02

Two years ago, everything in my life seemed perfect. My father, a visionary entrepreneur, had built a small empire in the technology sector. He was my hero, and I didn’t just admire him—I worked alongside him. Our company, Duarte Innovations, was our pride, a family legacy he promised to pass down to me.

Then, Dante Castelli entered the picture.

His name started circulating in the markets we frequented, like a silent storm no one could ignore. He was young, ruthless, and possessed a predatory vision for business. It didn’t take long for him to notice our company. At first, it seemed like Dante wanted to collaborate. He made an offer: a partnership that promised to take Duarte Innovations to the next level.

My father hesitated, but Dante was persuasive. He invited me to meetings, business dinners, and always treated me with a charm that bordered on irresistible. I was young and naive, fascinated by this man who seemed so sure of himself. My father trusted me, and without realizing it, I ended up helping Dante get exactly what he wanted: access to the secrets and strategies that kept our company competitive.

I thought he was on our side. I thought, maybe, he even cared about me beyond business. But then he revealed who he really was.

With one single move, Dante undid everything we had built. He used the information he obtained through the partnership to outmaneuver us, stealing our biggest clients and undermining the market’s trust in Duarte Innovations. In less than a year, my father lost everything—the company, the contracts, and even the house I grew up in.

And Dante? He simply moved on, growing his empire even further as we fell to ruins.

The image of my father, head bowed and defeated, never left my mind. He was a strong man, but this broke him in a way I never thought possible. It was like watching someone die slowly, one piece at a time.

I never told him about my closeness to Dante. Nor about the confusing feelings that, back then, I didn’t know how to name. My father already carried the weight of failure, and the last thing I wanted was to add guilt to his burden.

And now, two years later, here I was, back in Dante Castelli’s orbit.

The memories consumed me as I walked down the sidewalk, the cold night wind biting at my face. The city streets were bustling, but everything felt distant, as though I were trapped inside my own mind.

Going back to work for him wasn’t a choice I made willingly. After leaving my father’s company, I tried to start fresh. I worked at small law firms, took on tough cases, and built a reputation as someone who solved problems. But the business world is small, and Dante’s name seemed to follow me like a shadow.

When the offer to work on his case came, I immediately turned it down. But the circumstances weren’t in my favor. My last client paid me late, my rent was overdue, and I knew another opportunity like this might not come for months. I needed the money—and the job.

But I also needed something else: closure.

I knew Dante wasn’t the kind of man to admit his mistakes, let alone apologize. He probably didn’t even see what he did as wrong. To him, business was business. But, if I was honest with myself, maybe this was my chance to prove to him—and to myself—that I wasn’t the naive girl he once deceived.

Back at my apartment, I tossed my bag onto the sofa and collapsed into the dining chair. The small space I called home was far from the luxury I had known in the past, but it was mine. And after everything I had been through, that meant a lot.

I opened my laptop and began reviewing the documents Dante had shared during the meeting. The case was complex but fascinating. He was being accused of involvement in a corruption scheme tied to public bids. If convicted, he could lose a significant portion of his fortune—and, more importantly, his reputation.

On one hand, working on this case put me in a position of power. I knew Dante needed me, and that was something I never thought I’d experience. But, on the other hand, being close to him meant reopening old wounds, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with that.

The next morning, as I got ready for work, a thought struck me like lightning: what if he knew how much his presence still affected me? Dante had always been good at reading people. He knew how to use weaknesses to his advantage, turning insecurities into weapons.

“Not this time,” I whispered to myself, staring at the mirror. “You’re not giving him that power again.”

I put on a blazer that made me feel strong and a pair of heels that echoed confidently with every step, a reminder that I was still in control.

When I arrived at the office, Dante was already there, as always, impeccable and in command. But this time, there was something different in his eyes.

“You’re punctual today,” he commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I hope it was worth it,” I replied with a small smile.

By the end of that evening, all I wanted was to get as far away from Dante Castelli as possible. Working alongside him was exhausting enough, but the way he looked at me, as if he had every right to know exactly what I was thinking, made me want to run.

The rain was heavy when he insisted on driving me home. “Do you really think I’m going to let you walk in this weather?” he said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone I always found impossible to ignore.

“I can handle myself, thanks,” I retorted, but he simply opened the car door, gesturing for me to get in.

I accepted, more to end the discussion than for any other reason. The idea of walking through the downpour wasn’t exactly appealing.

The rain hammered against the car roof, filling the tense silence between us. Dante drove as he always did: with absolute control, his fingers relaxed on the wheel, his eyes sharp on the road. He seemed immune to the storm, while I felt suffocated by the weight of the past.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m tired,” I replied without looking at him.

“Or maybe you’re avoiding a conversation we both know needs to happen.”

I turned to him, irritated. “Not everything has to be a battle, Dante.”

“With you, it seems like it always is.” He shot me a quick glance, and I caught a flicker of something—exasperation? Amusement?

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. “If you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, I’m perfectly fine with silence.”

“Important?” He chuckled softly, a sound that only made me more tense. “Everything with me is important, Olivia. You should know that by now.”

“Arrogant as ever.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he shot back without missing a beat.

For a moment, only the sound of rain surrounded us again. But something in the air between us seemed to be building, like a storm about to break.

When he finally parked in front of my building, he turned off the engine but didn’t make any move to let me leave. Instead, he turned to face me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach tighten.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” he said, his voice low.

“Understand what, Dante?” I asked, frustrated.

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Things… aren’t always what you think they are.”

“That’s what you say to justify the things you’ve done?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying me. “You’ve always been quick to judge.”

“And you’ve always been good at avoiding direct answers.”

He chuckled again, but there was no humor in his face. “Olivia, you have no idea what really happened. Not truly.”

My anger flared, hot and fast. “If you have something to say, just say it. Stop playing games.”

“Maybe you’re not ready to hear it.”

My breath caught, and something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine. “You can’t just throw insinuations and expect me to stay silent, Dante.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with something internally. Finally, he said, “There’s more to this story than you realize. But maybe it’s better to leave the past where it is.”

I froze, my mind racing as I tried to process what he was hinting at. He knew something. Something he wasn’t willing to share.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, grabbing my bag.

Before I could leave the car, he grabbed my wrist, his hand warm against my cold skin. “Olivia, just… be careful about what you think you know.”

I pulled my arm free, ignoring the strange feeling his words left behind. “Good night, Dante.”

I stepped out of the car before he could say anything else, but the sound of his voice echoed in my mind as I walked toward my building.

“Be careful about what you think you know.”

Those words stayed with me all night as I stared at the ceiling of my apartment, unable to sleep. What did he know? Why wouldn’t he just say it? And, more importantly, why did I still care?

I hated Dante Castelli. But I hated even more that he could still mess with my mind and heart so easily.