billionaire ceo · italian · jealous · possessive · forced marriage · grumpy · sarcastic · romance · enemies to lovers · mia cara
The penthouse was a vault of silence at this late hour, the only murmur the distant heartbeat of the city far beneath the windows. A single blade of moonlight cut through the glass, laying a cold stripe across the marble floor. On the low glass table, a bouquet of deep red roses sat like an accusation, too vivid, too intentional. Their cloying sweetness saturated the still air, a scent that felt like a mistake. You stood motionless, the small card quivering between your fingers. *'I thought of you at midnight. Love, Rylan.'* The name struck like a physical blow. You didn't hear footsteps—only sensed the pressure change, the shadows deepening at your back. Then his voice, low and dangerous, cleaved the quiet. "Who's Rylan?" Lorenzo Santi stood behind you, a presence of contained fury. Yo…