Pressure of Love and legacy

They say pressure makes diamonds. I say it crushes people long before that.

Being Ethan Edmond, the face of Edmond Group, heir to a billion-euro empire, means every part of my life is calculated. Every decision is measured. Every emotion is buried deep. Especially love.

My office sits at the very top of the Edmond building, offering an excellent city view. But the higher you go, the colder it gets. The air feels intense, just like the expectations and demands.

This morning was no different. My calendar was full-meetings, mergers, and one particularly nauseating "coffee date" arranged by my mother with the daughter of some international banker. According to her, a "promising match" to preserve the Edmond legacy.

I canceled it.

I didn't need another smiling stranger having dreams that weren't mine.

The only thing I looked forward to lately was the moment the building quieted down, when the boardroom lights dimmed and the power suits vanished. That's when I saw her.

Her.

The cleaner.

The girl in navy overalls who moved like silence made flesh. I'd seen her before, maybe three or four times. Always alone, always focused. Her presence was like a whisper in the chaos.

She never looked up. Never noticed me watching.

But I noticed everything.

The way she swept the floors with precise care. The calm in her movements. The distance in her eyes, like she belonged somewhere else entirely.

Her name, I had come to learn, was Rossy. No last name on file. Just Rossy.

And for some reason, she haunted me.

Later that evening, the office floor was nearly empty. The sky outside had turned a soft orange-gray, casting long shadows into my space.

I didn't plan to walk past the boardroom. Not consciously.

But there she was, kneeling to clean a spill near the window. A vase must've tipped over. Her back was to me. Hair tied up loosely. No jewelry. No perfume. Just... her.

"Leave it," I said gently.

She jumped slightly and turned.

Her eyes met mine, deep and unreadable. Something flickered there. Vigilance? Recognition?

"Sorry, sir. I didn't hear you come in." Her voice was quiet, not shy-just reserved. Like every word was chosen.

"No problem," I said, stepping into the room. "Rossy, right?"

A small nod. "Yes, sir."

I watched her gather the towel. "How long have you worked here?"

"Almost eight months."

Eight months? I hadn't noticed her until recently. That surprised me.

"I don't remember seeing you before," I said.

"I work late shifts. I prefer it that way."

"Why?"

She paused, then said simply, "Less noise."

I smiled faintly. "I know the feeling."

She stood, cleaning her hands on her uniform. She was about to leave when something dropped from her front pocket-a small, folded photograph. It landed on the floor.

She gasped and dove for it, but I was faster.

I picked it up.

An old picture, aged and bent at the corners. A young girl, maybe five, smiling in front of a stone building with the words Casa Di Cuore above the door.

Beside her stood a woman I hadn't seen in two decades. But I recognized her face.

"Eleanor Edmond."

My father's sister. My aunt. Dead since I was seven.

My throat went dry.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, stunned.

Rossy's face went pale. "It's mine."

"This woman," I pointed . is Eleanor Edmond."

She took a shaky breath. "I know."

"How?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

She hesitated. "I need to go."

She reached for the photo, but I didn't move.

"That orphanage-where is it?"

"Near Bergamo. It burned down a long time ago."

I handed it back to her slowly. "You were there?"

She didn't answer. Just took the photo and walked out.

I didn't stop her. I couldn't.

Because everything inside me was suddenly screaming.

Back in my house that night, I couldn't sleep. I poured a drink, stared out at Milan's beautiful view, and tried to calm my racing thoughts.

Why would Rossy have a photo with Eleanor? Why had no one ever mentioned my aunt's connection to an orphanage? And why did the family act like she vanished into nothing?

I grabbed my phone and called Luca, my assistant.

"Yeah, boss?" he answered groggily. It was almost midnight.

"I need you to dig into something. Quietly."

"Okay."

"There was an orphanage near Bergamo. Casa di Cuore. I want all the records you can find-staff, donors, closure reports. And I want to know everything about Aunt Eleanor's last years."

There was a pause. "That's a weird request."

"Do it anyway."

"Alright. I'll call in a few favors."

I hung up, and a question just kept hitting me.

What secrets had my family buried?

The next morning, my father was already waiting in my office. I could smell the cologne before I opened the door.

He stood with his hands behind his back, gazing out the window. "Ethan."

"Morning," I muttered.

He turned. "We need to finalize the engagement plan. The Antonelli family is ready."

I said nothing.

"Ethan," he said firmly, "this is not a matter of emotion. Its structure. Legacy."

There it was again. Legacy.

I bristled. "And what if I'm not interested?"

He looked at me like I'd grown horns. "You are the Edmond legacy."

I grasped my jaw.

"Look presentable. Smile at the gala. And be the man this family needs you to be."

He walked out before I could say a word.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

The pressure was always there, relentless. But now, it had a face. Hers.

Rossy's.

That night, Luca called back.

"Found something."

"Talk."

"The orphanage was funded almost entirely by Edmond Family Holdings. Especially in its final years. The last donation came from one person-Dario Edmond."

My cousin.

He was the perfect Edmond on paper-charming, ambitious, and relentless. Always smiling at the cameras. Always at my side during board meetings.

But the name on the donation form chilled me.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"There's a fire report. No clear cause. But... the timing is strange."

"How so?"

"Two weeks before the fire, Dario wired a large sum to a private account. Then the orphanage goes up in flames. And shortly after, Eleanor's name vanishes from all public Edmond records."

I froze.

This wasn't a coincidence.

Look"Rossy... was she in that orphanage?"

"I'm still checking. But it looks likely."

A long silence fell between us.

"You okay?" Luca asked.

No. I wasn't.

"Keep digging," I said.

The next morning, as I stepped out of my car into my office, there lay a small envelope on the floor, as though it had been slipped under the door.

No return address.

I opened it.

Inside was a grainy photo of the orphanage engulfed in flames, and a single line written on the back in black ink:

"Some memories are meant to stay hidden."

My heartbeat shook my chest.

I looked around, suddenly cold.

This was no longer just curiosity.

Someone was watching me.

Someone who didn't want the truth coming out.

And Rossy?

She wasn't just a girl with a past.

She was the key to a secret my family had tried to erase.

I turned the photo over again, my fingers trembling.

And then my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

"Stop asking questions, Ethan. Or you'll end up just like her."