⭐ 5
2908 Words
“Miss Moretti, which set would you prefer to wear?”
Amelia’s voice was soft, almost like she didn’t want to break the silence. Her hands hovered over the velvet tray, fingertips brushing the edge of sapphire, diamond, and emerald clusters—like she already knew the answer but wouldn’t assume.
She was the only person in this house who didn’t make me want to scream.
A rare calm in the storm. Probably hired straight from some high-end agency, the way my father did everything—curated perfection.
I stared at the tray. Glittering distractions. No matter the cut or price tag, they were still chains.
In the Moretti house, I wasn’t a daughter. I was an investment in heels. A showroom model they wheeled out for the right people. Polished. Pretty. Silent.
And my mother?
She gave up the right to that title the day she chose her illusion of a perfect son over her very real daughter.
“Miss Moretti?” Amelia’s voice brought me back, gentle as ever.
I blinked. “What?”
Before she could repeat the question, another voice sliced through the room—velvet laced with venom.
“The gold set. It matches the champagne dress.”
Her.
My mother stood in the doorway, a vision in cream silk and diamonds, every strand of her golden hair pinned perfectly in place. She looked like the type of woman people worshipped at galas and envied at brunch. But I knew better.
The chill in my spine wasn’t from the air conditioning.
I didn’t turn right away. Let her wait.
Then slowly, I looked up. “Actually, Amelia,” I said, voice cool, “I’ll take the emeralds.”
Matching was for people who wanted to blend in. I wasn’t here to disappear.
I was here to be remembered.
“If I’m going to be in the spotlight,” I added, “I’d rather not look like wallpaper.”
A flicker passed in my mother’s expression. A twitch of her mouth. Maybe judgment. Maybe irritation. But not a single word.
She turned and left, heels tapping like a countdown.
Good.
Amelia stepped behind me, her fingers careful as she clasped the necklace. The emeralds settled against my collarbone—cold, deliberate. Heavy in all the right ways.
Armor disguised as luxury.
A knock broke the silence. “Miss Moretti? They’re ready for you.”
Of course they were.
I stood, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my dress. Champagne silk, slit high, neckline low. Elegant. Dangerous.
My reflection stared back from the mirror—glossed lips, high cheekbones, unreadable eyes.
She looked like she belonged in this world of power plays and champagne smiles.
She wasn’t me.
Not really.
But she’d do.
For tonight.
♡
The hallway outside was silent, save for the soft echo of music from downstairs—classical, expensive, pretentious.
Every surface gleamed. Fresh orchids dripped from crystal vases. Candles flickered like they were dancing for attention.
Money didn’t buy love.
But it sure as hell bought good lighting.
At the base of the stairs stood my father. Posture perfect. Expression blank. Beside him, Gabriel looked like sin wrapped in a tux. All black. All attitude.
Eyes like a storm. Smirk like the devil’s favorite joke.
I descended the stairs slowly, the way they’d taught me. Elegant. Composed. Untouchable.
My father barely looked at me before giving a curt nod. “You’re late.”
I lifted a brow. “Fashionably. You’re welcome.”
His jaw tightened. Typical.
Gabriel let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Don’t you clean up nice.”
I didn’t break stride. “Try not to sound too surprised, Gabriel. It ruins your whole dark-and-mysterious thing.”
He stepped closer, close enough I could smell his cologne—dark, masculine, far too tempting.
He leaned in, voice soft but sharp. “Shall we head into the lion’s den then, sister dearest?”
His arm extended, mock chivalrous. All performance.
I walked right past him.
Let them fake their smiles and sip their overpriced champagne.
I adjusted my shoulders, let the weight of expectation slide off.
Because one day? They’d regret betting against the girl they thought they’d broken.
---
We arrived at the venue: The Solène Marlowe Estate.
It looked like something out of a billionaire’s fever dream. All old money glamour and new money shine.
The ballroom glowed under champagne lights. Strings played something soft and calculated—probably Vivaldi. The kind of music people pretended to recognize when they couldn’t even hum the melody.
It was stunning. Breathtaking.
And completely fake.
A perfect illusion, like everything else in this world.
I adjusted the silk at my hip. The champagne dress clung like second skin—one shoulder bare.
The slit kissed high enough to tease but not enough to tempt scandal. Every thread screamed elegance. Every inch screamed stay in line.
Beside me, my mother floated in Dior like it was [armor.My](h***:://armor.my/) father had already disappeared into the crowd, likely envisioning balance sheets instead of his daughter’s engagement.
Gabriel trailed behind, for once not running his mouth.
♡
As we stepped through the grand double doors, light exploded in gold. Guests mingled under glittering chandeliers, glasses clinked, laughter curving into corners of the room like perfume.
It was beautiful, suffocating.
The soft click of my heels against marble barely registered under the hum of small talk and power plays. My chest felt tight, like I was wearing a cage instead of couture.
The Devereauxs stood at the center, looking like a stock photo for corporate power.
My father strode toward them like he was shaking hands with an empire. “Victor and Mrs. Devereauxs!" he called.
Dominic’s mother stepped forward in pearls. “Leonardo. Finally. Our families—finally united.”
My father took her hand like she was offering a contract.
♡
They didn’t talk about me.
They talked about mergers.
Profits.
Growth potential.
Even here, at my own pre-engagement party, I was a footnote in my father’s business deal.
The conversation melted into chatter about the economy, board members, mutual connections.
I tuned it out—until I heard the whispers.
“She’s Dominic’s fiancée?”
“I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone.”
Dating had never fit into the blueprint of my life. I was too busy becoming the kind of daughter the Moretti name required.
Perfect. Polished. Disposable.
The ballroom buzzed with New York’s elite—CEOs, senators, trust fund socialites with champagne habits and i********: smiles. They danced in and out of conversations with practiced ease.
And I stood there, painted into the scene like a portrait. Present, but not real.
Until he arrived.
♡
Dominic walked in like the world belonged to him and he was bored of owning it.
His black suit was cut with ruthless precision. His dark hair was tousled in that I didn’t try but still look like sin way. His eyes were sharp, unreadable.
And when they landed on me—just for a heartbeat—the whole room dropped into silence.
Then it passed.
And so did he.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said, shaking my father’s hand like I wasn’t even standing there.
His voice—low, smooth, unapologetic—wrapped around the room like smoke.
The scent of his cologne drifted between us—warm, spicy, unfairly attractive. He stood close. Too close. And still didn’t look at me.
“Dominic,” my father returned. “I trust the terms are agreeable?”
“They are.”
They talked like this was a boardroom and not pre engagement party.
His eyes flicked to me—brief, emotionless—before snapping back to business.
And I just stood there.
Smiling like I didn’t want to scream.
♡
The rest of the night passed in a blur of fake smiles and tighter grips. My father shook every hand like it signed his next paycheck. My mother drifted between groups like the perfect hostess.
And me?
I stood still.
I didn’t greet anyone. Why would I? My presence here wasn’t for the people. It was for the press. For the headlines. For appearances.
My father worked the room like the politician he’d once dreamed of being. I couldn’t understand how my mother stayed married to him for so long.
Then again, I was about to marry someone just like him.
♡
The contract had been signed hours ago.
Three months. Then we will be officially married.
Dominic had left soon after the ink dried.
Disappearing into a cluster of old-money smiles and strategic handshakes. Probably already forgetting the name of the woman he was marrying....
He didn’t say goodbye.
Not that I expected him to.
After all, this was business.
♡
I stood by the bar, fingers wrapped around a crystal flute filled with champagne I hadn’t touched. The bubbles sparkled like they were mocking me.
I tilted my head back, took a sip, and swallowed the bitterness clinging to my throat.
Then I heard it.
“Bella.”
My father’s voice.
Always calm. Always commanding.
I didn’t turn. Just stared at the glass in my hand , as if ignoring him would make him disappear.
“Now that everything’s signed,” he said, “you’ll be moving into the Devereaux penthouse by next week.”
…What?
I turned to face him, every nerve in my body going sharp.
“I’m sorry—what?”
His expression didn’t even flicker. “You’ll start living with Dominic after your engagement, next week. After the CEO poll concludes and Dominic takes full control, the wedding will happen. It’s already arranged.”
Arranged. Like it was a business trip.
“You never told me I’d be living with him before our wedding."
“I didn’t think it was necessary.” He sounded annoyed. “This isn’t about your comfort, Isabella. It’s about optics. The media, the shareholders—Dominic needs stability. Having his fiancée by his side will help with the transition.”
I set the untouched wine down with a sharp click, my pulse pounding in my throat.
“You’re out of your mind.”
He stared at me like I was being dramatic. Like I was the problem.
“You hid this from me. You waited until everything was signed—why? So I couldn’t back out?”
His expression turned colder than marble. “Because you would have backed out. That’s what you do, Bella. You run. You rebel. You embarrass me.”
My fists curled at my sides.
“No. What I do is survive. In silence. While you push me around like a pawn and expect me to thank you for it.”
“You’re being childish—”
“I’m being honest,” I snapped. My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. "I did everything for you and You didn’t think I deserved to know?”
He looked at me like I was overreacting.
“You signed the contract.”
“No.” I took a step back, voice tight. “You made sure I didn’t have one.”
He leaned in. “Don’t embarrass us now.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I held them back. Barely. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I turned without another word, pushing past Gabriel—who had conveniently shown up just in time to pretend he hadn’t overheard it all—and headed down the first hallway I could find.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The sound of my heels echoed like thunder against polished marble.
I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I needed away.
Away from the music.
Away from the lies.
Away from the gold-gilded prison I was supposed to call my future.
♡
The corridor was quiet.
Empty.
Good.
I pressed my back to the wall, hands trembling at my sides.
A single tear slipped down before I could stop it.
I wiped it away, fast.
I wasn’t supposed to cry.
I dragged myself down the dim marble corridor, the ballroom fading behind me. The walls were lined with gold accents and oil paintings I couldn’t name. Everything smelled like roses and too much money.
And still, I felt hollow.
Like I was the only thing here that didn’t belong.
I needed space.
Silence.
I didn’t want anyone to see me like this...or the way my chest caved in every time I tried to breathe.
But the silence didn’t last.
A sudden tug on my wrist made me stumble forward. My heart shot into my throat. I spun around.
Gabriel.
Of course.
His grip was too tight.
“What the f**k are you doing here?” I snapped, yanking my arm back.
He smirked. “Running already? The party’s just started.”
I clenched my jaw. “You knew, didn’t you?” My voice shook. “You knew I’d be leaving the house. You knew the deal.”
His expression didn’t change. “Well, of course everyone knew.”
“You’re full of s**t,” I whispered. “You’re just scared I’ll do better outside this house than you ever did inside it."
He leaned in, words laced with venom, his lips brushing my ear.
“Even our mother.”
I froze.
My heart cracked in two.
“Don’t you dare—” I hissed, rage boiling in my chest. “She’s not your—”
“Mother?” he finished for me, pulling back with that cruel smile he wore like a badge of honor. “Could’ve fooled me. She sure prefers me running the family over you.”
Something inside me broke.
Words caught in my throat, stuck somewhere between fury and disbelief.
Gabriel tilted his head, eyes flashing. “Next week’s your engagement, dear sister. And when that happens?” He leaned down, voice low. “Everything you built, everything you worked for—it’ll be mine. I’ll be the one standing on top. Not you.”
His fingers tightened around my wrist. Harder.
“You’re hurting me. Let go.”
He didn’t.
Until another voice cut through the hallway like a blade.
“Is there a problem?”
Gabriel’s head jerked toward it. Mine did too.
Dominic.
He stood at the edge of the corridor. One hand in his pocket. The other relaxed at his side. His face ? Unreadable.
His eyes cut straight through Gabriel.
And just like that, the air shifted.
Gabriel straightened, something flickering behind his eyes. “What?” he said, tone instantly defensive. “You following her now?”
Dominic didn’t blink. “No. Just walking by.”
He said it like it was a waste of his time.
Dominic’s eyes dropped—slowly—to where Gabriel’s hand was still wrapped around my wrist like he owned me.
A beat.
Then he walked forward.
Not fast. Just deliberate.
He didn’t look at me.
He stopped in front of us, he positioned himself just enough to put space between me and Gabriel.
He became a barrier that I didn’t ask for but desperately needed.
He didn’t touch me, he didn’t need to.
“Well, Mr. Moretti,” Dominic said, voice deceptively soft. “I’m sure whatever you were discussing just made my fiancée uncomfortable.”
Fiancée.
The word dropped like a bomb.
The word hit harder than it should’ve.
Not because I forgot. This marriage was a deal—I knew that.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking to,” he muttered.
Dominic tilted his head slightly, amused. “You’re right. I don’t.” He smiled, sharp and dismissive. “I don’t bother learning the names of people who’ll never matter.”
The insult landed, clear and brutal.
Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “She’s my sister. Don’t forget, Dominic. I suggest you walk away and leave me and my sister alone.”
Dominic’s face didn’t so much as twitch.
“This is my estate, Mr. Moretti,” he said slowly, every syllable measured. “And I’d suggest you lower your voice before your father finds out his son tried to make a scene in front of future investors.”
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
"Whatever this conversation is, it’s done.” said dominic
He just stood there, shoulders relaxed, like Gabriel wasn’t even worth getting worked up over. And some part of me liked it about dominic.
Dominic's eyes looked back at Gabriel’s grip—still on my wrist.
“Now,” his tone barely above a whisper, “let go of her.”
Calm. Cold.
Gabriel hesitated.
For a split second, I saw the fire behind his eyes—anger, humiliation, hate. But whatever he saw in Dominic’s expression must’ve made him think twice.
Because slowly—he let go.
A tense silence followed.
Gabriel’s mouth twitched, words sitting on the edge of his tongue, but he didn’t say them. He turned and walked off, jaw tight, steps sharp.
The silence he left behind was heavier than his presence.
Dominic didn’t move until he was gone.
He hadn’t touched me. Barely glanced my way.
Just that same cold, unreadable stare.
But I couldn’t look away.
Because for the first time in forever, someone stood up for me—not out of duty, not because they had to, but because they chose to.
And that choice carved out a space in me.
Small. Silent.
And I hated that I didn’t know how to close it.
- Writer
