Lost in sin

Juliet's POV

Nothing prepares you for the moment you realize your survival depends on the man who destroyed your family.

I sit in the boardroom pretending to take notes, but my mind is elsewhere, circling the same bitter thought over and over. Every paycheck I earn here carries the LaRusso name stamped into it, invisible but heavy. Like blood on clean hands.

"Juliet Romano, are you even listening to me?"

My boss's voice cuts through the haze. I blink, lifting my head too quickly. The movement earns me a few curious glances from around the long glass table. The room is sleek, modern, cold, designed to intimidate. It works.

"Yes, sir," I say, straightening my spine. I force a professional smile, even as my fingers curl tighter around my sketchpad. "I was reviewing the floor plan adjustments."

He studies me for half a second, then exhales like I'm already exhausting him. "Good. Because this project cannot afford mistakes. The LaRussos are investing heavily, and Mr. Ryan LaRusso will be personally reviewing your presentation."

The name lands like a strike to the chest.

Ryan LaRusso.

For a moment, sound dulls. My pulse roars in my ears. The LaRussos, the family that dismantled my father's company piece by piece. The family that took our name from respected to ridiculed in a single brutal year.

And now their heir is walking straight into my workspace.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

By the time the meeting adjourns, my hands are trembling. I barely make it to my desk before setting my sketchpad down too hard and sinking into my chair. I close my eyes and breathe through the tight knot in my chest.

You're fine, Juliet. He's just another billionaire with too much power and too little conscience. He won't remember your name.

"Juliet," Mia whispers, leaning over the divider with barely contained excitement. "Did you hear the news?"

I already know what she's about to say, but I play along. "Hear what?"

She looks at me like I'm joking. "Ryan LaRusso. He's coming in today. Apparently, he's taking over the New York branch."

I force a laugh that doesn't reach my eyes. "Good for him."

Mia scoffs. "Good for him? The man's practically royalty. Top schools, obscene money, and have you seen him? He looks like a Greek god who owns a private jet."

I shrug. "You've seen one entitled man in a tailored suit, you've seen them all."

But my stomach twists tighter, betraying me.

Because I have seen a LaRusso before. Years ago. The night my father staggered into our house smelling of whiskey and defeat, his hands shaking as he said, They stole everything from me, Jules. My company. My name. My life.

And now I'm expected to design luxury spaces for the same family?

No pressure at all.

The conference room later that day smells like polished wood, expensive perfume, and quiet arrogance. I stand at the front, clicking through my slides, hyperaware of every breath I take.

"...this design allows the east wing to maximize natural light while maintaining both luxury and sustainability," I conclude, stepping aside.

Silence stretches.

Then a voice breaks it, low, controlled, faintly amused.

"Impressive. I didn't expect this level of vision from... a Romano."

My heart stumbles. Slowly, I look up.

Ryan LaRusso.

He's taller than I imagined, his presence filling the room without effort. His black suit fits him like it belongs there, like the world was tailored around him. Dark eyes. Sharp features. The quiet confidence of someone who has never had to ask permission.

And he knows exactly who I am.

"I didn't realize you knew my name," I say, keeping my tone steady through sheer force of will.

A corner of his mouth lifts. "I make it a point to know everyone who works under me."

Under him.

The words scrape something raw inside my chest.

His gaze lingers, assessing, calculating. "The design is bold," he continues. "Different." A pause. Then, almost casually, "You have your father's touch."

Something snaps.

"Don't," I say, before I can stop myself.

His brows lift slightly. "Don't what?"

"Don't speak about my father like you knew him," I say, my voice shaking now despite my efforts. "Your family ruined his career. You don't get to..."

The air in the room freezes. I feel it instantly. Mia's sharp inhale. My boss's pale face as he clears his throat.

"Juliet..."

Ryan doesn't interrupt me. He just watches, head tilted, expression unreadable.

"I didn't ruin your father, Miss Romano," he says calmly. "He did that himself."

Then he turns and walks out.

No apology. No explanation.

Just ruin.

I remain rooted to the spot long after the room empties. My nails bite into my palms until the sting grounds me.

Who does he think he is?

When I finally step into the hallway, he's there, leaning against the glass wall as if he'd planned it. As if he knew I'd come out shaking and furious.

"Fiery temper," he says lightly. "Does that run in the family?"

I glare at him. "Why are you here? To humiliate me some more?"

"No." His voice shifts, lower, heavier. "To say your design impressed me."

I blink, thrown off balance. "You insulted my family in front of my colleagues."

"That was business," he replies. "This is personal."

He steps closer, just enough. The scent of his cologne reaches me, dark, expensive, unsettling. My breath catches despite myself.

"Don't mistake me for my father, Juliet," he murmurs. "I don't play his games."

"Then what do you play?" I ask quietly.

A faint smile curves his lips. "The kind you'll discover soon."

And then he walks away again, leaving my heart racing and my thoughts in ruins.

That night, I find my father asleep on the couch, the television casting flickering light across his worn face. An empty glass of whiskey rests on the table.

Nothing has changed.

I gently move the bottle away, watching his chest rise and fall. I wish forgiveness came easier. I wish anger didn't feel safer than hope.

In my room, I close the door and lean against it.

Ryan LaRusso.

The name alone feels like a warning.

I tell myself I despise him. That whatever spark flared between us was nothing but hatred.

But when our eyes met in that boardroom, it didn't feel like hate.

It felt like fire.

As I turn off the light, something on my nightstand catches my eye.

A sleek black business card.

I don't remember putting it there.

My pulse quickens as I pick it up.

RYAN LARUSSO - Private Line

Beneath it, a handwritten note:

We're not finished, Miss Romano.

My fingers tighten around the card as the city hums outside my window.

And I understand something with chilling clarity.

This war between our families isn't over.

It's only just begun.

Juliet's POV

I stared at the card for a long time, longer than made sense.

Ryan LaRusso - Private Line.

Even the handwriting carried confidence. The letters were clean and firm, like the person who wrote them never hesitated or doubted himself. The short message beneath his name made my chest tighten.

We're not finished, Miss Romano.

The words stayed with me, pressing under my skin, sending a strange awareness through my body. I stood there with a towel wrapped loosely around me, my hair still damp, my heart beating so loudly I could feel it in my throat. Outside, the city continued as usual, cars passing, distant voices, the low hum of life, but inside my room, everything felt still.

What did he mean by we're not finished?

Nothing had even started. We had barely spoken. And yet the words felt final, deliberate, like a door being closed behind me without my permission.

I placed the card on my nightstand, hoping distance would make it feel harmless. It didn't. Under the soft yellow glow of the lamp, it looked important. Dangerous. Like a decision waiting to be made.

Maybe this was a tactic. Maybe this was how the LaRussos operated, subtle pressure, quiet control, forcing people into situations they never agreed to. My father had once been confident too, until that family took everything he built.

I pressed my hand against my chest and took a deep breath, trying to calm the uncomfortable warmth spreading through me.

I hated that my body reacted to him at all.

I should have destroyed the card immediately. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Tear it up. Throw it away. End whatever this was before it began.

Instead, I opened the drawer beside my bed and slid the card inside.

Just in case, I told myself, though I wasn't sure what I was preparing for.

I stared at the closed drawer afterward, my stomach tight, as if I had just hidden something that could explode at any moment.

The city noises filtered in through the window, sirens, distant laughter, an impatient car horn. Everything sounded normal, but I didn't feel normal at all. It felt like I had stepped onto unfamiliar ground, unsure where it would lead.

Then my phone vibrated.

Mia: You alive?

Mia: Or did the billionaire eat you for breakfast?

Mia: Actually don't answer that

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. Mia had always been like this-lighthearted, even when things were serious.

I called her.

"Finally," she said. "You disappeared. I was starting to think he fired you or kissed you."

"Mia," I warned.

"That's still not a denial."

I sighed and sat on the edge of my bed. "He didn't do either."

There was a pause. "Okay... that's worse. What happened?"

"He left his card," I said.

"And?"

"It said, We're not finished."

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

"Oh no," Mia said firmly. "Juliet, absolutely not. That family ruins people. Don't forget what they did to your dad."

Her words landed hard because they were true. I remembered every detail, the anger, the drinking, the way my father slowly became someone I barely recognized.

"I remember," I whispered.

"Then don't contact him. Burn the card. Promise me."

I glanced toward the drawer. I hadn't burned it. I hadn't even considered it seriously.

"I promise," I said anyway.

Mia sighed. "Good. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we go back to pretending rich men don't control the world."

When the call ended, the apartment felt too quiet.

I stood and faced the mirror. The woman looking back at me didn't look steady or confident. My hair was messy, dark circles sat under my eyes, and there was tension written across my face.

This wasn't who I wanted to be.

I walked to my desk, determined to focus on work. My sketchpad lay open, the building plans faint under the light. I stared at them, trying to concentrate.

Instead, my hand turned the page.

Without thinking, I started to draw.

Not buildings. Not layouts.

Ryan.

The sharp line of his jaw. The calm, unreadable look in his eyes. The way he spoke like he was always in control of the situation. I didn't plan it. My hand moved on its own.

When I finally realized what I was doing, my heart was racing.

"What are you doing?" I muttered, snapping the sketchpad shut.

The sound echoed in the apartment.

From the living room, I heard my father shift on the couch, mumbling in his sleep.

Guilt rushed through me.

He had lost everything to the LaRussos. And here I was, thinking about one of them in ways I shouldn't.

I rubbed my temples. "Get yourself together, Juliet."

My eyes drifted back to the drawer.

I should throw the card away.

I didn't.

Instead, I opened the window. Cool night air rushed in as rain began to fall, tapping against the glass. Somewhere out there, Ryan LaRusso was likely calm, confident, fully aware of the impact he had on people.

I had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing.

When I finally lay down, my last thought before sleep took me wasn't anger or fear.

It was the way his voice sounded when he said my name, steady, sure, like it mattered.

Morning came too quickly.

Sunlight cut through my curtains, harsh and unforgiving, reminding me that yesterday wasn't a dream.

I arrived at work early, hoping the quiet would help me think. It didn't. The office buzzed with energy, whispers moving quickly between desks.

"Did you hear?" Mia whispered. "He's back."

My stomach tightened. "Who?"

She gave me a look. "Ryan LaRusso."

Before I could respond, the elevator doors opened.

He stepped out.

The room fell silent.

Ryan moved with confidence, like he owned the space simply by standing in it. My boss followed closely behind, smiling nervously.

"Mr. LaRusso will be overseeing the architecture expansion," my boss announced. "He also has leadership updates to share."

Ryan's eyes found mine immediately.

"Miss Romano," he said calmly. "You made an impression yesterday."

"Did I?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"Your design stood out," he replied. "The only one worth remembering."

Then he turned to my boss. "I want her on my team. Effective immediately."

Shock rippled through the room.

"You'll report directly to me," he continued, his gaze steady on mine. "I believe we'll work well together."

I forced myself to respond. "Is this company procedure, Mr. LaRusso? Or your personal decision?"

A slight smile touched his lips. "Does it matter if the results speak for themselves?"

"My office," he said. "Ten minutes."

His office was quiet, polished, intimidating.

He stood near the window when I entered.

"Close the door," he said.

I did.

"You seem to enjoy making scenes," I said, folding my arms.

"I enjoy efficiency," he replied.

He stepped closer, studying me carefully. "You think this has anything to do with your last name?"

"I think it has everything to do with power."

For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his face.

"You're not something I can control," he said calmly. "That's why you interest me."

My breath caught despite myself.

"We have an investor meeting tonight," he continued. "Eight o'clock. Be ready."

I left his office with one clear understanding:

Working under Ryan LaRusso wasn't just risky.

It was dangerous.

And whatever this was between us had only just begun.

Juliet's POV

The big ballroom at the LaRusso house sparkled with lights from fancy chandeliers.

Rich people in suits and dresses talked and laughed at the charity party. But under it all, old fights simmered. I stood at the edge of the crowd in my green dress that fit my body tight.

I felt the pain of my family's broken past. My dad, Mr. Romano, once had a big company. But Dominic LaRusso ruined it with his mean business ways. Now we lived in the dark.

Once, my family had stood among people like this!!!

My father, Mr. Romano, as they used to call him with respect, had owned a thriving company, built from years of sacrifice and sleepless nights. Until Dominic LaRusso destroyed it. Contracts twisted. Deals stolen. Courts bought. Everything my father had built was stripped away in silence.

And now, here we were, invited guests in the house of the man who broke us.

My fingers curled at my side as I searched the room. Dominic LaRusso stood near the center, calm and untouchable in a dark suit that screamed power. He laughed easily, shaking hands, accepting praise.

The sound cut through me like glass.

Before I could stop him, All of a sudden, my dad rushed into the middle of the room.

"You stole my company. You stole my life!" his voice cracked. "Look at us now. Look at what you did!"

His face was red with anger. 'You thief!' he yelled, pointing at Dominic LaRusso.

Gasps rippled through the guests. Whispers sparked instantly.

Dominic didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look surprised. He stood there, composed, eyes cold, as security moved in.

"My apologies," Dominic said calmly. "This man is unwell."

That was it.

Guards escorted my father away as he shouted one last time, his voice breaking in a way I would never forget.

Shame burned my skin.

I couldn't breathe. I turned and fled through the side doors, ignoring the stares, the whispers that followed me like shadows. Outside, the garden was quiet, bathed in moonlight. The cool night air filled my lungs, but my heart refused to slow.

I sat on a stone bench. Tears hurt my eyes. Then I heard steps on the gravel. Ryan LaRusso came out of the dark. His Jet black hair was messy. His strong jaw looked worried. He was 29, the son who would take over his dad's business.

He had wide shoulders and eyes that saw right into me. 'Juliet,' he said quiet, sitting next to me. 'That was bad. I'm sorry.'

I wiped my face. Anger came up. 'Your dad broke mine. And now this? My family is a joke because of him.'

Ryan touched my arm. It sent a spark I didn't want. 'It's not that easy. Our dads' fight isn't ours.' We talked, our pain matching.

Then he held my face. His thumb touched my lip. 'I like you, Juliet. More than I should.' The air got heavy. I leaned in even though I knew better. Our lips met in a slow kiss that started something wrong.

His mouth took mine harder. Our tongues touched. But I pulled away, out of breath. 'We can't.' He nodded, his eyes dark. We went our ways into the night.

The next morning, sun came into my apartment. But I didn't sleep. The kiss stayed in my mind, soft at first, then strong. Ryan's hands on my waist felt good.

Guilt hurt my stomach as I got ready for work at the marketing place. It was safe ground where I looked at buying patterns, away from family mess.

By noon, I couldn't focus. Then Ryan showed up at my door with two coffees.

'Truce?' he said with a smile that made me weak. I took the cup. Our fingers stayed close. 'What are you doing here?'

'Talking to you,' he said, leaning on my desk. We talked about work numbers and looks we stole. His knee touched mine under the table. Small touches grew, his hand on my back when he showed a chart. My breath stopped when his fingers brushed my leg. By the end of the day, the office was empty. We were alone in the low light. 'This pull between us,' he said low, 'it's too much.' I looked at him. My heart beat fast. 'For me too.'

Over the next weeks, things got wild. We fought hot in meetings, then joked in the elevator.

Secret messages came on my phone at night. One night, rain hit the city hard.

We stayed late on a new buying plan. The room felt full of want we didn't say. Ryan put down the papers. His voice was deep. 'Juliet, I feel it strong. I can't stop it.' My heart raced. I walked to him and kissed him hard. My hands grabbed his shirt.

He made a sound and pulled me on his lap in the chair. His hard dick pressed against me through our clothes.

'Fuck, Juliet,' he said rough. His hands moved over me. He pulled up my skirt to show my lace panties. I moved on him, moaning as he ripped the panties away.

His two fingers went into my wet pussy. I gasped and rode his hand. But he wasn't soft.

'You want it rough? I'll do it.' He turned me and bent me over the desk. Papers fell. His belt opened. Pants down. He took out his thick cock. It had veins and the tip leaked.

He pushed into me from behind hard. It stretched me tight. I cried out. Hurt mixed with good as he held my hips tight, maybe leaving marks.

He hit me fast. 'Take it,' he said with each slap of his balls on my ass. The sound filled the empty office. I pushed back. My nails scratched the desk. My breasts came out of my blouse as he reached to twist my nipples hard.

Sweat covered us. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back to bite my neck. He left a mark. 'You're mine now. No matter what our families think.'

He turned me on my back. Spread my legs wide. Put them over his shoulders.

His cock went deeper, hitting the end with every hard push. My wet covered him. I scratched his back. My legs shook as I got close.

'Harder, Ryan, fuck me harder!' He did it like a wild thing. His thumb rubbed my clit until I broke. My pussy squeezed him in shakes. He kept going for his own. Then he went all the way in and came. Hot cum filled me deep. No safe stuff. No pull out. We fell down, breathing hard. His seed came out of me as we came back to real life.

After, we got dressed quiet. But the heat between us grew even more.

Weeks went by. Our wrong love got deeper in the mess, nights we took fast, quiet words in dark spots.

I worked hard to forget the shame. But I felt tired all the time, Mornings I got sick, throwing up over the sink. My hands shook in talks. Sleep pulled me down.

Worst, my period didn't come. It always did on time. One missed, then two...

And whatever this was, it felt like a dream.