Mayhem: Match Made in Madness

Love or madness

(Giovanni’s pov)

I sat in the studio, adjusting my cuffs as the cameras focused on me. The nation had been waiting for this moment—the first public appearance of their new Prime Minister.

And I knew she was watching.

Aurora.

"She was likely glued to the TV, her fingers trembling around a coffee cup - so tight she might not have realized it. Maybe she hadn’t even blinked since I walked into the frame?"

She’s watching me. I’m sure of it.

I wonder what her reaction will be.

The reporter’s voice cut through my thoughts.

"Hundreds of thousands of messages have poured in, all asking the same thing: Who is the Prime Minister?" he announced smoothly. "Well, today, we have the answer. For the first time since his appointment, we present to you… Mr. Giovanni."

The camera panned toward me.

I stepped forward, a calm smile on my lips as the studio lights illuminated my features—my fair skin (has makeup covering up his dark circles), my broad shoulders, my sharp gaze. I could already imagine the reactions. Shock. Intrigue. Desire.

I had seen it all before.

"You’re quite young, Prime Minister Giovanni. Many are shocked by your looks. Were you ever a model? Or perhaps a K-pop trainee in your younger days?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not at all. Just a man in his late thirties."

The reporter gasped dramatically. "Late thirties? You could have fooled me! I thought you were barely twenty-one!"

A smirk. "I get that a lot."

The interview continued—politics, my vision, my leadership style—but I could feel the weight of unseen eyes on me. Not from the cameras.

From her.

Somewhere, Aurora was watching.

And then, the inevitable question came.

"Now, before we continue, we have a special interactive segment for our viewers," the reporter announced with a grin. "We’re giving them the chance to vote—do they think our Prime Minister is single, or is there someone special in his life?"

The poll went live. Votes flooded in within seconds.

I already knew my answer. I leaned back slightly, feigning hesitation.

"Ah," I said smoothly, "you could say I’m taken."

A murmur of excitement spread through the audience.

"Taken? That’s vague!" The reporter laughed.

"Come on, Prime Minister. Let’s make it interesting. Why don’t we let the viewers guess who she is?"

He turned to the camera.

"Everyone watching, send in your guesses! Who do you think the lucky woman is?"

Comments flooded the screen.

"A politician’s daughter?" "A foreign diplomat?" "A famous actress?"

Then, a single answer flashed across the screen in bold green letters.

"C."

I smirked. "Looks like someone figured it out."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying the initial of your lucky fiancée’s name is C?"

"Oh, no." I smiled slightly. "I’m the lucky one to be engaged to her."

The reporter's eyes widened. "You are the lucky one??"

A slow nod. "Indeed. And if I reveal her name, everyone will recognize her immediately."

The audience buzzed with excitement. Online, the frenzy escalated.

"Well, you can’t just leave us hanging like that, Mr. Giovanni!" the reporter teased. "Come on, let’s make this official. Viewers, you can place your guesses now."

Votes skyrocketed. Then, with deliberate ease, I let the truth slip.

"She’s the only daughter of ALCO, the biggest shelter conglomerate," I revealed, my voice smooth. "Apart from that, she’s currently the top model and actress in our country, with a net worth of nearly sixty billion dollars. So, you see, I’m the lucky one."

Gasps filled the studio. The reporter nearly dropped his pen.

"Do you mean Miss Charlotte? The Kim’s Lottie?"

“I— I’m so jealous,” he muttered under his breath. "You’re truly fortunate."

But my mind was elsewhere.

I imagined her at that very moment—her trembling hands, her widened eyes, the sharp intake of breath as the words echoed through the screen.

Her possessiveness.

Her rage.

Yes, Aurora was watching.

And she wasn’t taking this well.

Not at all.

While Giovanni faced the cameras, Aurora faced something else entirely

"MADNESS!"

The café was buzzing. Customers huddled around the small TV mounted on the wall, their eyes locked onto the screen.

Then, a ripple of recognition spread through the room.

"Wait… isn't that…?"

A staff member turned to Aurora. "Miss Aurora, isn’t he our regular customer? The one who always orders drip coffee?"

Aurora froze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as her grip on the ceramic cup tightened, dangerously close to cracking.

She barely heard the rest of the interview. The words blurred together, drowned out by the hurricane raging inside her mind.

Then, the reporter spoke again.

"We have a winner! Someone guessed the initial correctly. Giovanni, is your fiancée’s name really Charlotte Ki—"

The cup slipped from Aurora’s hands.

CRASH.

Shattered pieces scattered across the floor.

The customers gasped.

He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine.

The words pounded through her skull, a relentless chant.

Her breath was becoming erratic as her thoughts spiralled out of control.

Was she really this obsessed?

She barely knew him—at least, not the way she wanted to. But shouldn’t he know? Shouldn’t he understand that they were soulmates?

How could he love another woman?

Her fingers dug into her scalp, nails scraping against her skin.

"Ahhh—" A ragged gasp tore from her lips.

Then, it all became clear.

It was her fault.

Charlotte.

She seduced him. She lured him away. She was the reason for this unbearable ache.

And for that…

She deserves to die.

"I’ll kill her. I will kill her. I will kill her. I will kill her," she whispered, her lips trembling, blood seeping where she had bitten too hard.

The café was still buzzing with excitement, but Aurora barely heard them.

She pulled off her heel, storming toward the counter, grabbing her scarf with shaking fingers.

It was cold. Too cold for her.

"Are you okay, ma’am?"

"Get out," she muttered.

The staff hesitated. "But—"

"Are you deaf? The shop is closed for today!" she snapped, her voice sharp, trembling with fury.

The café fell silent.

Aurora stormed out.

She had only one thought in her mind.

Charlotte Kim.

The woman who needed to disappear.

-----

I knew she would be waiting for me after the show.

She was always waiting.

It was late—around 10 PM. The glow of a 2016 Toyota’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating her figure. She sat outside the shop, motionless, the cold air biting at her skin. Beside her, a frozen coffee drink sat untouched.

I exhaled, watching my breath cloud the air. I knew she would wait.

Stepping out of the car, I grabbed a coat and scarf from the back seat before making my way to her. She didn’t flinch when I stood before her, only staring blankly ahead.

"I knew you’d be waiting," I said, draping the coat over her shoulders and wrapping the scarf around her neck.

Her hands—bruised, bloodied—rested limply on her lap.

"Let’s go inside," I urged, noting the paleness of her skin, the cracks on her lips.

"Stop it," she muttered.

I frowned. "Aurora, let’s go in."

"Why did you do it?" Her voice wavered, raw with emotion. "Why are you engaged?"

Silence.

Her fingers curled into fists. "Why would you do that, knowing you’re mine?" Her breath hitched. "I didn’t stalk you just to watch you get engaged to another woman."

I smirked. "You're admitting you stalked me?"

"Don't act like you didn’t know!" she snapped. "You left trails for me—fake information, breadcrumbs—and I followed them. You didn’t hide from me, Giovanni."

Then, with no hesitation, she said, "Break up with her."

I chuckled. "That was quick." A pause. "That was quick. You don’t even know me. Do you, Aurora?" I tilted my head slightly. "Besides, you wouldn’t want me to look like a fool, would you? I just announced my engagement on national television. Do you really expect me to throw all that away for you?"

Her jaw clenched.

"That would be impossible."

Her expression darkened. "I’d rather have blood on my hands than let you be with another woman."

I studied her carefully. "Are you planning to kill her? Because, you know, she is a celebrity."

She let out a soft, breathy laugh. "No." Her gaze lifted to mine, eyes glinting in the dim light. "I’ll kill you first… then myself."

A blade glinted in her grip.

I almost laughed. How cute.

"You actually think you can kill me?" I mused.

Her tiny, eerie grin spread wider. "Then let’s die together, my love."

She lunged.

I caught the blade with my bare hand. A sharp sting, the warm trickle of blood against the cold. Red dripped onto the white snow beneath us.

And she watched, fascinated, suddenly her eyes widened in horror.

"Let go of the knife! How dare you? How dare you hurt yourself?" she shouted, her voice raw with panic.

She grabbed my bleeding hand, desperately trying to stop the blood.

"I'll break up with her," I said plainly, watching her reaction with interest.

How could I not want to see her response? How could I not be curious about what she’d do next? She had waited for me in the freezing cold for hours, yet here she was, more worried about me than herself.

Possessive. I liked that.

Does she even realize she is insane?

"How can you say that?" she yelled, her breath coming out in visible puffs of white against the night air.

"Let's stop the bleeding first," she insisted. "Then I’ll make you another coffee."

She tried to pull me toward the shop, but I gently removed my hand from hers.

"Get your hands warmed up," I murmured. "You're too cold for my liking."

Then, without another word, I walked away.

Aurora stood there, watching me.

"There’s something different about him," she whispered to herself. "There must be something different."

I looked down at my bleeding palm, then shoved it into the snow, rubbing it roughly. The cold numbed the pain, slowing the blood.

I got into my car, ready to drive off—

Then she stepped in front of it.

I sighed, rolling down the window. "Move out of the way, Aurora."

She didn't budge.

Instead, she pulled out a knife—this time, pressing it against her own throat.

"Tell me you don’t care about me," she shouted. "Tell me that for the past year, you weren’t curious about me. That you never watched me. Never came to my café just to see me each day!"

I stared at her.

She was right.

I had been curious.

I did watch her.

I just wanted to understand why she fascinated me.

I stepped out of the car, walking toward her.

"Kill yourself," I said, my voice eerily calm.

Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled.

"Really?" she whispered. "You really want me to do it?"

"Yes," I answered simply. "Kill yourself."

Her fingers tightened around the knife handle. The blade pressed deeper against her skin, drawing a thin, red line.