Klarisse decided to go to her cafe and talk to her only friend and business associate. The cafe was Klarisse’s sanctuary, her one place of freedom from the heavy chains of her family name.Allie, her business associate and closest confidante, stood behind the counter, adjusting the display of éclairs. She was a bright and bubbly presence, with curly auburn hair and an easy smile that had won over even the grumpiest of customers. When Klarisse walked in, Allie immediately noticed the tension in her friend’s posture.“Klarisse!” Allie called out, waving her over. “You look like you’ve had a week, and it’s only... what? Day two of being Mrs. Robinson?”Klarisse managed a small smile as she approached the counter. “Don’t remind me.”Allie handed her a cappuccino without asking. “Come on, spill. What’s going on?”Klarisse took the cup and headed to their usual table in the corner. Allie followed, plopping down across from her.“I don’t know where to start,” Klarisse admitted, staring into
The cafe was unusually quiet that morning. Klarisse sat by the large bay window, staring at the untouched latte in front of her. The early sunlight spilled through the glass, casting golden hues across the room, but the warmth did nothing to soothe the cold unease in her chest. Something felt off. Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence. She glanced at the screen: **Alexander.** For a moment, she hesitated. Their relationship had become a strange dance of guarded conversations and half-kept boundaries, but lately, Klarisse had found herself looking forward to his calls, even if she would never admit it. “Hello?” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Klarisse.” His tone was different—serious, almost strained. She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?” “I... I need to leave for a while,” Alexander said, his words heavy with an unspoken weight. “What do you mean ‘leave’?” Klarisse’s heart began to race. “There’s a situation I have to handle. Something that can’t
A week had crawled by since Alexander’s departure, and the silence he left behind was deafening. Klarisse buried herself in her cafe work, going over inventory and training new staff, trying to keep her mind occupied. But no matter how busy she kept herself, the absence of any news from Alexander loomed over her like a dark cloud. She told herself it wasn’t her place to wonder or worry. They’d agreed from the start—no emotional attachment, no prying into personal lives. And yet, the void of communication gnawed at her resolve. Her parents, Alan and Kareen, were relentless. “Klarisse,” Kareen’s sharp voice crackled over the phone one morning. “We haven’t seen Alexander in over a week. Where is he?” “I’m not sure, Mom,” Klarisse said, keeping her tone even though the tight grip on her pen betrayed her growing frustration. “You’re his wife now,” Kareen continued, as though Klarisse hadn’t spoken. “It’s your responsibility to know these things. What will the Robinsons think if they f
It was a quiet Wednesday morning at the café, the kind of calm Klarisse usually appreciated. The early sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, casting a golden glow over the neatly arranged tables and chairs. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of pastries warming in the oven, creating a cozy atmosphere. Klarisse had just finished arranging the day’s special menu when the bell over the door jingled softly. She looked up, ready to greet the new customer with her usual polite smile. But the words froze in her throat. Standing just inside the door was a woman she immediately recognized—Maxine. Klarisse’s mind raced. She remembered Maxine vividly, the shy and fidgety woman who had once visited her café. The same woman Alexander had been looking for when he’d stumbled in weeks ago. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Maxine hesitated, her fingers nervously clutching the strap of her handbag. Her eyes darted around the café, as though contemplating whe
Klarisse stared at her phone, Alexander’s name glowing on the screen. For a moment, she hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected him to respond so quickly—after a week of silence, his sudden call felt almost surreal. Taking a deep breath, she swiped to answer. “Alex,” she said evenly, though her voice betrayed a hint of relief. “Klarisse,” Alexander replied, his tone subdued but steady. “I need you to come and pick me up.” Klarisse frowned slightly, the frustration she’d tried to suppress bubbling to the surface. “A week of nothing, Alex. No calls, no messages. Your family is losing their minds, and you’re hiding away?” “I know,” he said softly, his voice almost apologetic. “I needed time. But I’m ready to come back now. Can you meet me?” “Where are you?” she asked, her frustration tempered by curiosity. “At the beach house,” he answered. “The one my family owns. It’s far from the city... isolated. No one knows I’m here.” Klarisse’s heart sank as she rea
Klarisse leaned against the car, arms crossed, staring at Alexander as he stood barefoot in the sand, the wind tousling his hair. The beach stretched endlessly in both directions, its tranquility at odds with her mounting anxiety. "You can't be serious," she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. "You want to stay here for another day? Do you realize how much chaos your disappearance has already caused? And now you want me to vanish along with you?" Alexander turned to her; his hands shoved into the pockets of his linen pants. "Just one day, Klarisse. One day to breathe, away from everything and everyone. We’ll go back tomorrow. I promise." Klarisse opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she caught the exhaustion in his eyes. His usual confidence seemed chipped away, replaced by a vulnerability she wasn’t used to seeing. "Alex..." she began, her tone softening. "Please," he interrupted; his voice low. "I just... I need this. I need a moment where I’m not 'Alexander Robinso
The moon cast a silvery glow over the beach house as Klarisse stretched her arms, stifling yet another yawn. She sat on the plush couch, her legs curled under her, while Alexander stood by the kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of water. Alexander, seated across from her, leaned back with an amused smirk. "If you yawn any harder, I’m afraid you’ll swallow a fly." Klarisse shot him a tired glare. "I’m fine. Just a little... exhausted." "You’ve been yawning non-stop for the past half-hour," Alexander said, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned against the counter, swirling the glass in his hand. "Long day?" Klarisse nodded, rubbing her eyes. "I was at the café all morning, then spent hours driving to get here. And now this," she said, gesturing around. "Dealing with you." Alexander smirked, unbothered by her teasing tone. "Dealing with me? You make it sound like a chore." She gave him a tired smile. "Sometimes, it is." He chuckled, taking a sip of water before setting t
The early morning sun bathed the beach house in a warm, golden glow as Klarisse sat on the edge of the couch, her phone resting in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the "send" button of the message she had just typed: *Alex is with me now. He’s alright. I thought you’d want to know. * The recipient was Maxine. Klarisse wasn’t entirely sure why she felt compelled to send the message. Maybe it was guilt for knowing how deeply Maxine had cared for Alexander. Maybe it was a sense of responsibility, or perhaps something deeper, something she couldn’t quite admit to herself. Alex was in the bathroom, the sound of the shower running muffled through the door. He had no idea she was doing this, and Klarisse intended to keep it that way. Taking a deep breath, she hit "send" before she could second-guess herself. The message delivered instantly, and Klarisse’s chest tightened. She stared at the screen for a moment, half-expecting a reply, but none came. Sliding the phone onto the coffee tab
The air in the countryside estate was soft and warm, touched by the late afternoon sun. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees as if whispering old secrets among the leaves. The house nestled at the top of the gentle slope still bore the faint scent of vanilla and fresh lavender from the day’s baking—something Allie had insisted on doing herself despite having a full staff.She had always loved the calm of this place, far from the legacy-filled city of deals and hidden tensions. This house, built not far from Klarisse’s family villa, had been gifted by Artemis to Allie when she told him she wanted a home—*not a monument*—for their child to grow up in. It was here that their son, Matteo, was raised in peace.Matteo Fowl was turning thirteen soon. Though still technically a child, his questions lately had carried the weight of someone beginning to see the world not just as a playground, but as a web of complicated truths. And he was beginning to ask about *them*—the cousins.That mor
The sun was warm on the stone terrace, and the faint scent of lavender and rosemary drifted through the breeze. The villa—*their* villa—sat on the edge of a hill, wrapped in golden light and surrounded by low stone walls, winding paths, and rows of olive trees. The laughter of children rang out in the garden, light and carefree, accompanied by the sound of footsteps rushing over grass.Lucas and Liana raced past the windows, their matching dark hair bouncing in the wind as they chased butterflies with paper nets and the kind of gleeful determination only young hearts could muster.Alexander Robinson stood by the large arched window, a cup of black coffee in hand, watching the twins with a quiet smile. Behind him, Klarisse Fowl-Robinson stepped into the room, barefoot and wrapped in a soft linen robe, her hair still damp from the morning shower. She approached without a word and slipped her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder.Home.It was the first time in year
The Council of Five convened in the grand chamber of the Robinson estate, its walls adorned with ancestral portraits and symbols of legacy. The air was thick with anticipation, as the members prepared to discuss a matter that could redefine the power dynamics within their intertwined families.At the head of the table sat Bronson Robinson, his demeanor as composed as ever. To his right was Alan Fowl, whose sharp eyes missed nothing. Opposite them were Angela Robinson and Kareen Fowl, both matriarchs with a deep understanding of the intricacies of their lineage. The fifth seat was occupied by Valentin Marconi, whose presence was both a reminder of past alliances and a testament to the enduring bonds between their families.Bronson began, "We are gathered here to discuss the implications of Artemis and Allie's forthcoming child. Given Artemis's position and the legacy he carries, this event cannot be viewed merely as a familial milestone."Alan nodded, "Indeed. Artemis, being the elder
The sun poured gently through the tall windows of the Robinson estate, casting warm gold hues on the white and blush-colored decorations that adorned the main hall. Delicate streamers, soft florals, and pastel balloons floated like clouds against the walls, and the scent of fresh peonies and vanilla drifted through the air. It was a peaceful day, filled with laughter and quiet joy—a stark contrast to the chaos that once defined their lives.The estate had been transformed into a soft, serene venue for a very special occasion: Allie’s baby shower.Guests bustled about with small gifts, trays of hors d'oeuvres, and glasses of sparkling juice. The entire Council of Five had sent their blessings, and the Fowl and Robinson families had gone all out. The garden outside was blooming, a symbolic touch Artemis had insisted on—flowers for new life, growth, and everything ahead.Inside, Allie sat in the drawing room, glowing in a pale blue dress that hugged her baby bump just right. Her hair was
The Robinson mansion’s private study had always been a place of power and quiet conversations—decisions that shaped alliances, safeguarded legacies, and at times, determined fates. Today, that room held such weight once again. The polished surface of the table between them reflected the two small velvet boxes—one black, one dark crimson—placed with deliberate care.Alexander sat quietly beside Klarisse, their hands resting just slightly apart. Both of them had seen and endured more than most in their lifetime, but this—this moment was something else. This was about their son. Their future.Across from them, Bronson Robinson and Alan Fowl wore unreadable expressions. Behind their eyes, legacies stirred—ones they had fought to preserve, often at great cost.“We agreed to meet privately,” Bronson began, his voice level but low, “because this is more than tradition. More than ceremony. This is about foresight.”Alan gave a solemn nod. “It’s time we talk about Lucas.”Klarisse instinctivel
The meeting room within the **Robinson estate** hadn’t been used in this way for months—not since Luca Marconi’s death, not since the world that balanced on an ancient agreement of blood and legacy had started to tilt toward something different.But today, the five families—those who had led from the shadows and shaped the underworld with steel hands and quiet resolve—had gathered again.**Bronson Robinson** sat at the head of the long mahogany table, with **Alan Fowl** to his right. Across from them sat the others: **Leandro Czerkov**, the stoic head of the old Eastern bloc lineage, scar-faced and silent. **Giovanna Santori**, the only woman to lead the Santori Syndicate, regal and razor-sharp. **Silas Valen**, the quietest among them, but no less dangerous—a man who said little but listened to everything.None of them had spoken yet. The weight of the recent visit to **Valentin Marconi** still hovered in the air, like a storm waiting to decide if it was truly over.Bronson was the o
The canals of Venice were quieter in the winter. Mists clung to the narrow alleyways like old secrets, and the silence that hung over the lagoon seemed sacred—untouched by the chaos that once roared through these ancient stone paths.It was here, on the edge of the lesser-known district of San Pietro di Castello, where **Valentin Marconi** had chosen to disappear. Not out of shame, but perhaps out of exhaustion. Grief had a way of silencing even the proudest names.The motorboat came quietly through the fog, its engine barely a whisper against the lapping water. Inside sat **Bronson Robinson** and **Alan Fowl**, their expressions sober as they approached the villa surrounded by overgrown cypress trees and guarded only by time and distance. No guards. No entourage. Just an unspoken understanding between old men who had outlived too much.Valentin was waiting for them. He stood on the balcony overlooking the canal, a cane in one hand, a glass of amaro in the other. His silver hair was t
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out onto the cobbled street, mingling with the warm mid-morning sun. The soft hum of chatter, the clinking of cups, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, a soothing balm after months of chaos and pain. The name—“Clara & Co.”—was painted above the counter in Allie’s own handwriting. A tribute to Klarisse, but also a quiet declaration of independence, had finally opened its doors for a quiet soft launch.It wasn’t a grand affair. There were no streamers, no major announcements. But for everyone who walked through those glass-paned doors, it was clear something special had taken root.Klarisse stood behind the counter, helping the barista learn the flow of orders. Her hands were deft, her movements calm—every motion reminding her of the early days when she and Allie used to dream of a place like this over late-night shifts and greasy diner food. Now, they were here. Together. Building something beautiful.Allie emerged from the bac
The late afternoon sun bathed the quiet Venice street in gold, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The building Allie had chosen wasn’t much yet—just a stone façade with boarded windows and ivy curling stubbornly around the frame. But where others might see a forgotten corner of the city, she saw potential.She sat across the street on a bench, sketchpad resting on her lap, pencil dancing lightly as she worked on the outlines of what the place could become. Her lips were slightly pursed in concentration, hair pulled into a messy knot, a coffee beside her now going cold. In her mind, the empty space had already transformed—soft pastels, arched windows, a hand-painted sign that read **“Clara & Co.”**Named not after herself, but as a nod to **Klarisse**—the friend who had once handed her an apron and said, “Just try. You’ll find you love it.”This café would be her own branch of Klarisse’s beloved shop, and Allie already imagined the menu, the soft clinking of teacups, the sme