𝟎𝟓| 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞

❝If I only could, I’d make a deal with God,And I’d get him to swap our places,Be running up that road,Be running up that hill…❞

𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐒𝐈𝐍

I quickly composed myself and gave the mirror one last look, making sure everything was in place. My hair, my dress, even the faintest detail of my lipstick. Hell no, I was not going to look stupid in front of a man who wore pride like a crown. I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and walked toward the door of my office.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs could crack under the pressure. My hand tightened on the door handle, my knuckles turning pale. I whispered under my breath, “It’s just a meeting, Mallika. Calm down.”

But the moment I pushed open the door, calmness abandoned me.

He was sitting with his back turned, his posture sharp, shoulders perfectly straight. The air seemed frozen, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioner. My heels clicked against the cold tile floor with each step I took. That was when I noticed his finger tapping idly on the polished wooden table, a steady rhythm, until he heard me. The instant my heels made their first click, his finger stilled. He did not turn around, but the silence grew so heavy that I could hear the subtle rise and fall of his breath. I let go of the hem of my dress, realizing my tight grip had left wrinkles on the fabric.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, forcing my voice to sound sweet and professional.

“Miss Salvatore.” His voice was deep, smooth, commanding. And then he turned. It was the first time I saw him face to face.

Raphael Moretti looked exactly as people described him, if not more. Tall, polished, and intimidating as sin itself. His midnight-black suit fit him with effortless precision, a crisp white shirt beneath it, and a loosened tie resting against his chest. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and his dark eyes… they were not just looking at me. They were dissecting me, pulling me apart piece by piece.

“You look lost. Found something more interesting, I suppose?” His words sliced through my thoughts.

“No,” I replied quickly, forcing a small smile on my lips. “That would be unprofessional behavior, and it does not suit a writer.”

“But one can dream. One can get lost in their thoughts. Isn’t that what writing is? Like fantasy, like a dream?” His finger traced the rim of his Rolex as he spoke.

“Something like that. Maybe that is what makes a good writer,” I said softly.

“Maybe?” He raised an eyebrow, his finger pausing mid-motion.

“Yes—yes, maybe. I mean… everyone has a different way of writing, don’t they?” My words came out rushed, betraying my nerves.

“What’s your way of writing then?” His question caught me off guard.

“My way?” I repeated. “Well, cathartic, I suppose.”

“You consider your writing brutal?” His tone carried a trace of sarcasm, softened by a low chuckle. His deep voice rumbled, making the movement of his Adam’s apple even more prominent.

“Yes. Honest enough to make people uncomfortable. But in the end, I bring everything back to where it should be.” A smirk tugged at my lips as I spoke.

He chuckled again, lowering his head slightly so that a stray lock of hair slipped free and fell across his forehead, breaking his perfect style for just a moment.

“You’re a genius then,” he said.

“Are you a fan?” I teased.

“Fan? No. I have not read a single one of your books yet.” He shrugged, as if his words had not just struck me like a blow.

“You have not read a single book of mine… and yet you are here.” My grip tightened on the pen lying before me.

“Miss Salvatore, you sound offended.” His low chuckle made me want to slap the smugness off his face, but I restrained myself.

Taking a breath, I forced a wide, fake smile. “Not offended. Just surprised. You haven’t read my work, yet you are sitting here across from me.”

“Yes, because—” He was cut off when Alessia entered, carrying a tray with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. The wine shimmered like liquid rubies, dark and thick, almost like blood.

“I see you’re having a good discussion,” she said with a teasing smile. “Oh, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She set the glasses down, filling each with a generous pour of red wine. I felt Raphael’s gaze on me, unwavering, and quickly cleared my throat, trying to compose myself.

“Enjoy,” Alessia whispered, giving my shoulder a soft squeeze and a playful wink before slipping out, closing the door behind her.

“You drink wine, right? If not, we can bring something else—” I began.

“No, it’s fine. Wine is actually my favorite.” He lifted the glass and studied the liquid. “Blood,” he murmured.

“It does look like blood, doesn’t it?” I said quietly, picking up my own glass. I tilted it, swirling slowly, watching the crimson liquid coat the sides like velvet. “It’s thick.”

“And what does your writer’s mind say about this?” His question startled me, and I quickly looked up before fixing my gaze back on the glass.

“Blood, desire, sensuality, time, memory… it reminds me of obsession too,” I whispered.

His lips curved into almost a smirk, quickly hidden by another chuckle. “You’re enigmatic,” he said in a low voice, running his hand through his dark hair.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Hard to read. I understand you, yet I don’t. Tell me, Mia Cara, how does it feel to be unreadable to a man who can decode a person’s entire life with a single look?” His gaze deepened, dark and consuming.

My breath caught. His eyes made me dizzy, unraveling my composure. I had no idea how to respond.

He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. The motion of his Adam’s apple was hypnotic, almost indecent. His eyes dropped back to the wine as if searching for something in its depths.

“Maybe you should try harder,” I said, and instantly regretted it. Challenging Raphael Moretti was the last thing I wanted to do.

His presence thickened the air. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, my fingers fidgeting with the ring on my hand. He kept staring, silent and unblinking. Then, without warning, he stood. In one slow, fluid motion, he leaned forward over the table, closing the distance between us. My instinct was to recoil, and I leaned back sharply. My chair teetered dangerously, and before I could fall, his arm shot out, wrapping firmly around my waist.

I squeezed my eyes shut, then slowly opened them again. His face was close enough that I could feel his breath warm against my ear.

“Were you trying to run away?” His voice was deep, low, almost a growl. Goosebumps broke across my skin.

“No, I wasn’t, but—”

“I was just removing something from your hair,” he interrupted. He plucked a loose clip from my hair and held it up. “Maybe you didn’t notice.” He placed it gently on the table, then helped me back into my seat.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“You thought I would do something inappropriate?” He folded his arms across his chest, the motion flexing the muscles in his forearms.

“Not really. I was just… startled.”

“But I could do things, you know.”

“What things?” My voice was small.

He chuckled again, looking down briefly before meeting my gaze with a soft smile. “Nothing. But I suppose it’s time we discuss what I came here for.” His eyes flicked to his watch, then back to me. “Miss Salvatore, I want you to write a biography about me.”

My eyes widened. “A biography? Mr. Moretti, I write fiction. Romance novels. I don’t write biographies. That’s non-fiction.”

“I know. But the way I see you, the way I’ve observed you, I think no one could write my story better than you.”

“No, but—”

“I know you want to open your own orphanage,” he cut me off smoothly. “Because you love children. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“You need someone to finance it. And you’re too proud to ask your billionaire father.” His eyes pinned me in place.

I froze. “How do you know all this?”

“I collect information about everyone I meet. You should have assumed that already.” He gestured, and another man entered the room carrying a folder. He handed it to Raphael, who opened it and began pulling out papers.

“Property papers. A check for one billion euros. Legal documents for your orphanage.” Each item landed on the table in front of me, one after the other, until I was nearly breathless.

“And this is a contract,” he continued, sliding the final paper toward me. “It states you agree to write a biography of me. In return, I will finance your orphanage. I will provide more money if necessary. You can take all the time you need, even years. The only condition is that you must stay in contact with me. Perhaps forever.” His voice lingered on that last word, his finger tapping the table for emphasis.

I stared at the papers, my head spinning. Why would he do this? All for a biography?

“Don’t look so shocked, Mia Cara. I just want to help you, and in return, I ask for something I value. Do not worry. The orphanage will be in your name.” He placed a pen in front of me. “Signing this contract makes this deal legal. If you break it, there will be consequences. Severe ones.”

I looked from him to the contract. It was everything I wanted, laid out in black and white. All I had to do was sign, and my dream would come true. But the cost… staying bound to Raphael Moretti. No way.

And yet… my hand reached for the pen.

“Fine. I’ll sign.” The words left my lips before I could stop them. I signed my name neatly, sealing the deal.

“So, you’re bound to me now,” he murmured.

“I’m not,” I replied stubbornly, meeting his gaze.

He only smiled. Standing, he adjusted his suit jacket. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss Mallika Salvatore.”

“Same here,” I said quietly, shaking his hand.

He turned without another word and walked out the door. I collapsed back into my chair, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I thought it might break free.

“What have I just done?”