A notification popped up on my phone:
Get down, they'll be here in two minutes.
I didn't need a god or shaman to tell me it was Adrino. How he got my number, only heaven could explain.
I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, making sure my outfit was just right. I needed to make a good impression—no more judgment, no more being seen as a whore.
Satisfied with my navy asymmetric cape midi dress, I headed downstairs.
The door flung open to reveal a sophisticated, elegant woman, followed by a younger version of herself.
By their demeanors, I knew the poised woman was Kate—meticulous, composed, every inch the matriarch. The younger one, with a radiant, genuine smile, had to be Larisa. She looked like someone who spoke her mind before thinking twice.
Larisa's smile was effortless and warm, a stark contrast to the cold weight I carried. For a moment, I wondered if I'd ever be able to smile like that.
"Addy!" Larisa called out cheerfully.
Kate entered without a smile or a frown, carefully assessing the room—the tension between Adrino and me. Her calm face barely betrayed the sharpness in her eyes as they shot daggers at him.
"Addy, how are you?" Larisa asked, oblivious to the tension.
"I'm good. Hope the flight wasn't too stressful."
She smiled at him, and I finally heard her voice—the warmth, the ease I envied.
Kate's eyes then landed on me.
"Well, who do we have here?" she asked.
"Umm, Mom, this is Meena."
"And she is?"
"She's... um, my girlfriend, I suppose."
"Girlfriend?!" Larisa squealed happily.
"Good day, ma'am," I said, finding my voice.
"Good day to you," Kate replied, her gaze steady.
"I'm Meena Rose Alasdair."
"Kate," she responded simply.
"I'm Larisa, your future sister-in-law. You're so beautiful."
"Nice meeting you both, and welcome to Rome."
"Pleasure's mine."
Adrino cut through the formalities. "Why don't we all skip this? I'm sure you're famished."
"Absolutely," Larisa pouted.
As we ate, the silence weighed heavily on me. Every gaze seemed fixed on me, a silent test I had no choice but to pass.
After lunch, I excused myself and headed upstairs, collapsing onto my bed. I tried to imagine what my life could have been—before everything was cut short.
Suddenly, Larisa girlishly barged in.
"I'm Larisa again," she smiled.
"Meena."
"So, what does your name mean?"
"Peaceful."
"Then I guess you live up to it."
"I suppose."
"I like you. Seriously, you give off this cold but warm vibe, and I'm drawn to it."
"Thanks... I guess I've found favor in your eyes."
"Oh, stop. You're not Wednesday."
"Wednesday?"
"From the Wednesday movie—the girl who answers straight, hardly smiles, and keeps people at arm's length."
"Interesting personality." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.
"Oh, come on. Let's talk like friends. What are your hobbies?"
"I like reading, when I'm free. That's about it."
"Kinda boring."
"Okay."
"Favorite musician?"
"None."
"Favorite movie?"
"None."
"Favorite food?"
"None."
"Favorite game?"
"Urgh," Larisa groaned.
"Favorite color?"
"Black, lemon, and dark blue."
"For real? Since you like books, favorite novel?"
"I don't read novels. I read history—stories about Socrates and other scholars."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yes."
"What do you do for fun, then?"
"Nothing, really. Just recollect past events."
"Do you have friends?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
"No reason."
"Huh."
"Help me out here—I want to know more about you."
"Sorry, Larisa. There's nothing to know."
"Okay, can we be friends?"
"I'll have to ask Adrino first."
"I see why he picked you—you worship the ground he walks on."
"Picked me?"
"Yeah. I may be crazy or immature, but I know Adrino. I've watched your closeness. He's not one for commitment. I know you don't like each other, but I want things to work out."
Suddenly, my phone dinged with a message:
Come to my room now.
"Go answer him. We'll talk another time," Larisa smiled.
"Oh, so she's not entirely a fool," I muttered.
I changed into a mini shirt, crop top, sexy leggings, and heels to boost my confidence.
One thing I've learned? When your master calls, it's work time. Dress your best. Pleasing him is all you're meant for.
Why call me now? I've been here two weeks with no moves made. My personal rules say:
Never force yourself on a man—he'll look down on you.
Never kiss a man first—he'll see you as an attention seeker.
Never make the first move—he'll expect it every time.
Follow these rules, and you avoid attachments, strings, and heartbreak.
Last time I loved, it hurt so much—and it still does. Love is the deepest wound of all.
I knocked. After hearing permission, I entered.
His room was magnificent. I forced myself to keep a neutral expression.
"Ah, Raven, I'm sure you like the view. So do I. I'm loving what's in front of me, but I must behave," he said, stepping closer, the door closing behind me.
I didn't flinch as his breath brushed my skin, though I felt like I'd forget how to breathe with a face like his so close.
"What's the fun without patience? Remember, the patient dog eats the fattest bone. Am I wrong, Bella?"
Bella—beautiful in Italian—a name that reminded me of Mama.
"I'm Meena. Don't call me that." I shot him a cold glare.
"Finally, she speaks again," he chuckled.
"Well, Bella, I can call you whatever I want. Remember, you're just an object I own—a whore."
"Just don't call me that name."
"Sorry to burst your bubble and that built-up confidence, Bella. I'll call you whatever I damn please."
He grinned, watching my icy stare.
"So, why did you send for me?"
"Sit on the couch and wait. I'm going to shower."
Meena's POV
What was he expecting—tears? Anger?
I don't have tears left. The pain in being called Bella—a name that should be spoken with care—hurts more than whore.
I don't blame him. It's what I am..............
Just when I thought he wasn't so bad, he showed me his worst—or maybe his best so far.
I can't complain. When life gives you cocoa beans, you make coffee. Life gave me a horrible father, and I'm living proof of it.
"Haha, funny, isn't it?" I muttered, my chest tightening with grief over a life that feels worthless.
Blackout.