𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
I never thought my world would crumble at the hands of a man like Alessandro Rossi-a 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 draped in silk suits and ruthlessness. One moment, I was Yasenia Fraga, daughter of the...
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Rage roared through me, growing stronger with each beat of my heart. It felt like a weight crushing my chest, making it impossible to think straight, impossible to breathe. The pain was suffocating, unbearable. Neither my father nor Miguel deserved this, least of all from me.
The door swung open and Alessandro walked in. Just seeing him made my blood boil, my fists clenching instinctively. Every muscle in my body screamed to lash out at him, to let loose the fury I'd been forcing down, but I bit my tongue, knowing that any word I said would only feed his. He, of course, lacked that sense of restraint.
He moved closer, his presence filling the room with that ice-cold arrogance I'd grown to despise. "I thought your father would be happy for you," he sneered. The smirk on his face was cruel, mocking. "I guess I was wrong."
His words were like a slap, sending a wave of pure rage crashing over me, blurring my vision for a second. How dare he? How dare he mock the one person who meant everything to me? I shot up from the bed, squaring up to him. "Don't talk about my father! Don't you dare talk about my father!" I shouted furiously. "You don't know a damn thing about him or the love we have! You made me hurt him. You made me break his heart. I will never forgive you for that, Alessandro Rossi!"
His cold eyes stared back at me without a hint of remorse. "You made your bed," he shot back callously, pushing my guilt even further, "and now, you'll lie in it."
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. There was no reasoning with him, no way to get through to whatever shred of humanity he might've had left. My frustration boiled over, spilling into a trembling voice. "You're not even human. You—" I swallowed hard, disgust rolling through me. "You make me sick."
His hand shot out and grabbed my arm, his grip like a vice. Pain radiated from where his fingers dug into my skin, and the twisted satisfaction in his eyes made my blood run cold. "Let go of me!" I hissed, pulling back, trying to pry his hand off. "You're hurting me!"
A slow, sadistic smile curled his lips. "Good," he whispered, his voice dark and slow. "Pain keeps you sharp. Pain makes sure you don't forget."
For a moment, he held on tighter, relishing my struggle, before finally letting go. I stumbled back, falling onto the bed. Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to cry in front of him again. I hated myself for being this weak, hated that he made me feel so powerless.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull something from his pocket and toss it onto the nightstand, but I couldn't muster the strength to care.
"Here." He tossed my phone onto the nightstand. "Call whoever you want-your little friend or your father. But remember..." His eyes gleamed with that dark, threatening undertone. "I'll know if you say anything I don't like."
I turned my face away from him, unable to stand the sight of his smug expression. But that only pissed him off more.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice sharp and low. "When I talk to you, you look at me."
