat back, fury blazing. “Perfect. That family deserves someone just like you.” Her eyes flared. She grabbed my arm. “Say that again—I dare you!” A sudden screech of tires made us both jump. A car, out of control, skidded toward us, metal grinding against asphalt. Elena froze, a scream tearing from her throat. My heart lurched—I lunged instinctively—but everything slowed as chaos swallowed the street. And then—I saw him. Adrian, sprinting across the asphalt, eyes wide with urgency. But not toward me. His arms wrapped around Elena, yanking her out of the car’s path just in time. The car slammed down where I had been standing. Pain exploded through me as I stumbled back, skidding across the pavement, scraped and bruised. My chest heaved. I barely breathed as the vehicle’s echoing crash faded. Adrian held her close, his face taut with worry—for her alone. Not once did his gaze flick toward me. And all I could do was watch, frozen in disbelief. Elena’s lips curved into a victorious smile over his shoulder. She didn’t need words. Her expression said it all. See? You’ve lost again. A broken laugh slipped past my lips, tangled with tears and blood. The taste of iron and betrayal filled my mouth as the darkness closed in. And then—I let go. Chapter 7 The first thing I registered when I opened my eyes was silence. I was alive—but barely. My body ached, seared with pain, as if every rib had been splintered. The room was empty, sterile, lonely. From the hall outside, I heard whispers. “That man… God, he’s gorgeous. The way he hovered over his girlfriend, so tender, so protective…” “I know. And for just a sprained ankle, too. Her parents won’t leave her side. Meanwhile, this poor girl in here—broken, bleeding—and not a soul visits her.” The words sliced me open more cruelly than the chandelier had. I yanked the IV from my arm and dragged myself down the corridor, clinging to the wall. At the VIP ward, I stopped cold. Behind the glass doors, Adrian sat by Elena’s bed, adjusting her pillows, murmuring soft questions. My father poured her water, blowing gently before holding the glass to her lips. My mother dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, cooing like she was the crown jewel of the family. Elena pouted, smiled, let them adore her. The sight stole my breath. The pain in my chest was sharper than any broken bone. I told myself not to cry. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears down. No one here would care. No one ever had. When Adrian finally came to me later, he looked worn, shadows bruising his eyes. “Are you in pain?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking over me with unusual tension. If this had been before, I might have demanded why he saved her instead of me. Screamed, begged, clawed at him until I got an answer. But now—I turned my face away. Silent. He frowned, mistaking my stillness for exhaustion. He said nothing else. For days, he lingered, postponing business to sit in my room. But I stayed quiet. Ate when told. Slept when I could. Waited. Waited for my chance to leave. Three days before my discharge, I stepped out onto the balcony, craving air. That’s when I heard it. Elena’s voice. Sweet and low, drifting around the corner. “…Don’t worry. They treat me like a princess now. They’ll never figure it out. The real Elena’s been dead for years…” My blood ran cold——Her words mean she's not my sister? She's an impostor! I turned the corner, rage igniting every nerve. She froze, phone still in her hand. Then her eyes narrowed, a flash of calculation behind them. “What are you doing here?” “You—” My vision blurred red. “You impostor. You’re not Elena. You’re a fucking fraud!” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “So what if I am? You found out—good. Then let’s make this interesting.” Before I could move, her voice rose, shrill, rehearsed. “Sister, I only came to check on you! Why would you—No, don’t hit me—ah!” And with a theatrical gasp, she hurled herself down the stairwell. The sickening thud of her body hitting the marble floor below echoed through the ward. Gasps filled the hall. Heads turned—toward me. I froze. My father’s and mother’s eyes burned into mine, blazing with fury. “Adrian!” my mother screamed. He was already there, scooping Elena into his arms like she was made of porcelain. His gaze met mine over her trembling body—cold as a blade. I staggered back. “No—she’s lying! She’s not my sister!” My voice shook, raw with desperation. “She’s a fraud—an impostor—” “Shut up!” My father’s roar cut me off. The whispers from the family’s soldiers around us were sharp as knives: “Christ, she tried to kill her own sister.” “How vicious can one woman be?” “She’s unhinged. Ungrateful. Needs to be taught a lesson.” “Bring the whip,” my father ordered, voice shaking with rage. “Restrain her.” Hands grabbed me, rough, unyielding. I fought, kicked, screamed. “Let me go! Listen to me—she’s not Elena! She’s not—” No one listened. Every pair of eyes around me glared with contempt. Every word was poison, every whisper a knife carving deeper into my already-broken heart. And Adrian—he walked away with her in his arms. Without a single glance back. Chapter 8 The crack of the whip split the air. Pain lanced through my back, searing fire into my flesh. “Isabella Russo!” My father’s roar shook the chamber. “Not only do you defy this family, you dared to lay hands on your sister—and now you dare to accuse her of being an impostor? Admit your sins!” “I’m not wrong!” My voice was hoarse, raw. Blood filled my mouth as I bit down hard on my lip. “She isn’t Elena. She’s a fraud, and you’re too blind to see it—even your own daughter you can’t recognize!” Another strike. My knees buckled, but I refused to scream. Refused to give them that satisfaction. The soldiers circled, eyes like wolves waiting for me to break. Whip after whip, the leather tore my skin, hot blood soaking through my dress. I swayed, shuddering, until finally—on the last blow—the whip snapped in two. I collapsed onto the marble floor, vision swimming. And through the haze, I saw him. Adrian. For one fragile second, my heart lurched. Some pathetic, dying part of me thought—maybe, like before, he’d pull me into his arms. Whisper against my ear: It’s alright. I’ve got you. But his face was carved from ice. “You never learn, do you, Isabella?” The words pierced deeper than any lash. A broken laugh tore from my throat, jagged as glass. Tears spilled hot and bitter. “Yes. I never learn. So what is it now, Moretti? Another lesson in obedience? Another night of your punishment?” His jaw flexed, then he shut his eyes as if to sever whatever tether remained between us. “I can’t teach you anymore,” he said at last, voice cold enough to kill. “Take her to the cells. Three days. Don’t hold back.” The family’s enforcers dragged me away. The next seventy-two hours were hell carved into flesh. The cell stank of rot and damp. They beat me until I could no longer stand, cursed me until my ears rang. Salt and alcohol poured into my wounds, fire searing my nerves. “Boss said to break her,” one sneered, slamming his boot into my ribs. “Break the wild out of her.” I curled on the concrete, trembling, biting my lip until I tasted iron. Each hour was another betrayal. Another confirmation that Adrian had condemned me. By the time they threw me out, I was half-dead, skin fevered from infection, body barely holding together. He stood waiting at the exit. Immaculate suit, emotionless gaze. “Have you learned your lesson?” His voice was quiet, too quiet. I stared back, silent. My throat refused to shape words. His brows furrowed. For a flicker of a moment, something human cracked through his mask. He lowered his tone. “Isabella… sending you there wasn’t to destroy you. It was to—” “Sir, the car is ready. You’ll miss the meeting.” His assistant cut him off. Adrian hesitated, eyes locked on me. Then he exhaled sharply, turning away. “Take her to the hospital. We’ll speak later.” And just like that, he was gone. Hours later, my phone buzzed. 【Account credited: $200,000,000】 Seconds later, my father’s voice, venomous and sharp: “You’d better keep your word. Leave this city. Leave this family. Forever.” A hollow laugh broke from my lips. “Don’t worry. I won’t come back.” I hung up. By nightfall, I slipped past the guards, dragging my battered suitcase. At the airport, I discarded my phone, the SIM card snapping in two before I tossed it into the trash. But before I left, I set a small box on Elena’s vanity. Inside—an audio recording. My final gift. My proof. Then I walked away. Head high. Spine straight despite the agony tearing me apart. For the first time in my life, I belonged to no one but myself. The future stretched before me—wide, dangerous, mine. And I swore: never again would anyone hold my leash. ####CHAPTER-NAME: Chapter 9 The plane cut through the night sky, disappearing into the clouds. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the endless blue fade into white. My teeth sank into my lip so hard I tasted blood—anything to keep myself from collapsing. The wounds across my back burned like fire, warm blood seeping through my shirt. Every heartbeat was a knife. Just hold on. Just a little longer. Once I landed, once my feet touched foreign soil… I would finally be free. When the plane landed, freedom tasted like dust and iron. Every step outside the airport felt like dragging chains behind me. My legs trembled, but I forced them forward. Then came the scream of tires. A black sports car swerved, stopping inches from where I stood. I didn’t even have time to raise my head before the world tilted and went dark. Thousands of miles away, Adrian Moretti sat in the back of a limousine, the glow of the city lights bleeding across the glass. Out of nowhere, his chest tightened, his pulse stumbling. For the first time in years, his control slipped. Like something precious had just slipped through his fingers. “Boss? Are you all right?” his driver asked, glancing in the mirror. Adrian’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. Three days later, the boardroom erupted in applause. The last signatures were signed, the last obstacles removed. After six years of silent war, Adrian Moretti had eliminated every rival and claimed the throne of the Moretti empire. “Congratulations, Don Moretti,” an elder capo toasted. “You’ve outplayed them all.” Adrian raised his glass, lips curving in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Victory should have felt intoxicating. Instead, the crystal glass in his hand caught the candlelight, a deep red glow shimmering within—like blood, like the curve of a woman’s lips. Like her. Isabella Russo. Reckless, stubborn, impossibly alive. He blinked, and all he could see was her stumbling out of that cell—skin pale as death, body broken, but eyes still blazing with defiance. The memory hollowed him out. His grip tightened around the glass until his knuckles whitened. Later that night, alone in his penthouse, Adrian unlocked his phone. Dozens of messages blinked across the screen—updates from his men, pointless congratulations, even notes from her sister. He ignored them all. His thumb hovered over one name. Isabella . The message thread was empty. Not a word from her in days. The last time she’d texted him was weeks ago. His brows drew together—Still sulking? He hit call. Silence. Then the sterile voice of an operator: The number you dialed has been disconnected. For a moment, Adrian froze. Then memory ambushed him—Isabella curled against his chest, stealing his warmth like a mischievous cat, her hair tangled across his throat, her breath feathering over his skin. He could almost feel her there, until his body betrayed him with a sharp ache of longing. He swore under his breath and poured himself another drink. “Boss,” his lieutenant approached cautiously, “we’ve dealt with the Russos. The old man won’t be raising a hand against Isabella again.” Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Good.” His voice was ice. “They thought they could lay a hand on what’s mine? They’ll learn their place.” They’ll never know—he thought, the cold edge in his chest softening only in the shadows. Back when she was locked in the walk-in freezer, he sent men to teach her father a lesson—make him understand how to treat his daughter. He swore he wouldn’t raise a hand again. Yet they still dared… in the hospital, whipping her back until it was raw, letting the guards punish her while I had only sent Isabella to cell to reflect on her own actions. All the protection he’ve arranged, every hand he’ve quietly guided, no one sees it. She suffers, they suffer, and yet no one knows who pulled the strings to keep it from being worse. Every shadowed move, every silent warning, all for her, and she’ll never know. The man hesitated. “Forgive me for asking, but… isn’t it Isabella’s sister you’ve always been loving? That’s what everyone believes.” Adrian’s gaze lifted, sharp and merciless. “Did I ever say that?” “Then… why—” “Repayment,” Adrian cut him off, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “A debt owed is not the same as love.” He downed the drink in one swallow, but the taste only burned. Because the truth—the truth he hadn’t admitted even to himself—was that every move, every war, every victory had always circled back to her. And now, she was gone.