Chapter 8~

Once Lorenzo left, Enzo appeared in the garden, holding two glasses of orange juice, one in each hand. His eyes scanned the area until they landed on his twin brother, Julian, who was seated on the swing, looking lost in thought. Julian's small frame trembled slightly, still shaken by the terrifying events of the night before, but Enzo noticed something else too—the faint red hue on his cheeks.

"Julian!" Enzo called, approaching his brother. When Julian didn't respond, Enzo called again, a little louder this time. Still no reaction.

Finally, he raised his voice, half-shouting, "Julian!"

Startled, Julian snapped out of his trance, his eyes widening as he realized his brother was standing right in front of him. "Oh, Enzo…" he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"What's wrong, Julian?" Enzo asked, his tone softening as he knelt down next to the swing. "I know you're still terrified after what happened, but you've got to take care of yourself." He offered one of the glasses to his brother. "Here, drink this. It'll help."

Julian hesitated for a moment but then took the juice with a small, grateful nod. "Thanks," he murmured before taking a sip, the cool, citrusy drink soothing his dry throat.

Enzo watched his brother closely, concern etched on his face. "You're trembling, Julian," he said quietly. "It's not good for your health to stay like this."

"Yeah… I know," Julian replied in a low voice, his eyes still distant. "But I'm okay, or at least… I'm trying to be."

"Okay, that's good," Enzo said, a hint of relief in his voice. "But now, tell me—what's going on?"

Julian looked confused for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Enzo smirked, "why were you zoning out just now? And with those heavy red cheeks too, huh?" His tone was teasing, but gentle.

Julian's cheeks grew even redder at his brother's observation. He fidgeted with the glass in his hand, unsure of how to explain himself. "I-I… It's nothing," he stammered. "I was just thinking about last night… and it's sunny… and, um, summer vacation…"

Enzo raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh," he said, drawing out the words. "Sure, because last night and the weather explain why your face looks like a tomato."

Julian squirmed in his seat, his thoughts flashing back to Lorenzo's playful teasing, the way he'd called him 'cute' and 'a little bunny.' The memory was enough to make his heart race all over again. But he couldn't admit that to Enzo—not when he was already feeling so embarrassed.

"Okay, okay," Enzo laughed, standing up and ruffling Julian's hair. "You rest here, little bro. I'm gonna go check on Elena."

As Enzo walked away, Julian let out a quiet sigh of relief. He watched his twin disappear into the house, his mind still buzzing with everything that had happened. He wasn't sure how to deal with all these new feelings, but for now, he was content to stay in the garden, the swing rocking gently beneath him as he tried to make sense of it all.

Damien walked with purpose down the hallway towards Elena's room, his mind replaying the horrifying events from last night. He knew she had been terrified, and now, more than ever, she was scared of him. After all, she was just 15, and he, a 24-year-old man, was a far cry from someone she could easily trust. Reaching her door, he knocked twice. When no response came, he noticed the door was slightly ajar and quietly pushed it open.

Inside, Elena lay asleep, her small frame almost swallowed by the large bed. A cold patch rested on her forehead, and her long, wavy brown hair was scattered across the pillow and spilling onto the bed. Damien's eyes traveled over her dusky skin—a clear inheritance from her father—and her red cheeks and dry lips, the effects of the fever. He stepped closer, tugging a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle despite the steel reputation that surrounded him.

"I don't want you to be scared of me," he thought silently as he looked at her peaceful, yet troubled, face. "This marriage isn't what either of us wanted, but it's happening. And now, you're mine, just as much as I'm yours. I'll make sure everyone knows it. I'll protect you, no matter what."

His eyes flickered across the room, taking in the details. On the walls were posters of Taylor Swift, and her bookshelf overflowed with romance novels. A list on her study desk caught his attention. He walked over to it, reading aloud in a low murmur:

"Elena's To-Do List:

Become an independent woman

Attend a Taylor Swift concert with my soulmate

Fall in love like autumn

Kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower

Go to church with him every month

Make my love my best friend, my soulmate

Read books while he listens to me

Cook together with him

And many more..."

Damien chuckled softly, a rare, amused smile crossing his face. "So girly, so childish," he whispered, glancing back at her sleeping form. "You're dreaming of a life lived on your own terms, huh?" His gaze softened as he looked at her one last time. "See you in three years, my little fiancée."

With that, he turned and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. As he stepped into the hallway, Enzo, Elena's younger brother, was approaching. Enzo's face immediately darkened when he saw Damien exiting her room.

"What were you doing in Elena's room?" Enzo asked, his tone sharper than usual.

Damien raised an eyebrow at the boy's confrontational stance. "I was just checking on your sister," he replied, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was used to Enzo's overprotective behavior.

"The reason she's sick is because of what you did last night," Enzo snapped back, crossing his arms.

"I know," Damien replied calmly. "But she has to understand who she's marrying. It's not a fairytale."

Enzo's expression softened slightly as he hesitated, his next words catching Damien off guard. "Thank you."

Damien stopped in his tracks and turned to face him. "What did you say?"

"I said, thank you," Enzo repeated, his voice quieter this time. "For saving my sister from that pervert, our cousin. I trust now that you'll protect her… brother-in-law."

A chuckle rumbled in Damien's chest at Enzo's reluctant gratitude. "That's my duty, little man," he replied with a smirk, before walking off towards the exit, leaving Enzo standing there in the hallway, watching him go.

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{Three Years Later:}

Elena sat at her desk, scribbling the last few lines of her assignment. Her long, wavy brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few strands framing her face, her bedhead look softened by the casual baggy white T-shirt and black trousers she wore. A delicate diamond ring hung around her neck, swaying slightly as she moved her pen across the paper. Her brown eyes were fixed on her work, but her head bobbed slightly to the beat of "Wildest Dreams" by Taylor Swift playing in her earbuds, a soft hum escaping her lips now and then as she mouthed along to the lyrics.

Suddenly, her door creaked open, and a small voice chirped, "Ele, are you up?"

It was Mia, her eighy-year-old sister, looking bright and cheerful in her pink hoodie, her dark hair tied into two bouncy pigtails. But Elena, lost in her music and focus, didn't hear her. Mia padded closer, a mischievous smile creeping onto her face, and gently tugged the earbud out of Elena's ear.

Startled, Elena looked up. "Oh! Mia, you scared me!" she laughed, pulling the other earbud out. "What's wrong?"

"If you were awake, why didn't you come down to have breakfast with us?" Mia asked, pouting slightly.

Elena smiled, reaching over to ruffle her little sister's hair. "I wanted to finish my assignment. But now I'm done!" She held up her notebook triumphantly. "Yay! Mission accomplished. Shall we head down?"

Mia's face lit up, and she clapped her hands. "Yes, finally!"

Elena stood, stretched with a yawn, and followed her sister downstairs. The delicious aroma of pancakes drifted through the hallway as they entered the dining room, where the family sat around the table, chatting and sipping coffee.

"There she is!" her mother, Clara, called out, a warm smile on her face. "Come quickly, Elena. We were all waiting for you."

Elena took her seat beside Mia, reaching for the stack of pancakes on the table. Her father, Giovanni, looked up, his face warm yet pensive as he watched his daughter pour syrup over her breakfast.

They all settled in, enjoying the easy conversation and warmth of a family morning. But as they dug into their food, Giovanni cleared his throat, a note of seriousness in his tone. "Um, Elena?"

"Mmm?" she responded, still focused on her pancakes.

"You're turning 18 next month," he said softly.

Elena paused, her fork mid-air as the words sank in. She looked up, her eyes meeting her father's across the table. "Yes, I am," she replied, her voice quiet but steady.

From beside her, sixteen-year-old Enzo sighed, a frown creasing his forehead as he muttered, "Dad, can't this wait? It's breakfast…"

But Giovanni continued, his voice calm yet laced with hesitation. "Last night, Vittorio Cortelli called."

The mere mention of Vittorio's name made Elena's stomach churn, her appetite vanishing in an instant. She swallowed, placing her fork down as she braced herself.

"He wanted to discuss…" Giovanni paused, glancing at his wife before turning back to Elena. "He wanted to discuss the arrangements for your wedding to Damien."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakeable, like a weight pressing down on her. Damien. Her fiancé. It felt surreal, the idea of marriage still so foreign, especially to a man like him. She had tried to push the thought to the back of her mind, to focus on her studies and her own dreams. But now, it seemed, time had run out.

Her mother, Clara, placed a gentle hand on her arm, sensing her unease. "Elena, sweetheart… you know we've always wanted what's best for you," she said softly.

Elena forced a small smile, though her mind was racing, every memory of Damien flashing before her eyes—the cold intensity in his gaze, his towering presence, the silence that spoke louder than words.

Her father reached over, taking her hand. "This… this is part of our agreement with the Cortelli's. We knew it would come, Elena, but it's your choice too," he added, trying to reassure her even as his own expression showed the conflict within him.

Taking a deep breath, Elena managed to nod, though she felt like her whole world was shifting beneath her. Her heart pounded, and though she sat surrounded by her family, a sense of isolation crept in, as if she were standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, with only Damien waiting on the other side.

_______________________________________

The grand Cortelli mansion stood silent in the dark, its marble floors polished to a gleaming reflection under the crystal chandeliers. Heavy footsteps echoed through the halls as Damien Cortelli entered, his usually pristine white shirt smeared with blood. His green eyes held a cold, ruthless edge, and a thin trail of blood seeped from his palm, staining his hand and dripping onto the floor as he walked. He had just returned from dealing with a group of traitors who had dared to cross the Cortelli family—an offense he had no tolerance for.

As he passed the grand staircase, a voice rang out, dripping with feigned concern. "Oh my God, Damien, what happened to you?" It was Maria, his father's second wife, her voice sickly sweet with artificial worry as she watched him from across the room.

Without acknowledging her, Damien continued down the hall, leaving Maria standing there, her false concern twisting into a smirk as he ignored her presence. Reaching his room, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the bathroom, his movements heavy with exhaustion. In the mirror, his reflection stared back at him—green eyes sharp and a serious expression marred by a shadow of weariness. A subtle beard traced his jaw, and a single dimple softened his left cheek, though there was nothing gentle in his gaze now.

He removed his shirt, tossed it into the trash bin without a second thought, and turned on the faucet, letting the cool water flow over his injured hand. The blood swirled down the sink, mingling with the water as he winced at the sting of his raw skin.

Just then, the sound of a knock filled the quiet room, and he looked up as his mother, Luccia, entered, her face etched with worry. She held a small first-aid kit, and beside her was his younger half-brother, Lorenzo, watching with a mischievous smile as they stepped inside.

"Dami, come out here," Luccia called gently, settling herself on the edge of his bed, her expression a blend of concern and tenderness.

Damien exhaled, his hardened gaze softening just a little as he saw his mother waiting for him. Leaving the sink, he joined her, seating himself beside her on the bed. She carefully opened the first-aid kit, and with practiced gentleness, began cleaning his wound, dabbing it with antiseptic. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath escaping him, and Luccia murmured, "I'm sorry, son," her voice soothing.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo couldn't resist teasing. "Brother, you're already 27, and yet, here's our mother still cleaning your wounds," he grinned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.

Damien shot him a pointed glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly in amusement. "When you're in my position, Lorenzo, we'll see who needs a little help," he replied, his voice low but not unkind.

Ignoring their banter, Luccia continued to tend to his hand, her touch light as she wrapped a fresh bandage around his palm. When she was finished, she looked up at him, her gaze full of the love and pride she rarely put into words. "I know you can handle anything, Damien, but remember you don't have to do it alone. We're still here for you," she said softly.

Damien's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he gave her a small nod. He had always been her protector, the strong one, the future head of the family. But moments like these reminded him he was still her son.

As Luccia stood to leave, she brushed a stray strand of hair from his face, a small, bittersweet smile lingering on her lips. She had raised a warrior, but deep down, he was still her child.

Just as Luccia finished tending to Damien's wound, Lorenzo leaned in, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his brown eyes. He crossed his arms, his smirk widening. "And don't forget, brother," he teased, "your future wife—my little sister-in-law—is waiting for you." The last words came out in a singsong tone as he raised his brows, his grin downright wicked.

Damien's face hardened instantly, the dimple vanishing as he shot Lorenzo a glare. "Careful, Lorenzo," he warned, his voice edged with a seriousness that spoke volumes. But his younger brother was unfazed.

Lorenzo let out a short laugh, retreating to the doorway. "What, did I strike a nerve, brother?" he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "One day, you'll have to admit it, Damien. The tough act? Elena's going to see right through it."

As he said this, Lorenzo darted back a step, a laugh escaping him as Damien reached for a pillow to throw his way. "You're just full of wise advice tonight, aren't you?" Damien growled, though the faintest trace of amusement softened his tone.

Luccia gave Lorenzo a firm, yet affectionate look, motioning for him to leave Damien in peace. "Lorenzo, enough," she chided gently, though her smile betrayed her own amusement at her sons' banter.

Lorenzo took one last look at Damien, still smiling as he backed out of the room. "Goodnight, brother," he said with a playful salute before disappearing down the hall, his laughter echoing through the silent mansion as he followed Luccia.

Left alone, Damien shook his head, a sigh slipping from him. He leaned back, his eyes drifting to the bandage on his hand, his mother's words lingering in his mind. And Lorenzo's teasing, as much as he wanted to ignore it, brought an image of Elena to the forefront—a reminder of the promise that loomed just ahead.

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