Chapter3
1038 Words
“Some doors, once opened, are never meant to close again.”
It rained that night.
The kind of heavy rain that pounded on rooftops and turned streets into slow-moving rivers. Liana reached her apartment soaked, shivering, and emotionally drained. She hadn’t seen Dominic again after he walked out of the restaurant, but his presence clung to her like a ghost. Her mother had already gone to bed, the dim glow of her bedside lamp visible from under the cracked door.
Liana dropped her shoes at the corner of their tiny one-bedroom flat, peeled off her wet clothes, and wrapped herself in the worn Ankara wrapper she always used after a long shift. The house smelled like damp earth and eucalyptus balm—soothing, familiar, grounding.
She sat at the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the old TV set they never used. Her thoughts weren’t here. They were with him—the man who’d vanished when they lost everything, only to reappear now, years later, dressed like a king and speaking in riddles.
Why now?
Why?
Her phone buzzed, yanking her from her spiral.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it, but curiosity—always a trait she cursed—got the better of her.
Message received:
> Check outside. Something’s waiting for you.
Liana froze.
She looked at the window, then the door. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Slowly, she stood, wrapped the cloth tighter around her chest, and tiptoed to the front door.
She unbolted it with trembling fingers, half-expecting to see him standing there in the rain.
But the street was empty.
No Dominic.
Just silence and wet shadows.
And then she looked down.
A white envelope lay carefully placed on their welcome mat. Thick, expensive-looking. Her name written in black ink across the center in neat, capital letters:
LIANA BELLARO
She picked it up, her fingers soaked instantly from the rain. Stepping back inside, she closed the door and leaned against it as she tore it open.
Inside was a single card.
Black, with gold edges. Minimalist. Elegant. Rich.
She read the printed words aloud under her breath:
> You are formally invited to dinner.
Tomorrow evening. 7 PM.
A driver will come for you.
-D.R
That was it.
No address. No explanation. Just his initials.
Liana stared at the card, heart pounding louder than the storm outside. Every instinct in her body screamed don’t go. Every fragment of pride begged her to rip the invitation and toss it in the bin.
But a different part—older, sharper, made from the ruin of her teenage heart—wanted to know.
Why now?
Why is he showing up all of a sudden?
Why?
**
The next day, she told her mother she had a late shift at the restaurant. It wasn’t a total lie—Liana often worked until close, and her mother never asked too many questions anymore. Sickness had a way of dulling curiosity.
At exactly 6:30 PM, a sleek black Range Rover pulled up to their narrow street, out of place in a place like that. It gleamed under the early evening sky like a predator.
Liana stepped out in the one black dress she still owned—knee-length, with a modest neckline and a snug fit that hadn’t changed since her final year in highschool. She had applied only lip gloss and lined her eyes. No perfume. No intention to impress.
The driver said nothing as he opened the door for her.
The silence was louder than music.
**
The house wasn’t just big—it was a fortress.
Perched on the edge , with high walls and tall iron gates, it screamed wealth, power, and untouchable status. She’d seen pictures of it once, back when her father used to shake hands with important men and bring home stories about the Ricci family’s empire.
But seeing it now—lit with gold chandeliers, fountains gurgling under the twilight, palm trees lining the drive—it didn’t feel real.
The door opened before she knocked.
Dominic stood there.
Dark jeans. White shirt. Sleeves rolled up. No tie. No guards in sight.
“Liana,” he said like it was still yesterday. Like he hadn’t torn through time and space to pull her back into his world.
She stared at him. “What is this?”
He stepped aside. “Dinner.”
“I didn’t come to eat.”
His lips quirked. “But you came.”
He had her there.
With a tight breath, she stepped inside.
The living room was too quiet. Too perfect. No pictures. No mess. Like a life staged for an audience that never showed up.
The table had already been set. Candles. Wine. Dishes she couldn’t pronounce. He walked behind her and pulled out a chair.
“Sit,” he said, voice low.
“I’ll stand.”
Dominic leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Still stubborn.”
“Still manipulative,” she snapped. “You can’t just show up, walk into my job, send a driver, and expect me to play along.”
“I don’t expect anything,” he said. “I’m just... trying to talk to you.”
“Talk?” she laughed bitterly. “You had years to talk.”
“I was protecting you,” he said quickly.
Her breath caught. “From what?”
He looked away. “Things you don’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
Then, “I will. But not yet.”
She stared at him. The Dominic she once knew—her friend, her teenage love, her heartbreak—was still there somewhere. But this man? This version with cold eyes and mystery invitations? She didn’t trust him. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
“So you dragged me here just to feed me and drop riddles?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I brought you here to prepare you.”
“For what?”
He stepped closer, lowered his voice.
“For what’s coming.”
And with that, Dominic Ricci turned away, leaving Liana standing in his spotless living room, heart pounding, hands clenched, and a million questions hanging in the air like a thunderstorm waiting to break.
- Writer
