Isola Belle, Milan
In the luxurious open garden of Isola designed to resemble a shell, Mr.
Francesco Conti, the most tyrannical businessman who controlled the machinery and electronics industry had his birthday party. It was the last place Alessia would want to be at.
Each attendant was better dressed than the other, and the women's jewelry shone more than the stars studded beautifully in the sky.
Mr. Francesco sat on a throne made of pure gold, on an elevated platform looking down at the attendants.
The gold throne was wrongly taken from an affluent king in East Africa, where he ran a business that was just muzzles in the mouth of his workers far away from colonialism. He watched as people interacted quietly, talking in hushed manners. No one dared to be too merry, and even the wine served was sipped very slowly so as not to be intoxicated.
Chandeliers hung from tall, elegant stands, casting a warm glow over the garden. The scent of the exotic flowers mingled with the aroma of dishes being served by waiters in white uniforms as soft classical music played in the background.
There were only three types of people at the party: the ones who came to kiss Mr. Francesco's feet, the ones who came to kiss his secretary's feet, and a ghost.
The ghost was in a two-piece black suit, his jet-black hair covering his face. He stood alone, far away from the garden at a corner, like he snuck in, his body backing the rest of the attendants.
The pitch-black suit made him blend perfectly into the darkness. A wisp of smoke protruded from his sexy lips and went up in the air.
Alessia and Marco walked into the party, with Marco leading the way. Alessia 's simple mermaid gown with minimal detailing contrasted sharply with the extravagance around her. She kept her makeup light as her features were naturally defined and symmetrical, with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and full lips. Her straight blonde hair was tied in a tasteful low bun. Even with her humble dressing, men gawked at her until their partners snapped them back to reality.
They had been late because of another argument in the car. Marco's usual death ride, where he drove recklessly while listing her faults, left her pleading for her life; she couldn't afford to die, her siblings depended on her. Her heart raced, and her palms were sweaty as she tried to keep her composure. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with anger.
"Why can't you let them know about our relationship?" she had cried out. "We were dating before I became your secretary, Marco!"
Marco's eyes had flashed with anger. "Are you trying to ruin my reputation? You're just a secretary; don't forget your place."
Her relationship with Marco was far from normal.She didn't know anyone in his family, and he knew no one in hers. He was occasionally affectionate when in a good mood, but in seven years, he had never truly touched her.
The one time she mentioned breaking up, he had hired people to beat her. She could still remember the warm, metallic taste of blood in her mouth after that incident.
Heads turned as they entered, and Alessia could feel eyes on her like cheap perfume. The whispers grew louder. Young women scowled, and older women sipped their wine while scrutinizing her.
She could hear the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations, making her feel even more out of place. No one brought their secretary to parties like this, so everyone viewed her as an ambitious bed climber. Only Marco didn't get that.
"Uncle Marco," a sweet voice called. A lady in her twenties strutted over with a smile that could sell beauty products.
"I told you, drop the formalities; I'm not that old." Marco said.
"Why are you here with your secretary again? Still no girlfriend?" the lady teased, placing a hand on his arm.
"Been busy," Marco replied, puffing his chest. "The new company in Atlanta is a challenge, but I'm tougher."
"Come on, finding a girlfriend isn't that hard."
"I don't want just any woman; that's why I take my time."
"I hope some nameless, greedy church rats don't try to leech off you," the lady spat, glancing at Alessia , who was lost in the beauty of the garden.
Alessia 's eyes landed on Mr. Francesco, and her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met briefly. She quickly looked away, feeling a shiver run down her spine.
"Hey, get me a drink," the lady demanded, clearly not happy that she was ignored.
"The waiter is right behind you, or do you need help because you're not of drinking age yet?" she inquired with a polite smile.
"How dare you talk to me like that?" She yelled, reaching out to slap Alessia , but Alessia twisted away. The lady stumbled in her tall heels, falling onto the waiter behind Alessia .
Drinks splashed everywhere. Alessia knew chaos was about to erupt. She didn't bother turning back; helping wouldn't change anything.
Smack!
She could feel Marco's rage radiating off him as he slapped her. The sound of the slap was loud, cutting through the murmurs of the party.
Alessia's cheek burned as she fought back tears. Her cheap clothes dripped, now clinging to her skin. Despite the shame,she kept her head up.
The ghost, standing in the shadows, clenched his fists, his insides burning with rage.
The lady's mother, a disgruntled peacock clad in rolling silk and heavy detail gold, rushed over. "Apologies for my secretary. She's not accustomed to such events," Marco said, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
Alessia 's blood ran cold. The Monteros, asides excelling in media manipulation as their marketing strategy took immense pleasure in crushing anyone below their cadre. She bowed her head, waiting for the inevitable.
What could they possibly take from her? Everything. Her job, her dignity, her chance to support her siblings.
Just as Madame Montero was about to speak, her phone rang. She answered, screamed, and collapsed.
"Mother!" the lady shouted. Everyone rushed to her, wondering what news could have caused such a reaction. The real chaos was just about to begin.