Chapter 8- Messing With The Wrong Girl
I woke with trouble humming in my veins.
It was the kind of buzz that didn’t come from caffeine or too little sleep. No, this was the electric kind—born from vengeance, strategy, and the delicious anticipation of chaos.
Today, I was going to show him.
Today, I was going to remind everyone in this goddamn house who was in charge.
I kicked the covers off with a dramatic flair, slid out of bed, and padded across the cold marble floor to the bathroom. The steam from the hot shower fogged up the mirrors almost instantly, and I stood there for a long time, letting the water scald my skin. Washing off the night. Washing off his scent, his presence, his maddening silence.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a silk robe, my mind had already drafted ten different ways to make Alessandro’s life a living hell. Each one more satisfying than the last.
I dried my hair, did my makeup, slipped into a figure-hugging black dress that screamed expensive and dangerous, then grabbed my heels in one hand.
Barefoot and deadly, I walked to the door and yanked it open with more force than necessary.
And there he was.
Of course.
Standing there like some ghost of discipline and muscle, arms crossed, back straight, face completely devoid of emotion.
Alessandro.
God, I wanted to throw something at him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered, not even trying to hide my disdain. “Do you sleep outside my door now?”
No answer. Not even a glance.
Infuriating.
I brushed past him without waiting, strutting down the hallway with my chin high and my heels dangling from my fingers like a weapon.
Today wasn’t about screaming. Today wasn’t about tantrums.
Today was about control.
Power.
Making him feel small without ever raising my voice.
By the time I reached the grand staircase, my fury had crystallized into something sharper. Cold. Calculated. I descended the steps like royalty, hips swaying, silk clinging to every curve. The morning light filtered in through the tall windows, casting gold across the marble floors.
The maids scattered as I walked into the dining room, heads bowed like I was some goddess of wrath they didn’t want to piss off.
Good.
They should be scared.
I approached the long table set with silverware, fresh fruit, eggs, pastries, all laid out like some Michelin-star fantasy. I paused, not sitting. Instead, I turned on my heel and looked over my shoulder.
Straight at him.
He stood just inside the doorway, watching. Always watching. Like some sentinel carved out of shadows.
“You gonna stand there all day?” I asked sweetly, loud enough for the staff to hear. “Or are you actually going to make yourself useful?”
Nothing.
Of course.
His face didn’t twitch. Not a blink. Not a raised brow.
“You’re not deaf, are you?” I said, my voice louder now. “Pull the damn chair for me.”
Still… nothing.
I clenched my jaw, fists tightening around the heels in my hand. The silence pressed in around us like a vise, the maids frozen mid-pour, mid-wipe, mid-motion. Waiting.
Testing me.
“Fucking pull the chair,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
And then—without a word—he moved.
It was subtle. Smooth. Like a panther in a suit. He stepped forward, reached for the chair at the head of the table, and pulled it out with perfect precision.
Finally.
I tossed him a glare as I stepped forward, lifting my chin as I moved to sit.
But the moment my weight shifted toward the chair, it disappeared.
Literally.
He pulled it back just as I started to sit.
My ass hit the marble floor with a painful, echoing thud.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Then the laughter started.
Soft at first—one of the younger maids tried to smother it behind her hand—but it was contagious. Another snickered. Then another.
I sat there, stunned, cheeks burning, knees twisted awkwardly, heels still clutched in my hand like sad trophies.
Alessandro didn’t flinch.
Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. He just stood there, his face as emotionless as ever, as if watching me crash to the floor was as routine as checking the time.
“You—” I gasped, pushing myself up. “You fucking psycho! Are you mad?!”
Still nothing.
I grabbed the edge of the table for support and shoved myself to my feet. My dress had hiked up, and I yanked it down, furious, humiliated, humiliated in my own goddamn house.
The maids scrambled back as I turned on them with a glare cold enough to shatter crystal.
“Anyone else think that was funny?” I snapped.
Silence.
Dead silence.
They knew better.
I spun back toward Alessandro and stalked toward him.
“You think this is a game?” I snarled, slamming a hand against his chest. “You think humiliating me is part of your fucking job description?”
Nothing.
Just those maddening blue eyes staring through me like I was nothing more than wind in his path.
“You’re an asshole,” I said, shoving him hard, though he didn’t move an inch. “You’re a cold, insufferable prick, and I swear—swear—I’m going to ruin you.”
I stormed back to the table, snatched the chair upright, and flopped into it with all the grace of a hurricane. My blood pounded in my ears. My cheeks burned with rage. I couldn’t even taste the food I started shoving into my mouth.
My stomach was in knots.
I felt his presence behind me, lingering like smoke.
I didn’t look at him again.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
But as I ate, my eyes dropped to the floor.
My heels were still there—carelessly tossed beside me. One lying on its side like a fallen soldier.
And just like that, the rage simmering inside me turned into something else.
Something sharper.
Darker.
I grinned.
Slowly. Wickedly.
Because this wasn’t over.
No.
He thought he’d embarrassed me?
Cute.
He thought I’d go cry into my eggs and give up?
Not a fucking chance.
He’d picked the wrong girl to play with.
Because I didn’t just play games—I created them.
And if Alessandro wanted a war, I was ready to drag him into the mud with me and make him beg to get out.
I lifted one of the heels and spun it slowly in my hand, admiring the point of the stiletto.
Then I looked at him—finally.
He stood across the room, arms crossed again, face unreadable.
But I knew I’d gotten under his skin.
Even if just a little.
I smiled.
He was going to regret messing with me.
This house wasn’t big enough for the both of us. And I was going to make damn sure that by the time I was done with him, he’d be the one on the floor.
Broken.
Dismissed.
Fired.
I pushed my plate away, no longer hungry, and stood with deliberate calm. I walked to the door, heels in one hand, head high.
As I passed him, I paused—just for a breath—and looked up into those icy, infuriating eyes.
“You know what your problem is?” I whispered, so low only he could hear. “You think silence is power. But real power… is when they talk about you. Obsess over you. Lose themselves over you.”
I smirked.
“I’m unforgettable, Alessandro. And when I ruin you… I promise—everyone will remember your fall.”
Then I walked away.
And this time, he followed.
Just like always.
But I was done being followed.
It was time to lead.
And I was going to lead him straight into ruin.