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.

“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.

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.