Chapter 1

The Anderson mansion, with its comforting beige walls and large sun-drenched windows, buzzed with a morning energy that was both exciting and slightly chaotic. This was no quiet, elegant hum; it was a flurry of activity around the return of Sarah Anderson. Sarah, the face gracing magazine covers and social media feeds alike, was coming home from Paris. After an outing to RS fashion where she photospread herself into the heart of the lens, she ensured herself a rank that was never in doubt-after being twice confirmed within a calendar month as model of the year.

Ryder Knight, her brother, conducted the cheerful orchestra of preparation. This self-confessed "surprise enthusiast" was up since dawn, wrestling the balloons, as they struggled with their bounds of confinement and aligning carefully across the entrance hall a banner: "Congratulations Sissy!" He sprang down from his chair and powdered off his jeans. "No, no, no, Mom, don't come in here! You will pop all these poor balloons!

His mother, Isabel Knight Anderson, Sarah's stepmother, stood in the doorway, her lips pursed into a tight, annoyed line. "What the hell are you doing, boy? You're making a racket."

"Preparing a surprise for my sister!" Ryder chirped, his excitement bubbling over.

Isabel's sneer deepened and she huffed before retreating, slamming her bedroom door with unnecessary force. The tension hung in the air, unlike the festive mood that Ryder had attempted to bring in. The stepmother-stepdaughter relationship was, to say the least, strained. It was since Sarah was a little girl that it was like that. After the death of Sarah's mother, Vienna, her father, John Anderson, was given the opportunity to merge his business with that of the Knights and to get into an alliance with one Isabel Knight. At least not for Isabel who was divorced at that time . As she had never found comfort in the alliance due to the reason that John had never loved her. Sarah had always been the target.

Ryder sighed, a shadow of the family dynamic clouding his bright mood for a few moments. However, a honk from the driveway jolted his attention back to his mission, with a wave of anticipation building up inside of him. He grabbed a big, colorful bouquet and dashed towards the door, eagerly hiding behind it, waiting to spring the surprise.

Sarah emerged from her car sleek and poised, wearing a dark, tailored suit, her sunglasses hiding her eyes. She looked like the epitome of poise, with high heels clicking sharply on the pavement. The guards nodded at her and left to park the car. She let out a shaky breath and hesitated at the doorknob. Control, Sarah, control. She muttered to herself, took another deep breath, and pushed the door open.

She flinched back as Ryder jumped out. "Congratulations sissy!" he exclaimed, thrusting the bouquet towards her, his face beaming.

A genuine smile bloomed across Sarah's face. "Aww, come here, dear," she said, pulling him into a warm, tight hug. "I missed you so much."

"Me too," Ryder mumbled into her shoulder. At twenty, he was an imposing figure, his athletic build and towering height making him look older than his years, but in front of Sarah, he was still her affectionate, slightly goofy, younger brother.

Sarah ruffled his hair while pulling back. "When did you even get back?"

"Yesterday! I missed you much and when I saw the news about your last photoshoot, I couldn't help but come back here immediately to celebrate with you one more success!"

Ryder excitedly dragged her to the hall where a table had been laden with brunch, cake, and all her favorite food. Sarah's eyes fell on the banner, and a lone tear escaped her. She knew that if her father was still alive, he would be the one doing all of this. His death in a car accident a year ago still had her heart aching.

Ryder wraps her in a comforting hug, feeling the ache of sadness immediately. Every time she did something, there was a bit of an opening to the hole her father left.

"Oh look who's here," Isabel drawled, crossing her arms over her chest, twisting her face in a mocking smile.

Rydor's jaw clenched. "Mom, please leave. My sister is not fond of noise or people one doesn't want to be bothered with." His voice was low and dangerous and instantly cooled the room.

"Ryder, where are your manners?"

"No, sister, that is enough. I'm not letting her hurt you again."

Isabel gave them both the evil eye and stormed out of the house, insulted to the core.

"Ryder, you shouldn't have--"

"No, sister. How much more are you going to take of her? If you won't stand up for yourself, then I will. It's because of you she's even here."

Sarah sighed, pinching his cheeks. "When did you grow up, kiddo?"

"Don't call me that.

"Okay fine," she relented with a soft smile, "let's see what you've cooked for me." She eagerly ran the table, gasping in delight. "Thank you, so much, brother. I love you." She kissed his cheek and dug into the pasta.

"Eww, don't do that again please, and wait why didn't you wash your hands?"

"Oh, come on, cut me some slack. I've been eating alone forever, especially since my besties are suddenly all busy with their own lives," she blabbered, stuffing cake into her mouth.

Ryder chuckled, content just to watch her. His sister, vibrant and happy, was the best reward.

The afternoon sun had warmed her skin pleasantly as she'd lazed on the lawn with Ryder, her brother. Now, fresh from her bath, she hummed a tuneless melody, reaching for her pyjamas. A splash of color on the floor snagged her attention. It was a handkerchief, not one she owned. Its crisp white linen, embroidered with delicate lace, was a relic from Amy's wedding. It had been standing next to a pillar, utterly forgotten, and yet it called her.

A.C." she breathed, tracing the embroidered initials in the corner. A strange sense of familiarity washed over her. She carried it out to the balcony, sinking into the plush beanbag. The handkerchief felt soft, almost comforting against her skin. Someone somewhere might be missing it, she thought, but even as that idea formed, she couldn't shake the feeling of a connection, a hidden thread connecting her to this small piece of cloth.

She pulled her knees to her chest, looking at the cloudless sky, and a soft smile touched her lips. "I wish I had someone who would take all my sorrow away, Dad," she whispered to the heavens, clutching the handkerchief tightly in her hand. The sun cast long shadows, reflecting the quiet longing in her heart.

"A sea of noise erupted, a tidal wave of screaming voices, shouting "Ace Cassano! Ace Cassano! Ace Cassano!" It was the roar of victory, an anthem to the king. And Ace felt his familiar adrenaline pump, a strong cocktail of power and satisfaction, for he'd just completed another race, another challenge, with his car winning, as usual. The screech of his tires came as he executed a couple of breathtaking 360-degree drifts, finally bringing his vehicle to a violent halt.

Ace did not bask in adoration. He did not feel the love that came his way. His complete attention was directed at the car he'd just beaten. Out of his vehicle, coiled menace stood. The black leather of his jacket shone against the hard glare of the light. Boots on the gravel crushed as he moved towards the vanquished car of his opponent.

Two boys scrambled out, cowering. The one who had dared to challenge him, a skinny kid named Marco, was visibly shaking. He looked like he might bolt, but Ace was faster. He grabbed Marco by the collar, lifting him off the ground with surprising ease. He slammed the boy against the car's hood, his face inches from Marco's trembling one.

"Don't ever show me your face," Ace's voice was a low growl, laced with barely contained fury. "If I find you and your minions next time, I'll cut your tongues off. Get lost."

Marco didn't need any further encouragement. He bolted, his friends following in his wake, their faces pale with terror. They vanished into the crowd, vowing to never again trespass on territory claimed by Ace Cassano.

The women of the crowd simply went wild at the turn that Ace made. He moved as if he would devour the next step, sending power and arrogance with each. His black leather jacket, pants, and boots created a silhouette of a bad man. There were just a few tattoos until he was truly the term "bad boy.

"Ah, those girls, what is it with you?" Roy quipped playfully, winking at the teasing punch he got from Ace, who immediately dropped his expression into a disgruntled grimace.

"Ask them. Do not concern me," Ace bit out tightly, his glare lingering on for all the leftovers of his ruckus before, as much for the accolade as it was for any interest in him. He climbed back into his own vehicle, the engine rumbling like some restless beast. Roy hopped in beside him; soon they were out of the arena, the cheers dwindling into the night. The adrenaline still ran through Ace's veins, a reminder that he was still the king, at least on these roads.

The Lamborghini's engine purred to a stop in the cavernous garage. Row upon row of gleaming metal reflected the overhead lights – testament to Ace Cassano's success. He killed the ignition, the silence heavy with the scent of leather and polish. They were home.

Ace, once Italian royalty, had built this life from the ashes of tragedy. He and his younger sister, Kiera, were left adrift, orphaned young, the loss of their parents a shock he could never recover from. He remembered it, that time of his life. It was always an ache to him, the reminder of what he fought so hard to protect. His relatives had done nothing. It was the Vincent family, on his mother's side, that had reached out, love wrapping around two shivering children like a warm blanket. They'd given him something, a feeling of belonging he'd been craving so desperately. But Ace was not one to be coddled. He'd thrown himself into the family business, working day and night, fueled by an unyielding determination to protect Kiera and honor his family's legacy. For him, Kiera was everything—the reason he woke each morning, the heart in his chest that pushed him, relentlessly on.

Ace plopped down on the bed, cracking his neck with a groan and kicking off his boots, which fell haphazardly behind him. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, the textured plaster swirling into abstract patterns. He tried to close his eyes, to sink into the oblivion of sleep, but the image flared again: a woman's silhouette.

It was her again. Not just a fleeting image, but a presence that filled his dreams with a startling intensity. For the past few nights, she had dominated his sleep, appearing in scenarios that left him flushed and vaguely disturbed. Sometimes, she was all seductive smiles and silken whispers, other times, the dreams culminated in a passionate embrace, the kind that left him breathless, even in slumber.

Ace had never dreamed like this. He was a man, yes, with desires like any other, but he took pride in his control. He did not pursue women, did not engage in brief trysts. His motto was simple: a woman who would choose him, who would give up for him, deserved a man who had given himself to no one else. It felt like a betrayal of this principle, a jarring crack in his carefully constructed code. The dreams left him restless and confused, wondering who this phantom lover was and why she invaded his sleep.

The dim light of the private bar barely illuminated the frustration etched onto Ace's face. "What the fuck is wrong with me, dammit!" he growled, fingers raking through his hair. He had been pacing his apartment for hours, unable to shake the unsettling feeling that had taken root since his friend, Adonis's, wedding. Only alcohol, he reasoned, might offer a temporary reprieve.

He found Roy already perched at the bar, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand. "Can't sleep?" Roy asked, his voice laced with a knowing smirk.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Ace retorted, grabbing a bottle of wine. "After Adonis's wedding, I keep dreaming about a woman's shadow."

Roy's smirk widened. "Ooooo, is it Lisa? Or—"

"Shut the fuck up, Roy," Ace snapped as he smacked him on the shoulder. "She's only my personal assistant. Nothing else. I do respect her. She is really devoted to what she does, though." Ace jerked off the cork on the wine bottle. His motion was sharp and quite accurate.

"Alright, I won't push any further on the personal questions, but tell me something about the dream. Is it dirty, huh?! Dirty!!"

Ace paused, pouring wine into his glass and staring down at his palms, his face blank. "No, it'a not.. but something really beautiful like we're laughing together an—-

"You, and laughing with a woman? Impossible," Roy muttered under his breath, earning himself a hard clap on the back from Ace that sent him sputtering. "Alright, alright, I'm going," he grumbled, heading out of the bar.

He could not remember when he had ever been by himself. His mind wandered back to the wedding. He recalled a woman he had only barely met there, a flash of vibrant energy in the crowd. "What a fire she was!" he chuckled, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He swirled the wine in his glass, momentarily replacing the usual grimness in his gaze with the face of that woman.

That was what Ace defined a real man as… someone capable of feeling something deeper, something that stirred his soul beyond the usual cutthroat world he inhabited. He just didn't yet realize that the encounter was not a figment of his imagination, not a passing fancy, but a glimpse into a future where that same 'fire' would become the very reason for his existence. He had found a person who, unbeknownst to him at the moment, would be his reason to live. Tonight, the wine was different. It was no longer an escape but a companion in this new introspection