Chapter 7 Villa Aurelia, Sicily

Villa AureliaThe sun hung heavy in the sky, its golden light spilling over the manicured gardens and sparkling fountains of the Villa Aurelia Resort. The sprawling Mediterranean hotel sat perched on a cliffside, its white stone walls gleaming against the bright blue sea beyond.

Isabel stood at the curb, suitcase rolling quietly beside her. The luxury around her felt suffocating, like an elegant cage she'd been shoved into. This was not home. This was a stage.

She adjusted her sunglasses and took a deep breath. The faint hum of voices and laughter floated from the open lobby doors, but the warmth of the sun did nothing to thaw the cold knot in her chest.

She was here because of her father.

And because of Vivian.

The sliding glass doors parted, and a woman stepped out-a perfect vision of polished charm.

"Isabel!" Vivian's voice was sharp but coated in sugar. She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes, stepping forward with arms open for a hug. "So glad you could make it. You look... well."

Isabel nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The hug was brief, mechanical.

Vivian's smile flickered, replaced quickly by a practiced air of hospitality. "Come inside. Your father is waiting in the lounge. He's been eager to see you."

Isabel followed her through the grand marble foyer, past fountains and crystal chandeliers, into the plush resort lounge bathed in warm sunlight.

Her father sat in an overstuffed chair, his posture stiff, hands folded neatly on his lap. When he looked up and saw her, a flicker of relief softened his face.

"Isabel," he said quietly, standing. "You came."

She didn't move to meet him halfway.

He swallowed. "I know it's been a long time. I'm sorry for how things ended."

She met his gaze, her eyes cold but vulnerable beneath.

"I'm not here to forgive," she said, voice low. "Just to survive this trip."

Her father nodded slowly. "Vivian insisted. She wants us to be a family again."

Isabel's jaw clenched. "Is that what this is? A family reunion? Because it feels like a hostage situation."

Vivian cleared her throat behind them. "We only want to heal, Isabel. To move forward."

Isabel turned sharply to face her stepmother, anger and old wounds simmering just beneath her skin.

"Moving forward means telling the truth," she said quietly. "Not pretending everything's fine."

The room fell into an awkward silence.

Her father rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. "We'll talk when you're ready."

Isabel grabbed her suitcase. "I'm going to my room."

As she walked away, the weight of forced smiles and half-truths pressed down on her. She was here, trapped in a gilded cage, with ghosts she wasn't ready to face.

And somewhere deep inside, a single thought echoed:

Where is my stepbrother?

Isabel's footsteps echoed softly down the polished marble corridor as she wheeled her suitcase toward their private lounge. The quiet luxury of the resort felt alien, a stark contrast to the gritty world she'd left behind just days ago.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The lounge was breathtaking-floor-to-ceiling windows draped with sheer curtains, soft cream tones on the walls, and a balcony that overlooked the sparkling Mediterranean.

But none of it mattered.

She dropped her bag beside the sofa and sank onto the edge, rubbing her temples.

The events of the past night swirled inside her-laughter, music, the warmth of the stranger's hands. His voice, low and commanding, calling her by a name that wasn't hers.

"Celia."

The fake name she'd chosen at the club, a mask she'd worn to hide who she really was.

And now, that mask was about to slip.

Her phone buzzed-another message from her father about the trip itinerary. She ignored it.

The sound of the door opening startled her. She looked up, heart stuttering.

There, framed in the doorway, was her hot stranger.

He wore a dark tailored suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt open just enough to reveal a hint of his strong neck. His usual confident smirk softened when his eyes met hers.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then his lips curved into a slow, curious smile.

"Celia," he said quietly.

Isabel froze, shock rooting her to the spot.

"How...?" she whispered.

He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, voice low but steady. "Not like this."

She swallowed hard, heart racing. All the careful walls she'd built began to crumble under the weight of his gaze.

"You lied," she said, her voice trembling between accusation and disbelief.

"I did," he admitted. "But so did you."

They both knew the truth-neither of them was who they pretended to be that night.

"Why are you in here? And who the hell are you really?" She asked terrified.

"This is our lounge. Albert said his daughter came this way..." his eyes widened before he could complete the sentence.

"You're Alessandro, my stepbrother?" Realization dulled on her.

"Isabel? You lying bitch." He asked wide eyed.

"Fuck."