‧₊˚:🦢🪽⋅𝜗𝜚𓂃
In the opulent world of Rome's elite, Angel Ambrioso is a vision of perfection-beautiful, kind, and untouchable. With a powerful family, an adoring boyfriend, and the envy of her peers, she seems to have it all. But beneath her flawl...
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The first day without Vitto at school felt like a strange, disorienting dream. Angel moved through the day in a haze, going through the motions of her classes and trying to focus on her friends, but there was a heaviness in her chest that she couldn't shake. Every classroom felt colder, every hallway a little more empty. Even the laughter and chatter of her usual group of friends sounded distant, like she was hearing it through a fog.
Camilla, ever perceptive, nudged her playfully during lunch, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, Angel, you can't be mopey all day. You still have me and Virginia, even the boys, and besides, he'll be back before you know it."
Angel forced a smile, nodding along, though the reassurance didn't quite reach her heart. She stirred the food on her plate absentmindedly, thoughts drifting back to Vitto—what he was doing, how much she already missed his presence beside her. She clung to her routine, hoping it would distract her, but as the day dragged on, the emptiness only grew, weighing on her like a leaden blanket.
When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Angel was almost relieved. The monotony of the day had worn her down, and she felt drained, as if a part of her had been hollowed out. She headed to the tennis courts for her lesson, hoping that the physical activity would help clear her mind. The private school she attended had everything—a fully equipped gym, an Olympic-sized pool, and, of course, immaculate tennis courts. Sports had always been her escape, a way to burn off the stress of her otherwise perfect life.
Mr. Ricci, her tennis coach, was waiting for her on the court when she arrived. He was young, maybe six years older than her, with a lean, athletic build and an easygoing demeanor that made him popular with the students. But lately, Angel had noticed something different in the way he looked at her—something that made her feel uneasy, a tension she couldn't quite define.
"Ready to get started?" Mr. Ricci asked, flashing her a broad smile as she approached.
"Yeah, let's do it," Angel replied, trying to keep her tone light. She picked up her racket and began their usual warm-up drills, focusing on her footwork and strokes. She pushed herself harder than usual, hoping that the familiar rhythm of the game would drown out the nagging thoughts in her head.
As they moved through the first set, Mr. Ricci offered pointers here and there, his voice calm and measured. But as the lesson progressed, Angel couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were lingering on her a little too long, following her every movement with an intensity that made her skin crawl. She tried to ignore it, focusing on her form and the sound of the ball against her racket, but the unease persisted, growing with each passing moment.
