Escape & The Reckoning

The cool Milanese night air hit Alessandra's tear-streaked face as she yanked open the door to her penthouse, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

The city stretched before her in a glittering expanse of wealth and power—ancient architecture blended seamlessly with towering glass skyscrapers, the hum of late-night traffic a soft murmur beneath the opulence of the Quadrilatero della Moda. But despite the beauty, despite the luxury, she felt caged.

Her body trembled—not from desire, but from rage.

From the sheer violation of Luca's touch.

The imprint of his fingers still burned on her skin, the bruising press of his lips, the possessive bite that branded her. It was all too much. She could still feel him everywhere.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Enough.

The moment he had left her room at the Corsini estate, satisfaction gleaming in his darkened gaze at the mark he had left on her, Alessandra knew—she couldn't stay.

Not another night. Not another second.

Luca Corsini could own her on paper. He could claim her in front of the world.

But her soul? Her body? He would never own those.

With shaking hands, she ripped the four-carat diamond ring from her finger and hurled it across the room, the force of her rage sending it clattering against the marble floors of her penthouse. The stone—worth more than most people's lives—lay forgotten in the corner.

Just like their engagement.

She didn't hesitate. She had no time.

Darting toward her walk-in closet, she grabbed a Louis Vuitton suitcase, shoving in only the essentials—passports, cash in crisp euros, a few changes of clothes. Her hands moved with desperate precision, every movement fueled by pure survival instinct.

Luca was unpredictable, but she knew one thing—he would come back for her.

And when he did?

He wouldn't be gentle.

Her pulse pounded in her throat as she yanked a black hoodie over her delicate emerald evening gown and pulled on a pair of Balenciaga sneakers. The stark contrast—the casual disguise against her haute couture dress—felt like the ultimate rebellion.

But it wasn't enough.

Luca had eyes everywhere.

Heart hammering, she reached for a cashmere scarf and sunglasses, bundling her long golden waves into a messy bun. Every strand tucked away, every inch of her disguise calculated.

Her chest heaved.

One last look at the opulent penthouse—a golden cage, decorated in silk and excess.

Then, without looking back, she slipped out into the Milanese night.

Meanwhile—Corsini Estate

Luca Corsini sat in his dimly lit study, fingers wrapped tightly around a crystal glass of aged Macallan scotch, the amber liquid trembling from the sheer rage simmering inside him.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Corsini estate stood in all its centuries-old glory—a magnificent Tuscan palazzo nestled in the hills, guarded by towering cypress trees and iron-clad security. It was his kingdom. A fortress no one could escape.

Or so he had thought.

His jaw clenched, the memory of her tear-streaked face haunting him like a ghost.

She had cried.

Not in pleasure.

Not in submission.

But in defiance.

And that fucking killed him.

A slow burn twisted in his chest, something ugly and possessive coiling inside him.

He had pushed too far.

He knew it the second he stepped back and saw the hatred in her eyes.

Luca Corsini didn't do regret.

He didn't do guilt.

But tonight?

Tonight, something inside him shifted.

She was supposed to bend. To submit. To finally realize she belonged to him.

Instead—she had looked at him like he was a monster.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, the weight of her rejection hitting him harder than he cared to admit.

With a vicious curse, Luca hurled the glass across the room.

CRASH.

Shattered crystal exploded against the wall, the golden scotch bleeding into the pristine white marble.

The tension suffocated him.

He needed to see her.

To fix this.

To remind her who the fuck she belonged to.

Luca shoved off his chair, his movements predatory as he stalked toward her room.

He didn't knock. He didn't hesitate.

He shoved the door open—

And froze.

Empty.

The sheets untouched. The closet doors ajar.

The suitcase—gone.

For a split second, the world stood still.

Then—his heart slammed against his ribs.

No.

His hands curled into fists.

No. No. No.

The realization was a slow, burning poison.

She had run.

She had fucking run.

Luca turned sharply, his voice a deadly growl.

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

The heavy silence that followed only fueled his fury.

Then—his security chief hesitated before stepping forward, voice careful.

"Miss Alessandra is… gone, sir."

The entire estate seemed to shift.

The air turned thick. Electric.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of Luca's lips, but there was no humor in it.

Just dark, vicious satisfaction.

She thought she could escape?

After what happened?

After the mark he had left on her?

She thought this was over?

Luca let out a slow, exhale, his fingers rolling into a loose fist before relaxing.

She was mistaken.

Very, very mistaken.

He would find her.

He would bring her back.

And this time—there would be no escape.

He reached for his phone, his voice smooth, lethal.

"Find her."

A beat of silence.

Then—his security team sprung into motion.

And just like that—

The hunt began.