Rihanna woke up breathing fast, her hands trembling. Her father's features haunted her in the dream… dead, silent, staring at her with reproachful eyes. She sat on her bed in the dim light of the luxurious room, then slowly got up and walked toward the mirror. She looked at her face—pale, her eyes tired despite sleeping, as if her heart had never truly rested since she left her homeland.
She picked up the phone and dialed her mother's number. Salima's voice came, warm and reassuring, telling her she was fine and that the weather there was sunny. They exchanged only a few words, yet each one carried a mountain of longing, fear, and nostalgia.
Rihanna hung up, put on a simple robe, and went down to the dining hall. She didn't expect to find him there, sitting with his usual imposing presence, sipping his coffee in silence. The moment she saw him, her steps slowed, but he didn't lift his head. She sat across from him quietly, their eyes meeting—calm… but charged.
Maria, as always, tried to break the tension:
— "How about a little outing today? The weather is beautiful."
Leonardo simply said:
— "I have work."
Then he stood up, and without another glance, walked out of the hall. Rihanna kept staring at her cup, wondering if this was what awaited her always… silence and unfinished words.
---
She spent the day with Maria and Matteo. She tried to smile at him, play with him, but her heart was half here and half still in that old room in Morocco. Even so, she couldn't ignore the warmth that radiated from Maria's bond with her grandson, and the glimpse of kindness she extended to her.
In a quiet moment, Maria said lightly as she watched Matteo play:
— "My son… he's stubborn, but he's not as cold as he seems."
Rihanna looked at her, but Maria didn't say anything more. It was just one sentence, yet it planted doubt and curiosity in her heart.
---
Night fell, and Matteo was asleep. Rihanna returned to her suite, showered, and put on a short red pajama set—shorts and a top that revealed her warm bronze-toned stomach. She tied her hair up in a neat bun, letting a few strands fall loosely around her face.
Suddenly, the phone rang—an internal number from the mansion. She picked up:
— "Come to my office. I want to talk to you."
His voice was as dry as ever.
She hesitated for a moment, then walked out with steady steps. When she opened the office door, she found him sitting in his leather chair, watching her.
His gaze was silent, yet burning. He scanned her from head to toe. Her hair, her skin, the scent that drifted to his senses—something in him ignited, something he wouldn't even admit to himself. But, as always, he buried it under a cold tone:
— "If you're not ready to fulfill your duties as a wife… it doesn't matter. In the end, our marriage is just a deal."
She stepped forward, looking at him steadily, and said:
— "Maybe for you it's a deal. But for me… I'm carrying out my father's will. Our marriage is real, even if it's without love."
A long silence. He didn't speak, and she didn't give him a chance to reply. She turned and left, his eyes following her until the door closed behind her.
He remained alone, pressing his fingers together, as if trying to force his emotions out from under his skin… but he failed.
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for your incredible support and for reading my novel! I sincerely apologize for the unexpected break — life threw some challenges my way, but I'm back, just as I promised.
The end of Part One is just around the corner, and trust me, there's a surprise waiting for you that you won't see coming.
Meanwhile, I'm working on a brand-new short story packed with suspense and twists, and I'd love to have your continued support and encouragement on this exciting journey.
Stay tuned, and thank you for being with me every step of the way!🫶🏻