The lights were blinding.
Elena Rossi adjusted the microphone clipped to her lapel, keeping her chin high even though her stomach twisted like it was caught in a storm. The glass table in front of her reflected the white-hot glare of the studio spotlights, and the rows of cameras beyond it seemed to zoom in like vultures circling prey.
A business panel. Live on Italy's most-watched network. Millions of eyes. Investors. Journalists. Critics. Rivals.
She wasn't nervous. She was furious.
Because seated two chairs to her right, looking maddeningly unbothered, was Dante Moretti. Perfect suit. Composed posture. That effortless air of power that made people lean closer when he spoke. And in the front row of the audience, perched like a queen on her throne, was Alessia Romano.
Alessia's lips brushed Dante's ear as the cameras finished their countdown. Elena watched his jaw tighten, though he did not look her way. Of course he didn't. He was trained to endure storms with the elegance of a marble statue.
"Elena," she muttered to herself under her breath, "do not give them a show."
But it was already too late.
Just before the show kick off
Her phone buzzed. Sofia's message blinked across the screen:
"Remember, darling: diamonds on your ears, daggers in your smile."
Elena almost smiled. Almost.
---
"Welcome back," the host beamed, turning to the panel. "Tonight, we are discussing the future of Italian manufacturing. With us we have Elena Rossi, newly appointed CEO of Rossi Textiles, and Dante Moretti, head of Moretti Global. Two heirs. Two legacies. Two completely different approaches."
Applause rippled through the studio. Elena forced her smile. Her father's ghost felt close, his belief that the Rossi name stood for grit, loyalty, and family. Legacy meant little when creditors were sharpening knives.
The moderator turned to her. "Signorina Rossi, Rossi Textiles has faced difficult years. What is your vision for reviving a company many consider too far gone?"
Elena inhaled slowly, pressing her palms together. "My father built Rossi Textiles on integrity. We clothed workers, families, soldiers, people, not just markets. That legacy matters. My plan is simple: modernize production while preserving our workers' dignity. We will focus on innovation without abandoning the people who made this company what it is."
Applause burst out from the audience . Elena's heart steadied.
Until Dante spoke.
"With respect," he said smoothly, "integrity doesn't pay debt. Facts do. Rossi Textiles has liabilities of sixty million euros. Factories running below capacity. Supply contracts bleeding money. Legacy is admirable, but nostalgia will not protect shareholders or employees. Numbers will."
The audience hummed. Elena's knuckles whitened against the table.
She leaned in, her voice sharp but calm. "And yet, Moretti Global made record profits last year by shutting down two factories and cutting hundreds of jobs. Numbers are useful, Mr. Moretti, but numbers without humanity? That is just greed in expensive suits."
A ripple of gasps swept the room.
For a fraction of second, Dante's eyes flicked to hers, something unreadable in them, almost wounded. Then the mask slid back into place.
Alessia seized the moment. Elena," Alessia purred, her voice carrying enough tension. "I am really surprised. Didn't think you could make it here, I thought you would be… recovering."
Elena's jaw tightened. "I recover quickly."
Dante's eyes flickered toward her, steady, assessing, but he said nothing. Instead, he let Alessia tug him closer, as though Elena were simply another guest, not his greatest rival or his greatest distraction
She leaned forward in the front row, touching Dante's arm, whispering something that looked far too intimate for national television.
And Elena, furious, let her anger flicker across her face for a single, damning second.
Click. Click. Click. The cameras caught it.
The trap was sprung.
—----------
The host cleared his throat. Elena, are you all right?," voice dripping with faux concern.
I'm fine," she said smoothly, even as her pulse roared in her ears. "More than fine. I was just thinking about how tragic it is when women mistake borrowed power for their own."
The jab landed; Alessia's eyes flashed. But the cameras had what they wanted. Dante's closeness with Alessia and Elena's fury, it told a different story that was far from the truth.
The host turned to Dante. "Strong opinions. The press has often painted this rivalry as personal. Care to comment, Signor Moretti?"
Dante's lips curved into a smirk. "If you ask me, a rivalry this fiery only proves Rossi Textiles still has life. But let's not confuse headlines with strategy."
Elena's pulse thundered. He was not denying it. He was not rejecting Alessia's staged intimacy. He was letting the story breathe.
The segment wrapped in a haze of applause and flashing bulbs. As soon as the red light on the camera died, Elena ripped off her mic and strode backstage, heels striking like gunfire.
In the restroom, Elena stared at herself in the mirror again, but this time her mask cracked. Her thoughts burned inside her chest, silent but relentless.
"Coward," she muttered. "Always hiding behind numbers."
She sighed. They will say I'm jealous. They will say I'm unstable. and Rossi is collapsing because the heiress can't focus on business over her temper.
When she emerged, Dante was waiting in the hallway.
"Elena," he said quietly, as though her name itself required care.
She stopped, her heels clicking against marble. "Enjoyed the show? Alessia's performance was impeccable. She will be thrilled with tomorrow's headlines."
Dante's gaze softened, but only slightly. "You walked into a trap. That's what she wanted."
"Don't patronize me."
"I'm not." His voice lowered. "You have to learn, Elena. Not every war is fought in boardrooms. Some are fought in front of cameras."
"My inbox will be flooded with investors asking why their CEO looks like a jealous schoolgirl on live television."
Dante did not flinch. He leaned closer, his words meant only for her. "Are you?, a jealous school girl?."
Elena was taken aback, Her breath hitched. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Dante continued, "Better they see you furious with me than panicked by your creditors. Anger is survivable. Fear is fatal."
Her chest tightened. He made it sound like he was protecting her. But the ache in her gut screamed otherwise.
Before she could answer, Alessia reappeared, looping her arm through his once more.
"They are waiting for us," Alessia said sweetly, her smirk directed entirely at Elena.
Dante held Elena's gaze one second longer than necessary. Something unspoken burning there, before he let Alessia drag him back into the light of the cameras.
—
Elena left early, her chest tight, her hands aching from constant folding of fist.
When she finally returned to her apartment, she tossed the dress onto the velvet armchair and collapsed onto the edge of her bed. For one blessed moment, silence filled the room.
Then her phone buzzed.
Her inbox lit up like a battlefield:
"Elena, is it true about you and Moretti? We need clarity."
"Investors are nervous. This looks bad."
One message after another, piling, suffocating.
Her thumb froze over the screen as the headlines rolled in, each sharper than the last.
"Heiress vs. Fiancee? Moretti's Dangerous Game."
"Jealous CEO Meltdown at TV show. Is Rossi Leadership in Jeopardy?"
"Future Mrs. Moretti vs. Fallen Heiress: Battle Over Milan's Empire."
Elena's breath came fast, ragged, fury clawing at her throat.
For a fleeting second, she wanted to hurl the phone across the room. But instead, she pressed it to her chest, whispering through clenched teeth:
"They will not break me."
And yet, as the messages kept coming, one after another, her walls threatened to crack.
Her screen lit up again.
Another message. This one from her lawyer.
URGENT – Creditors demanding emergency call.
She froze.
One email stood out.
From Alessia Romano.
"You've already lost."
Elena stared at the screen, pulse hammering, knowing the war had only just begun.