The house felt suffocating the next morning, as though the storm brewing within its walls had seeped into every corner. The sunlight filtering through the ornate windows seemed dimmer, its warmth dulled by the tension in the LaGuardia estate. For Chiara, those shadows weren't just shadows—they were chains, heavier and colder than she had ever imagined.
She hadn't slept. Her father's decree played on an endless loop in her mind, the words cutting deeper with each repetition: "You'll do what's necessary." How could he decide her fate so easily, as if she were a pawn to be moved? And Alessandro—how could he agree without hesitation?
Draped in a silk robe, Chiara stood on her balcony, staring out at the sprawling gardens. The vibrant flowers and pristine hedges felt like a cruel mockery of her chaos. Birds chirped cheerfully, their melodies grating against the storm in her heart. Their fluttering wings made her think of freedom—freedom she no longer had.
Her hands gripped the railing, her knuckles whitening as frustration bubbled to the surface.
A knock at the door shattered her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, her voice laced with exhaustion.
The door creaked open, and Sofia entered, her expression cautious, her steps tentative. "Chiara," she said softly, approaching her sister. "I thought you might need someone to talk to."
Chiara turned, her eyes rimmed red from sleeplessness. "What's there to talk about?" Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Papa made his decision, and apparently, my feelings don't matter."
Sofia sighed, wrapping her arms around Chiara in a gentle hug. "You know how he is. He's doing what he thinks is best for the family—for you."
Chiara pulled back, her frustration boiling over. "For the family," she repeated bitterly. "That's always the excuse. It was for the family when he married you off to Viktor. And now it's my turn. Our lives, our dreams—they're nothing but collateral damage for this empire."
Sofia's face softened, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "I know how you feel, Chiara. I've been there. But Alessandro isn't the worst option."
Chiara let out a hollow laugh, the sound brittle. "The worst option? That's what we've come to? Settling for someone because he's less terrible?"
"That's not what I meant." Sofia's voice was gentle but firm. "Alessandro is loyal, capable, and he's always cared for you. You may not see it now, but he's not like Viktor or Papa. He's different."
"Cared for me?" Chiara's tone sharpened. "He's a soldier, Sofia. A weapon Papa wields whenever there's a problem. He agreed to this because it's his duty, not because he wants me."
Sofia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Maybe give him the chance to prove otherwise. He might surprise you."
Before Chiara could respond, another knock interrupted them. This time, it was Alessandro. He stood in the doorway, his presence commanding even in silence. His usual composure was in place, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation.
"Sofia," he said, his voice deep and steady. "May I have a moment with Chiara?"
Sofia glanced between them, then squeezed Chiara's hand. "I'll be downstairs," she said softly before leaving.
The door closed with a faint click, and the air grew heavier. Chiara crossed her arms, her posture defensive. "What do you want?"
"To talk," Alessandro said simply, his tone measured but serious.
She scoffed, her bitterness spilling out. "Talk? About what? How you've suddenly become my fiancé overnight?"
Alessandro's jaw tightened, but he remained calm. "I didn't agree to this lightly, Chiara. You think I wanted this?"
"You didn't fight it," she shot back. "You stood there like the perfect soldier and said, 'I'll do what's necessary.' That's all you've ever been—a soldier who follows orders."
His dark eyes flashed, his calm façade cracking for the first time. "And what would you have me do, Chiara? Say no? Walk away? Leave this family vulnerable while I chase some illusion of freedom? I've spent my life protecting this family—protecting you. I don't get to run away just because things get hard!"
His words hit her like a slap, especially the part about running away. She knew it wasn't just a general statement; it was aimed at her. Alessandro had always been steady, unwavering, while she had dreamed of escape.
"I don't want to marry you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
For a moment, Alessandro didn't respond. Then, softer than she expected, he said, "I know. But I'll make you a promise, Chiara. This isn't about control or power for me. It's about protecting this family—protecting you. You may not want this marriage, but I'll make sure you're safe. Always."
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Chiara swallowed hard, her defenses crumbling ever so slightly. She looked at him, searching for any sign of insincerity, but found none.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "But don't expect this to be easy."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Before she could respond, another knock at the door broke the moment. One of her father's men stood in the doorway, his face grim.
"Boss wants both of you in his study. There's been… an update."
The tension between them shifted, sharp and immediate. Alessandro gave Chiara a curt nod, his soldier-like demeanor snapping back into place.
"Let's go," he said, his voice steady. The flicker of vulnerability she'd seen moments earlier vanished from his eyes in a second.
The swift shift in emotions reminded Chiara of just how little she truly knew about the man standing before her. Alessandro had grown up in the same house, shared the same walls, yet he remained a mystery. He wasn't just the boy she'd known since childhood—he was something more now, something far more complicated.
Their history was marked by friction, a constant undercurrent of unspoken tension. Maybe it stemmed from the way he and Stefano had scared off every boy who dared to show interest in her, their overprotectiveness smothering her attempts at normalcy. Or perhaps it was the jealousy she'd never admitted to, the way girls flocked to her not for friendship but for access to him—a chance to catch the attention of the aloof and fearsome Alessandro.
Whatever it was, it had carved a chasm between them, one that felt impossible to bridge.
As they descended the grand staircase toward Paolo's study, Chiara felt the oppressive weight of inevitability pressing down on her. This wasn't just about their impending marriage—it was about survival.