Catalina stared at the ceiling of her suite, the weight of the day pressing against her chest like a boulder. Her fingers curled into the expensive sheets as if they could ground her in a world that made no sense anymore. She had just agreed—no, been forced—into a fake engagement with Alexander Moretti, the man whose eyes had haunted her for years.
The very same man who once broke her heart without ever knowing it.
A knock at the door made her heart skip. She sat up, adjusting the robe she had thrown on after a shower. The door creaked open, and there he was—towering, confident, composed.
And infuriatingly irresistible.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it held the same commanding tone that always sent chills down her spine.
"I wasn't aware I owed you a status report on my sleep schedule," she snapped, wrapping her arms around herself.
He stepped in, closing the door behind him. The soft click sounded ominous in the silence. "We need to talk, Catalina. About what happens next."
She stood, spine straight. "What happens next is that we put on a show. That's what you wanted, right? A fake fiancée to keep the media happy?"
"That's what the world will see," he replied, stepping closer. "But you and I both know this isn't just about the media."
Her breath caught. He was too close. Too perceptive. She had spent years building walls, and he had torn them down in a matter of days.
"You're wrong," she said, her voice shaking.
Alexander studied her. "Am I?"
She turned away, walking toward the window. The city lights painted her silhouette in gold. "You don't know me anymore."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I want to."
His words struck something deep inside her. A longing she didn't want to name. She clenched her fists.
"This is a contract, Alexander. Not a reunion."
He didn't move. "I know. But even contracts have fine print. And in mine, I reserve the right to care."
She spun to face him. "Why now? After all this time?"
He took a deep breath, eyes softening. "Because I never stopped thinking about you. And because I don't want to lose you again."
Her defenses crumbled a little, but she held firm. "You never had me to begin with."
A beat of silence.
"I want to change that," he said quietly.
Catalina's heart twisted painfully. It would be so easy to believe him. But lies, even beautiful ones, had teeth.
"I need time," she whispered.
Alexander nodded. "Then I'll give you time. But I'm not giving up on you."
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her with her racing thoughts.
The next morning, Catalina stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the diamond ring now sitting on her finger. It sparkled like a promise—beautiful, expensive, and dangerously fragile.
The press conference was scheduled for noon. She was to arrive at the Moretti headquarters by eleven, walk in with Alexander, and smile like she meant it.
Fake. Every part of it.
Except… the feelings that kept creeping in, uninvited and relentless.
By the time she stepped into the car waiting outside, she had rehearsed her smile a dozen times. None of them felt real.
Alexander was already inside, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that made him look like a fallen angel with a private jet. He looked up as she entered, and for a moment, the mask slipped.
"You look stunning," he said.
She ignored the warmth that bloomed in her chest. "Let's just get this over with."
He didn't reply, but his eyes lingered on her longer than necessary.
The press conference was a whirlwind of camera flashes, gasps, and murmurs. Catalina's hand remained firmly clasped in Alexander's, and every time someone asked how he proposed, he told the same story:
"A private dinner in Florence. Just the two of us. And a ring I've had for years."
Her gaze had snapped to him the first time he said it. Years? But she kept smiling, nodding, playing the role.
The ring… Had it really been meant for her all along?
By the time the event ended, her face ached from holding the smile. As they retreated into a private lounge, she finally exhaled.
"Do you always lie so easily?" she asked, peeling off her heels.
He shrugged. "Only when it's for a good cause."
"And I'm the good cause?" she scoffed.
"The best one I've ever had."
She looked away, cursing how easily his words affected her.
Later that week, Catalina returned to her apartment to find a box on her doorstep. No name. No card. Just a black velvet ribbon.
She brought it inside, heart thudding. Inside was a stack of old letters. Her name was written on every envelope.
They were from Alexander.
Letters he had never sent.
She sat on the couch, reading them one by one. Some dated back five years. All of them were confessions—frustrated, poetic, tormented.
"I wanted to chase after you, but I didn't know how."
"Every time I close my eyes, I see your smile and wonder if you hate me for walking away."
"I let fear win. I won't make the same mistake again."
Tears burned her eyes. She hadn't expected this. Not from him.
Not from the man who once left her heart in ruins.
She clutched the last letter to her chest, overwhelmed.
Maybe he hadn't stopped caring.
Maybe… she hadn't either.
Meanwhile, Alexander stood on his balcony, staring out into the night. His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"You're playing a dangerous game, Moretti. The past doesn't stay buried forever."
He froze. Fingers tightening around the phone.
Not now.
Not when he was finally getting her back.
Not when the truth—about why he left, about the secrets buried in his family's empire—was on the verge of exploding.
He deleted the message, but it was too late. The past was knocking, and this time, it wouldn't be ignored.
Back in her apartment, Catalina wiped her tears and pulled out her laptop. There were things she needed to know—about Alexander, about the Moretti family, and why he had returned after all this time.
And deep down, she feared the answers would only complicate the heart she was just beginning to open again.
Because love, no matter how tender or passionate, was never simple when secrets were involved.
And Alexander Moretti was full of them.