Matteo, Leonardo, and Alessandro, the powerful owners of De Angeli Enterprises, are in their early thirties and have built a fearsome reputation worldwide. Known for their ruthlessness and ambition, these men have amassed wealth and influence by tak...
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The room was warm, cozy even, with its soft carpet underfoot and plush chairs scattered about. Rolls of fabric in every imaginable color and texture lined the walls, creating an almost magical ambiance. Despite the inviting surroundings, Yulia couldn't shake the discomfort crawling up her spine. It wasn't the room itself but the sharp, discerning gaze of the woman standing before her.
"In here," Milicent commanded softly, her accent thick but melodic, as she gestured toward the center of the room. "Shoes off. Now let's take a good look at you."
Yulia hesitated, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she bent down to remove her shoes. Even fully clothed in a long-sleeved sweater and loose pants, she felt utterly exposed, as though the woman's eyes could see through every layer, both physical and emotional. Her face, carefully concealed under the makeup she herself had insisted on, was the only part of her skin visible, but it still felt like too much.
Milicent's gaze didn't waver as she took Yulia in. Her sharp eyes seemed to scan every inch, not just of her body but her very soul. "From what it seems," Milicent began, her tone quieter now but no less commanding, "you are trying to hide something."
The words hit Yulia like a slap. She froze, her stomach knotting as memories of the mall boutique flooded her mind—the stares, the accidental yet devastating comments. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt like bolting out of the room. She didn't want to go through that humiliation again, not here, not now.
Milicent's presence shifted, her feet soft against the carpet as she walked behind Yulia. Yulia flinched slightly when she felt firm but gentle hands rest on her shoulders. The unexpected touch wasn't invasive but grounding, and then Milicent spoke, her accent growing thicker, her voice low but deliberate.
"Don't allow them to see that they managed to break you."
Yulia swallowed hard, her throat dry as she processed the words. Milicent's hands lingered for a moment longer before she moved away, circling back to the fabric rolls that adorned the walls. Her movements were fluid, her posture poised as she reached up to examine a particularly luxurious-looking bolt of silk.
Yulia let out another shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest as her gaze remained fixed on Milicent's back. The scars, stark and unapologetic, crisscrossed her dark skin like a roadmap of survival. Some were thick and raised, others faint and faded, but each one told a story. Milicent wore them with pride, her short, backless dress showcasing them to the world without hesitation. It was both intimidating and awe-inspiring to Yulia, who couldn't imagine exposing her own wounds in such a way.
"I don't thi—" Yulia began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. She wanted to tell Milicent that she didn't think she could ever do it—wear something that left her scars visible, let alone embrace them—but she didn't get the chance.
Milicent moved with purpose, pulling a soft pink fabric from the rack and stepping toward Yulia. Before Yulia could react, Milicent gently grabbed her arm, lifting her sweater sleeve without hesitation. Yulia gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the fabric revealed the jagged lines on her skin—marks left by the ropes that had bound her, the burns from the electrocutions. She braced herself for a comment, a glance of pity, or even just a moment of hesitation. But none came.
