Beatrice Medici's Perspective
Lorenzo saw her first.And the moment their eyes met, the smile appeared — that same smile she had known since childhood: broad, rehearsed, false.
Beatrice felt her entire body go rigid.
He began walking toward her, and what should have been only a few meters stretched into an eternity.Each of his steps was a sharp blow against her fragile calm.The polished shoes struck the pavement in an unbearable rhythm, echoing in her mind like a clock ticking down to something she didn't want to face.
She watched him approach — and nausea came.First, a knot in her stomach.Then, a tightening in her chest.And finally, a hot wave rising to her throat — the kind of sickness that seemed to pull the air from her lungs.It wasn't just emotional repulsion.It was physical.Literally physical.
Her whole body reacted to his presence as if it were facing poison.
The expensive perfume — the same blend of amber and tobacco he had worn since youth — reached her before he did, making everything worse.The scent dragged back memories of endless family dinners, false conversations, forced laughter… and that look of his, the one that always observed too much.
When he finally spoke, his voice scratched the air.
"Beatrice! What a surprise," he said, in a tone too sweet to be genuine. "Already had lunch? If not, perhaps we could eat together."
The intonation was perfect — polite, charming, almost pleasant to anyone who didn't know him.But Beatrice knew.
She knew exactly what lay beneath that smooth tone: manipulation.It was the voice of someone trained to bend people, to make the world believe in his kindness while he smiled with venom in his eyes.
Her stomach turned.Even the simplest words carried unbearable weight.
She stepped back.She didn't think — she simply reacted.Her heel struck the pavement with a dull sound, and Alessio, standing beside her, noticed.Before she could think of any excuse, her body began to falter.
Heat flushed her face; her breathing grew shallow; and for an instant, her legs threatened to give way.
Beatrice knew she needed to get out of there.She had to answer, smile, disguise — something.But the thoughts wouldn't come.Her mind spun, her heart pounded too fast, and all she could think was that if Lorenzo took one more step, she wouldn't be able to stay on her feet.
At that moment, she knew: if she didn't escape now, her body would collapse before her mind even thought of a plan.
The world blurred around her — the sound of voices and traffic melted into a distant, shapeless noise.She tried to breathe, to steady herself, but the metallic taste of nausea burned the back of her throat.
Then — before she could take another step back — something moved.
A solid, broad shoulder appeared in front of her, completely blocking her view of Lorenzo.
It was Alessio.
His presence was immediate, almost physical — a wall of calm strength between her and the man she despised.The contrast was striking.Lorenzo di Rossi, who had always dominated spaces with arrogance, suddenly wasn't the center anymore.The sunlight caught on Alessio's bronze skin, and for a second, Lorenzo's face fell into shadow.
"Unfortunately, we've already eaten," Alessio said — his voice firm, cutting.
Beatrice blinked, startled.
Not at his boldness — that, she expected.She had always known Alessio was the kind of man who didn't treat surnames as untouchable thrones.He had proved it years ago, in college, when he defeated her in a debate with ruthless precision, unmoved by the weight of the Medici name.
But this was different.
He wasn't confronting her.He was protecting her.And the way he stood there, naturally, decisively… left her speechless.
Yet what surprised her most wasn't the act — it was his tone.
It wasn't the same measured, neutral, professional tone she was used to hearing.There was no calculation this time, no emotional distance.His voice was deeper, heavier — and within it, something raw, something that bordered on hatred.
A chill ran down her spine.
Those words — simple as they were — carried a weight that seemed to come from somewhere far beneath the surface.For a brief moment, she wondered if Alessio already knew Lorenzo, or if he had simply recognized in him the kind of man he instinctively despised.
Lorenzo, on the other hand, looked at him as though faced with an anomaly.His eyes narrowed; the polite smile vanished.He clearly didn't know how to process it — the fact that someone was confronting him openly, and worse, doing so with such calm authority.
The tension between them thickened.The air seemed to contract, the silence tightening until it was almost tangible.Beatrice knew that if they stayed there a few seconds longer, the confrontation would no longer be verbal.
Fortunately, the hum of an engine broke the moment.
Her driver had pulled the car up to the curb — punctual, as always.The black vehicle stopped right in front of them, sunlight glinting across the windshield and into Lorenzo's eyes, forcing him to look away.
"Busy! Very busy!" Beatrice blurted out before he could speak.
Her voice came out louder than intended, but it worked.
Without waiting for a reply, she reached out, grabbed Alessio's arm, and pulled him with her.His arm was solid and warm beneath her fingers — and for a brief instant, she felt the stark contrast between his strength and her trembling.
Seconds later, they were both inside the car.The door shut with a sharp click, and the muffled hum of the engine filled the silence.She didn't hesitate — she told the driver to go.
Beatrice looked into the rearview mirror.
Lorenzo still stood there, staring at the car, fists clenched, jaw tight.Even from a distance, she could see the fury in his expression — cold, contained, but brutal.
And for the first time in years, Beatrice didn't feel alone facing him.There was someone beside her — someone who, for reasons she couldn't yet understand, seemed to hate Lorenzo di Rossi just as much as she did.