Bound By Obsession

The Rivals Smile

Marco. Was. EVERYWHERE.

Like seriously, it’s not even funny at this point. Romano Enterprises is a whole damn labyrinth, glass walls, steel beams, hallways that look like they could eat you alive. And somehow every single time I turned a corner, boom. There he was.

Leaning against the elevator like he owned gravity. Flashing that stupid movie-star grin that made secretaries giggle like high schoolers. Tossing lazy jokes that got way too much laughter.

And me? Yeah.

The cage girl.

The debt.

The nobody cosplaying rich.

Except Marco didn’t look at me like that. He looked at me like… like I wasn’t invisible. And I hated how my chest noticed before my brain did.

“Coffee?”

I almost jumped out of my skin. He’d slipped into the archive room while I was wrestling with a mountain of files. I spun so hard I nearly dumped the whole stack.

Of course he caught the top folder, smooth, fast, smirking like he was built for it.

“You look like you could use it,” he said, holding out a cup. Steam curling, bitter and dark.

I just stared at it.

And at him.

And at the freaking hand holding it like it was some peace treaty.

“I don’t drink coffee,” I muttered.

“Then you’ll learn.” He shoved it into my hand, fingers brushing mine, warm. Way too warm. Way too long.

My stomach fluttered like I was fourteen and pathetic. I wanted to throw the cup at his smug face.

“Why are you even talking to me?” I blurted, before I could stop myself.

His smile stretched wider, but his eyes dipped darker. “Because you’re interesting.”

I snorted. “No. I’m debt. That’s what everyone keeps calling me. That’s what your brother calls me.”

Marco leaned closer, that cologne of his wrapping around me, soft, citrusy smoke, nothing like Matteo’s sharp steel scent. “Matteo doesn’t see people. He sees property. But me?” He tilted his head, eyes locking on mine. “I see you.”

God. My chest squeezed too tight. I wanted to scream Liar. I wanted to believe him. And that was the most dangerous part.

The gala was a nightmare.

Flash.

The cameras nearly blinded me the second I stepped out of the car. My feet shook on the marble stairs, clutching the clutch Giulia shoved at me. The Palazzo Santorini rose up in lights and velvet ropes like something out of a movie I wasn’t cast in.

Diamonds. Silk. Names I didn’t recognize screamed from every corner. Women floated past like glass dolls. Men in tuxedos looked like they owned kingdoms.

And me? Some random debt girl in a black dress I couldn’t pronounce, heels plotting my murder.

Inside? Worse.

Chandeliers dripping like frozen waterfalls. Painted ceilings with gods looking down, judging me. Music that made my chest ache with how expensive it sounded. Perfume so strong it nearly knocked me over.

Every single glance screamed: She doesn’t belong.

I kept to the edges, small, invisible. Until I saw him.

Matteo.

Center of it all. Black suit, sharp lines, a walking storm. Shaking hands with politicians, whispering in women’s ears. Moving like Milan belonged to him. And not once, not once, did he look at me.

Then Marco appeared.

Warmth sliding into my icebox. “You clean up well, bella,” he murmured, pressing a champagne flute into my hand.

“This isn’t me,” I snapped, staring at the bubbles like they’d bite me.

He leaned closer, lips tilted like he knew every secret I was trying to hide. “Then who is it? The broken girl in the back of the church? The debt slave in the office? Or…” his breath brushed my ear, “…someone who could be more, if she wanted.”

My throat locked. My heart twisted. His words slid in like poison disguised as honey.

And then a laugh, low, cruel, cut through.

I turned. A man in pinstripe, hair slicked, grin like a knife. His date draped on his arm, glittering in diamonds, smirking at me like I was trash.

“This must be Romano’s… project,” he sneered.

Heat burned my face. I wanted to vanish.

I was now referred to as a PROJECT!

Marco’s smile didn’t even flicker. He leaned in, voice smooth and sharp at once. “Unpolished diamonds are worth the most, if you know how to handle them.”

He clinked his glass against mine, daring me to drink.

And then, Matteo.

The air shifted. His shadow fell heavy. His hand clamped around my waist, hard, claiming, unyielding. The music, the laughter, it all drowned.

“She’s with me.”

Everything froze.

My pulse exploded. He hadn’t touched me all night. Hadn’t even looked at me. And now? Now he was claiming me.

Marco’s eyes gleamed, lips curving, dangerous now. “With you?” His tone was lazy. A knife in silk. “Funny. She doesn’t look like she belongs to anyone.”

Every stare hit me.

They weren’t watching a party. They were watching a war. And I was the prize.

“She belongs where I put her,” Matteo’s voice cut low, sharp, final.

My knees went weak. Rage and heat tangled in my veins. Property. That’s what I was to him. And still, my chest burned under the weight of his grip.

Marco leaned in, voice brushing my ear. “Careful, bella. Cages break eventually.”

The music swelled, couples spilling onto the floor in glittering swirls. Marco extended a hand, brown eyes soft, teasing. “Dance with me.”

Matteo’s grip tightened, pulling me closer against him. “She’s leaving.”

Marco’s smile sharpened. His gaze locked on his brother’s. “With you? Or with me?”

And the world split open.

Whispers lit the room. Cameras shifted. The air was knives.

And me? My pulse went feral, caught in the storm between them.

Because for the first time since Alejandro broke me, I wasn’t on the sidelines.

I was the center.

And my next word could wreck everything.