I spent the night staring at the ceiling of a room that was too beautiful to belong to a man who wanted to break me. The walls were silver and pale blue, designed to feel soft, almost peaceful, but I knew better. This was not comfort. This was a cage disguised as a sanctuary. Marcello had taken my phone, my bag, and whatever illusion of control I thought I still had. He said I could leave if I wanted, but the way he looked at me when he said it made my body stay frozen in place. I was not his prisoner. I was his consequence.
The first problem I had to solve was figuring out what part of him still cared. I knew he was obsessed. I could feel it in the way his eyes lingered a moment too long, the way his voice softened when he said my name, even while threatening to own me completely. But obsession was not affection. It was hunger. And I was the only thing he ever wanted to taste again. If I could figure out the line between hate and longing in his eyes, maybe I could find a way to survive this without losing everything I was trying to protect.
Marcello returned in the morning with coffee and silence, dressed like he had stepped out of a photoshoot in all black, his watch catching the light like it belonged to someone born with power. He placed the cup on the table and stared at me like I was the unfinished part of his masterpiece. You did not run, he said. I shrugged, eyes low. I knew you'd follow. He smiled, not warmly, but in that terrifying way that told me he was already five moves ahead. Then he said something that made the blood leave my face. Your school has been informed. You're transferring to a private program. Under my sponsorship.
My body went cold. You can't do that. He sipped his coffee. I already did. You are not safe out there, Liliana. Not from me, and not from others who might use you to get to me. This is not protection, I said sharply. This is control. He leaned forward slowly. You made me a target, and now you are one too. I told you, this is not revenge. This is repayment. You wanted to ruin me. Now you get to rebuild me, piece by piece. I clenched my fists, hating that part of me felt flattered by his obsession. But the smarter part of me knew I was being drawn into something I could not walk out of clean.
I spent the rest of the day locked in silence, trying to think of every possible way out. I thought of calling my mother, but she was halfway across the world and barely knew what I had done. I thought of running, but there were no keys and no addresses. I even thought of begging, but I had done enough damage to know that tears would not move him. Marcello was not a man who responded to pain. He studied it. He turned it into fuel. I had handed him a wound years ago, and he had built an empire on top of it.
When the sun dipped low, casting gold over the glass walls, he returned again. This time, with a file in his hand and a challenge in his eyes. If you want to prove you are more than what you did, he said, then take this and show me. I opened the folder and saw pages of his newest project, something medical, something that sounded important. I looked up. You want me to work with you? He smiled faintly. I want you close. And I want to know if the girl who lied so easily can now create something worth truth.
I held the file like it burned, not because I did not understand it, but because he was handing me a piece of his empire and daring me to drop it. I had hurt him. Now he was asking if I could build with him instead. I did not answer with words. I pulled the file closer and started reading, knowing full well that every solution I gave him only wrapped me deeper into a trap that looked a lot like love and felt a lot like ruin.
The project Marcello handed me was more than important. It was a cutting-edge development tied to one of his medical subsidiaries, something involving surgical nanotech, and it was still in its vulnerable early stages. The more I read, the more I realized this was not just busywork to keep me under control. This was trust disguised as a test. He was giving me access to confidential files, prototypes, even blueprints that could destroy his company if leaked. It was insane. No man, not even one as egotistical as Marcello, would hand that over unless he was playing a very dangerous game. Or unless he believed he already owned every piece of me that mattered.
I barely slept that night. I stayed at the desk in the corner, scribbling notes and scanning details, trying to piece together what part of this was about revenge and what part was something else. I knew I had hurt him. I had called him a predator. I had painted him into the worst possible version of himself and walked away like I was innocent. Maybe I believed I was back then. Maybe I thought I was saving someone else. But sitting here now, in his world, with his eyes always one room away, I no longer knew who I had really been trying to protect.
By morning, he was already waiting with two cups of coffee, one for me, one for him. I didn't thank him. He didn't expect me to. I handed him my initial report, the parts I had improved, the loopholes I spotted in the coding sequence. He flipped through the pages slowly, nodding once, then twice, then closing the folder with a snap. You still think like a liar, he said calmly. Fast, smart, and always looking for the cracks in the wall. I didn't respond. I didn't need to. Because what he said next changed the game entirely. You're going to present it to the board next week. As my co-lead.
I stood so fast my chair screeched against the marble. I can't do that. They'll know who I am. He stood too, taller, firmer, unmoved by my panic. They already know. I told them everything, Liliana. I don't lie about the weapons I use. You're not a secret. You're a lesson. My stomach dropped. He had already exposed me. My history, the scandal, the reason he had disappeared for years. He had brought it all to the surface, and now he wanted me to stand in the light and act like I belonged beside him. This wasn't just a trap. It was a public display of control.
Later that day, a woman arrived with a rack of expensive suits and dresses, calling me Miss Liliana and smiling like she was not dressing someone for humiliation. I let them take my measurements, not because I agreed, but because I needed to survive the week. Every thread they fit against my skin felt like a countdown ticking inside my chest. Marcello did not want to hurt me in the shadows. He wanted to elevate me, then watch me fall in front of everyone who mattered. That was the twist. That was the cruelty. He would build me up just to remind me that I was never strong enough to stand beside him.
That night, I heard him speaking on the phone in his private office. The door was cracked open just enough for me to hear him say my name. She's scared, but she learns fast. She'll either become valuable or broken. I'll win either way. I stepped back before he could see me, the words sinking into my skin like cold needles. Whatever part of him still wanted me was buried beneath layers of strategy and vengeance. And if I didn't learn how to fight his way, I would not survive standing in his world.
I went back to the room, shut the door quietly, and sat on the floor. I did not cry. Crying was something I had run out of years ago. But I stared at the folder, at the logo of his company printed in black ink, and I made a decision. If he wanted me to rebuild what I ruined, I would. But I would not do it for him. I would do it so I could take everything I learned and use it when the time was right. Because if Marcello Russo thought I was still that fifteen-year-old girl with no claws, he was going to bleed for it.