The StongWilled Rose

Chapter 2

The Bianchi estate looked exactly the same.

That was the first thing I noticed.

The second was that I hated it.

The massive iron gates opened slowly as my father's car approached, and I stared through the window at the long driveway I'd once known by heart.

Six years.

Six years and not a single thing had changed.

The fountains were still running.

The perfectly trimmed hedges were still obnoxiously perfect.

Even the stupid marble statue near the entrance was still there.

I remembered hiding behind that statue when I was nine because Matteo had convinced me there was a monster in the garden.

He had found me twenty minutes later.

I had cried.

He had laughed.

I had punched him.

He had told everyone.

Good times.

Now I just stared at it.

Funny how memories could feel like someone else's life.

Dad parked near the entrance.

Neither of us moved.

I looked at the house.

He looked at me.

"You don't have to stay long tonight," he said quietly.

I turned toward him.

"That's funny."

"What?"

"You brought me here like I'm luggage."

His face tightened.

"I didn't mean—"

"I know."

I opened the door.

Before I stepped out, he said my name.

"Allegra."

I paused.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

There were tears in his eyes.

I didn't know what to do with that.

So I gave him the only answer I had.

"You're six years late."

Then I stepped out.

The front doors opened almost immediately.

And there they were.

My family.

For a second, nobody moved.

My older brothers stood behind my father.

Matteo was the first person I recognized.

He had changed.

Obviously.

Six years could do that.

He was taller now, broader, his dark hair slightly longer than I remembered.

But his eyes were the same.

The moment he saw me, his expression completely collapsed.

"Allegra?"

I crossed my arms.

"Hi."

He stared at me.

"Is it really you?"

"No, I'm actually a very convincing hallucination."

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

I almost smiled.

Almost.

A second brother stepped forward.

Marco.

His expression was different.

Suspicious.

Confused.

He looked from me to Dad.

"What the hell is going on?"

Dad answered quietly.

"She's your sister."

Marco looked at me again.

"I know who she is."

His tone wasn't exactly welcoming.

"Good."

A younger brother stood behind him.

Luca.

He had been twelve when I disappeared.

Now he was eighteen.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

"I remember you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That's concerning. I barely remember myself at twelve."

He smiled slightly.

Then immediately looked down.

And then I saw her.

Brittany.

She stood at the top of the stairs.

Perfect hair.

Perfect clothes.

Perfect expression.

She looked exactly like the girl I remembered.

Except older.

She stared at me as if she'd seen a ghost.

Then her face went pale.

"Allegra."

There was something almost amusing about hearing my name from her mouth.

I smiled.

"Brittany."

She gripped the railing.

For the first time in my life, I saw fear on her face.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Then my mother appeared.

Lucia Bianchi.

My mother.

She walked down the stairs slowly.

For a moment, I couldn't move.

Six years ago, she had been the last person I expected to betray me.

Now she was standing ten feet away.

Older.

But still beautiful.

Still elegant.

Still wearing the same perfume.

That stupid perfume.

My stomach twisted.

She stopped in front of me.

Her eyes travelled over my face.

"Allegra..."

I tilted my head.

"Mom."

She raised a trembling hand.

I stepped backward before she could touch me.

Her hand froze in the air.

Something flashed across her face.

Pain.

Guilt.

Or maybe guilt pretending to be pain.

I wasn't interested enough to find out.

"You've grown," she whispered.

I laughed.

"That's generally what happens when six years pass."

"Please."

"Please what?"

She looked at Dad.

He didn't say anything.

Then she looked back at me.

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"Neither did I."

Her eyes filled with tears.

I felt absolutely nothing.

That scared me more than I wanted to admit.

She whispered, "I'm so sorry."

The entire room went silent.

I stared at her.

"Are you?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

"For what?"

She couldn't answer.

I smiled.

"Exactly."

Brittany suddenly spoke.

"Allegra, I—"

"Don't."

She stopped.

"I didn't—"

"Don't."

"But you don't understand—"

I laughed.

"That's the problem, Brittany."

She looked at me.

"I understand everything."

Her face went pale.

Matteo stepped forward.

"Allegra..."

I turned toward him.

"What?"

"I want to talk to you."

"Okay."

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Privately."

I glanced around the room.

"Sure."

He gestured toward the hallway.

I followed him.

We stopped near the old library.

He shut the door.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he turned toward me.

"I didn't believe it."

I frowned.

"Didn't believe what?"

"That you did it."

My chest tightened.

He continued.

"I never believed you attacked Mom."

I looked away.

"Congratulations."

"I was thirteen."

"I know."

"I didn't understand everything."

"You understood enough."

He swallowed.

"I should have said something."

"Yes."

"I should have stopped them."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

I looked at him.

He looked genuinely devastated.

And that was inconvenient.

Because I had spent years convincing myself that everyone had abandoned me.

Now he was standing in front of me, proving that at least one person had questioned it.

"I hated you," I whispered.

His eyes watered.

"I know."

"I thought you hated me too."

"Never."

I looked down.

My fingers curled into fists.

"I needed someone."

"I know."

"No."

I looked back at him.

"You don't."

My voice cracked slightly.

"I needed someone to believe me."

He didn't answer.

Because there wasn't an answer.

I turned toward the door.

"Allegra."

I stopped.

"I really am sorry."

I nodded once.

"Okay."

Then I walked out.

Not because I forgave him.

I didn't.

But because for the first time since I'd arrived, I didn't feel like I was completely alone.

When I returned to the main hall, everyone was still there.

Dad looked at me.

"We've prepared your old room."

I almost laughed.

"My old room?"

"Yes."

"That's adorable."

Brittany shifted uncomfortably.

Dad ignored the sarcasm.

"It's exactly as you left it."

I stared at him.

"No."

He frowned.

"No?"

"Don't make it exactly as I left it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not the girl who left it."

Silence.

I looked around the room.

At the family photographs.

At the people.

At the house.

At the life I'd once believed was mine.

Then I looked at Dad.

"I'll stay here tonight."

His eyes softened.

"But don't mistake that for forgiveness."

He nodded.

"I won't."

I picked up my suitcase.

As I started walking upstairs, Brittany spoke behind me.

"Allegra."

I stopped.

She sounded nervous.

I turned.

"What?"

Her lips parted.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she whispered,

"Why did you come back?"

I smiled.

It wasn't a warm smile.

It wasn't friendly.

It was the kind of smile that made people wonder whether they should be afraid.

"I didn't."

Her face fell.

"They brought me back."

I turned and continued upstairs.

Behind me, nobody spoke.

But I could feel their eyes following me.

And for the first time in six years, I walked into the bedroom where I had once been a little girl.

The room was untouched.

My old stuffed bear was still on the bed.

My childhood photographs were still on the wall.

Even the little birthday decorations from six years ago were still packed inside a box beside the wardrobe.

I stared at them.

Tomorrow was my birthday.

Seventeen.

I laughed quietly.

Of all the sick jokes the universe could have pulled...

It had brought me home one day before my birthday.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

My phone buzzed.

I checked the screen.

Unknown: We need to talk. The board is asking where you are.

I sighed.

Of course.

My empire didn't stop because I had family drama.

I typed back.

Me: Handle it.

A reply came immediately.

Unknown: They're asking for you personally.

I stared at the message.

Then I smiled.

Finally.

Something normal.

Something that belonged to me.

I stood and walked toward the window.

Below me, the Bianchi estate stretched beneath the night sky.

For six years, this place had existed without me.

Tomorrow, I would turn seventeen.

And apparently, everyone expected me to celebrate with the family.

Cute.

They had no idea who they had brought home.

And I wasn't planning to tell them.

Not yet.