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 grand Robinson estate loomed ahead as the car rolled to a stop in the circular driveway. Klarisse barely had time to process the nerves bubbling in her chest before the front door swung open, revealing Bronson and Angela Robinson standing side by side. Their faces, set with stern disapproval, matched the tension in the air. Alan and Kareen Fowls were just behind them, their expressions no less forbidding. Alexander groaned under his breath. “Here we go,” he muttered. Klarisse shot him a warning glance, silently urging him to hold his tongue. The moment they stepped into the opulent foyer, the scolding began. “Do you two have any idea what you’ve done?” Bronson’s voice boomed, echoing against the high ceilings. “Disappearing for days without a word!” Angela chimed in, her tone sharp with worry. “Do you understand the risks you’ve taken?” Kareen stepped forward, her voice softer but no less chastising. “What if someone had found out where you were? What if you’d been attacked?”
The soft click of the door closing behind them echoed louder in Klarisse’s ears than she thought possible. She stood frozen near the entrance of the Robinson estate’s grand master bedroom, her pulse quickening with every passing second. Alexander, standing a few feet away near the bed, seemed equally tense. Neither of them spoke as the reality of the situation sank in. It had been a long, grueling day. Dinner had been a formal affair, filled with polite conversation and carefully concealed tension. Klarisse had thought that after her and Alexander’s begrudging agreement to “try” fulfilling their parents' ultimatum, she could at least retreat to the privacy of her room to process everything. But no. Their parents had other ideas. “We’ve decided,” Angela had said with a tone that brooked no argument, “that from now on, the two of you will share a bedroom. It’s the only way to ensure there are no doubts about your union. Appearances must be maintained at all costs.” “Think of it as
The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, casting a warm light over the room. Klarisse stirred, feeling the plush sheets beneath her as she slowly came to consciousness. Her mind was still hazy from sleep, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. Then, she felt it—a solid warmth draped across her. Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself nestled in Alexander's arms. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, while his other hand rested lightly on her shoulder. His steady breathing tickled the back of her neck, and she could feel the even rise and fall of his chest against her back. Her first instinct was to freeze. *What on earth...? * She stared at the ornate ceiling, her heart racing. She didn’t dare move, afraid of waking him. A million thoughts rushed through her mind. She tried to piece together how this had happened. They’d gone to bed on opposite sides, carefully maintaining their "boundaries." But now... *Did he
When Klarisse finally came out of the bathroom, Alex was not there anymore. Her phone chimed and she quickly picked it up and saw Alex's message. “Had my bath in my own room.”Klarisse caught herself smiling on the reflection on the mirror. She imagined Alex in the shower.She messaged him back saying to meet him at breakfast.By the time Klarisse made her way to the dining room, the table was already set. A lavish spread of freshly baked croissants, fluffy scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and a vibrant assortment of fruits awaited her. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the estate's morning activity. Alexander was already seated, dressed in crisp white shirt and dark slacks, looking as composed as ever. He had a cup of coffee in hand, his focus on the tablet in front of him. The slight furrow in his brow suggested he was reading something important—or at least pretending to, Klarisse thought. "Good morning," she greeted, her voice calm as
After breakfast, Klarisse hesitated for a moment before gathering her courage to ask Alexander. "Do you mind if I drop by the café before the meeting? I need to check on things and talk to Allie." Alexander looked up from his phone, his brow lifting slightly. "Sure. I’ll come with you." She blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback. "You don’t have to. It’s just a quick stop. I’ll only be a few minutes." He shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I don’t mind. I’ll wait for you there. Besides, it beats sitting around the estate doing nothing until the meeting." Klarisse hesitated again, unsure how to feel about his offer. The idea of him sitting in her café felt strange, almost too... domestic. "Alright," she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But I mean it—you don’t have to help. Just... sit and have some coffee." "Deal," Alex replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. ---When they arrived at the café, Klarisse felt a wave of relief wash over her. Thi
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
The countryside rolled out before them in soft waves of green and gold, olive trees scattered like gentle sentinels across the hills. The villa stood like a warm promise—sunlit walls, terracotta roof tiles, and pale curtains fluttering at the open windows. Not opulent. Not defensive. Just... home.Klarisse stepped out of the car, her hand loosely gripping her daughter’s while Alexander carried their son in his arms, the toddler already pointing excitedly at the garden.“Mommy! Look, trees!” the boy exclaimed.Klarisse smiled, brushing back her daughter’s wind-blown curls as she murmured, “Yes, baby. So many trees.”They crossed the small stone path leading to the wide front steps. The air was fresh, the kind of quiet that invited stillness instead of pressing it upon you.Alex unlocked the door and gestured for them to go in first. “This is it,” he said simply.Inside, the villa was open and full of light. Large windows let the sunlight stream into a spacious living room that smelled
It started with a quiet morning.The twins were still asleep, tangled up in a nest of blankets and stuffed animals in the nursery suite. Klarisse had stepped out early for a walk with Kareen, leaving the estate unusually still. And in that silence, Alexander Robinson stood in the study with a blueprint spread across the desk.It was a property. A villa just on the edge of Venice—away from the noise and legacy of the Robinson estate, but close enough to feel connected to home.It wasn’t grand. Not by his family’s standards. But it was bright, surrounded by olive trees, with tall windows and a garden that would be perfect for growing wildflowers and a swing set for the twins.He traced the lines of the house with his finger, imagining it filled with laughter and warmth. A place not defined by old wounds, power, or politics—but by love. A place for healing. For them.For Klarisse.For the first time in weeks, he felt nervous in a way that had nothing to do with danger or strategy. This w
The days that followed the wedding seemed to drift by like the slow current of the Venetian canals. With Luca’s downfall firmly in the past, the families were finally beginning to breathe—really breathe—for the first time in months. There were no whispers of war, no looming threats. Just silence. Just peace.It was a strange sensation.And in that silence, each of them began to reckon with the scars they carried—some visible, most not.---KlarisseThe garden behind the Robinson estate had become Klarisse’s refuge.The twins were playing in the distance, their laughter echoing like music through the hedges. She sat beneath the shade of a lemon tree, a book open in her lap but unread. Her thoughts wandered far from the printed words.She still dreamt of that room sometimes—the one Luca left her in. The cold floor. The flickering monitor. Alex's face as he chose someone else.But those dreams didn’t hold the same power they used to. Not since the wedding.Allie had said something that s
The sun had begun to dip behind the Venetian skyline, casting a golden hue over the waters that shimmered in quiet celebration. The courtyard outside the Robinson estate had been transformed into something out of a dream—soft lights strung across olive trees, long tables draped with ivory linen, and floral centerpieces that echoed the chapel’s quiet elegance.It was a wedding unlike any other, not because of grandeur, but because of the people who filled the space—warriors who had survived storms, families that had known loss and loyalty, love that had been forged through fire. Now, they all gathered to celebrate something rare and sacred: peace.Laughter mingled with the gentle notes of live jazz that played from the corner of the garden, where a small band swayed to their own rhythm. Glasses clinked. Plates were passed around. Children danced between chairs, their giggles like chimes in the evening air.At the center of it all sat Artemis and Allie—finally able to breathe.Allie, st