The Heir I shouldn't Love

First Encounter

Cassara’s Point of View

The cabin hummed softly with the lull of engines and quiet chatter. I pressed my head against the window, watching white clouds glide past like slow, sleepy waves.

The seatbelt strap rubbed against my collarbone, but I didn’t shift. I liked the discomfort; it reminded me I was in motion.

Finally moving forward.

When I finalized the last page of the divorce papers. I didn’t cry. Not because it didn’t hurt, it did but because the weight of that inked signature felt like the first breath I’d taken in two years. Two years of legal back-and-forth with a family that ran an empire like a kingdom, and I was just a woman who dared to leave the prince.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant’s voice purred through the intercom, “we’ll be beginning our descent into Rome shortly. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened, and your tray tables are up.”

The attendant in my aisle offered me a polite smile. “Would you like some water, ma’am? We’ll be landing in about twenty-five minutes.”

I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

She placed the bottle gently on my tray, and I took it with a nod before she turned to the next row. I wrapped my fingers around the plastic like it was something solid to hold on to.

Then my phone started vibrating.

It vibrated twice.

Then a third time. The same name flashing across the screen:

Mom.

I didn’t touch it. Just stared. The phone lit up again, the screen vibrating in stubborn persistence. Then came the messages.

“Cassara, where are you?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot today is Madam Verona’s birthday.”

“You should’ve gone. This could’ve helped settle things better with Roman.”

“You’ve been single for two years. Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

I locked the screen, but the phone kept buzzing.

I switched it off entirely.

And everything was silent now.

Then I reached for my music app, plugged in my earphones, and hit play on "Billie Eilish “You Should See Me in a Crown.”

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes.

Roman’s family ran a conglomerate that reached across four continents—hotels, oil, media, even pharmaceuticals. During the period of my divorce with Roman.They hired the best attorneys in the city.

I signed the deal with the alimony included. Not because I asked but because I earned it. For the years I gave, the peace I lost, and the blood they didn’t see me bleed.

And now?

Now I was on a plane to Italy. This wasn’t just a vacation.

It was a reclamation of my joy.

I opened my eyes as the plane began to descend, the seatbelt sign chiming overhead. The Roman skyline appeared beneath the clouds, ancient and burning with golden light.

And for the first time in years, I smiled without force.

My life didn’t end with that divorce.

It was only just beginning.

The moment I stepped out of the waiting area into the soft sun spilling across the terminal pavement, I switched my phone back on.

The notifications came alive in waves, voicemails, messages, a few emails I wasn’t ready to look at. But just as the screen loaded, a familiar name blinked at the top:

Sierra calling.

I answered without hesitation.

“Please tell me you’ve finally landed and didn’t change your mind at the last minute,” Sierra’s voice came sharp, warm, and playful.

I laughed. “I landed. Rome’s got its arms wide open for me.”

“Good. Because I swear if you canceled this trip to go play peace ambassador to the Verona Kingdom, I would’ve personally dragged you out of that glass prison you call an apartment.”

Her voice held that stubborn edge. Sierra had stood by me through every breakdown—through every emergency call, every silent night where all I could do was cry. She never judged me. She just stayed.

“I didn’t,” I said softly. “I really didn’t. I’m here. And I’m grateful.”

“You should be.” Her voice gentled. “Listen, Cass… soak up everything there. The air, the people, the peace. Don’t let your mind wander back to them. This is your time. When you come back, you’re coming back reborn. Full energy, head high, clean slate.”

I smiled into the phone. “I will. I promise.”

“Good girl,” she murmured. “Now go fall in love with your own damn life.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Talk soon, Sierra.”

“Always.”

The line went dead.

I pocketed the phone, exhaled, and hailed a taxi from the curb.

Inside the car, the driver greeted me with a polite smile and a strong accent. “Roma?” he asked.

“Yes, the address I sent,” I replied, settling into the back seat.

The city unfolded like a dream outside the window.

Golden sunlight kissed cobblestone roads, balconies spilled over with flowers, old buildings wore time like jewelry.

I smiled again.

I’m really here.

The cab turned down a wide avenue, and in the distance, I caught sight of something breathtaking.

A hilltop terrace washed in evening gold—marble steps descending into a garden of fountains and roses, lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. Couples strolled hand in hand. Some sat under umbrellas, wine glasses between them, heads close in quiet laughter. I leaned closer to the window, unable to look away.

The driver noticed. He spoke quickly. “Ah, scusi!” He chuckled when I blinked in confusion. “Forgive me. I forgot… you are not Italian, yes?”

I smiled, a little embarrassed. “No, but I wish I understood.”

He nodded, his voice growing gentle as he pointed toward the vista. “That is Villa d’Amore. It means ‘House of Love.’ Very famous here in Rome.”

My brows rose.

“Many people go there,” he continued. “Some meet by accident, some return to remember. It is a place where hearts soften. Where… old pain leaves, and new love enters.”

I stared out at it again.

“Many couples meet there, you know,” he added. “Some even marry there. Real love. The kind that chooses you when you stop chasing ghosts.”

His words sat with me.

Then, without warning, he asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I blinked.

There was a pause—a strange, awkward weight to the question. I cleared my throat. “I’m… divorced.”

He met my eyes in the rearview mirror. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he smiled, slow and kind. “Ah. But still… You are young. And very beautiful.”

“You know, people think divorce means you failed. But sometimes, divorce means you survived. Sometimes love… leaves a wound. But wounds don’t mean you’re broken. It means you’ve been strong enough to feel deeply.”

I swallowed, he continued “Rome is good for healing. Eat good food. Walk slowly. Smile at strangers. And maybe, if fate is kind, love will find you again. Not because you’re looking. But because you’ve made space for it.”

I turned to the window again. The city looks so beautiful.

He didn’t speak after that, and neither did I. I felt something shifted in me.

Five years in a marriage that felt more like a hostage negotiation than a partnership. Five years of smiling at fundraisers while Roman flirted with anything in a cocktail dress. Five years of being told I was “too emotional,” “too independent,” “too much.”

And still, I stayed. Hoping. Praying. Trying to be enough for a man who never saw me.

Until the day I saw myself and realized I was already enough.

Then I reached at the hotel. It was quiet, nestled at the edge of Trastevere.

I shut the door behind me and exhaled. Finally. Silence.

After slipping out of my clothes, I stepped into the bathroom and turned the faucet. Steam curled upward as warm water filled the tub. I lowered myself in slowly, letting the heat work its way into my aching muscles. T

I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the water.

Afterward, I pulled on a silk robe and sat by the bed. My hand reached for the small prescription bottle in my purse. One pill. Just enough to sleep.

Just then, my eyes caught something through the sheer curtain.

A warm flicker in the distance tiny lights dancing along the edge of a hill. Villa d’Amore. The place the driver told me about.

I grabbed my phone and opened a rideshare app, entering the name he had told me earlier. The screen pinged. A cab was five minutes away.

I slipped into a black dress, nothing too dramatic. I stepped into the night.

The cab weaved through Rome’s narrow lanes. I stared out the window as the city lived around me. Streets buzzed with laughter, music, and light. Couples held hands under café lights, kissed at corners, fed each other gelato on park benches.

My heart pinched at the sight.

I had loved. Or at least, I thought I had.

Then—

BANG.

The car jolted violently to one side. I gasped and grabbed the handle. The driver cursed in Italian, guiding the vehicle to a slow stop by the curb.

He got out, inspected the tire, and sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry, signora,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “It is the tire. Completely gone. I do not think I can take you there anymore.”

“But,” he added quickly, “it is not far now. You see the steps there?” He pointed down the block, toward a stone staircase rising between two tall buildings. “Follow them. Then walk straight until you see the lanterns. That is Villa d’Amore.”

I thanked him, paid what I owed, and started walking.

The steps came fast and steep. The night air was thick and I was still tired. Each footfall felt heavier than the last.

Halfway up, I was panting.

The world swayed slightly. I realized, too late, that I had still taken the pill out of habit. It must be kicking in.

“Great,” I muttered, leaning against a lamppost.

But I kept going.

Then, suddenly I heard footsteps. Fast behind me.

Two men emerged from the shadows. One reached for my shoulder.

“Scusa, signora,” one said.

Before I could react, the other snatched my bag. I screamed, twisting back, but they were already running.

“HEY!” I yelled, stumbling after them a few steps before stopping.

My knees trembled. The weight of the day, the climb, the theft, all of it crashed down at once.

Tears stung the back of my eyes. I clenched my fists.

“No,” I whispered. “No. You will not ruin this night for me.”

I squared my shoulders. Picked a direction.

And walked.

Fifteen minutes later, I found it.

Villa d’Amore.

It rose in front of me. Lanterns glowed like tiny suns hanging in midair. Couples danced barefoot on stone, laughed over wine, leaned into one another like they had all the time in the world.

I smiled despite everything. I had made it.

I wandered to the edge of the terrace where the cliff dropped into a breathtaking view of the Roman skyline, the whole city shimmering under the night sky.

I stood there, letting the wind kiss my skin.

And that’s when the pill hit harder.

My vision blurred. My knees wobbled. The ground seemed to lurch beneath me. I felt myself tipping forward, my hand reaching for something that wasn’t there.

Then an arm caught me.

It was strong and warm.

“Whoa, whoa—easy,” a deep voice murmured close to my ear.

I blinked up at the figure now holding me. The world swam in stars and lights—but his face was clear.

He had a sharp jaw. With dark, tousled hair.

He looked so handsome.

Then fireworks bursting behind him.

My head fell against his chest.

I heard myself whisper, soft and slurred:

“Please don’t let go.”