A mute girl finds herself entwined with a powerful mafia billionaire who becomes dangerously obsessed with her.
Despite her silence, his intense feelings compel him to pursue her relentlessly, ultimately forcing her into a marriage she never desire...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
One more update !!♡♡♡♡
Happy reading.
Hope you will like it🩷
The penthouse was draped in soft gold light, paper stars strung from the ceiling, and a banner reading “Feliz 1er Cumpleaños, Dominic” swaying above the sofa.
Sorina knelt on the rug, her hands trembling as she fastened the final button on Dominic’s ivory linen suit a miniature replica of Lucien’s favored Brioni style.
The boy squirmed, giggling as he batted at the pearl cufflinks she’d borrowed from Lucien’s dresser.
“Mama!” Dominic crowed, clapping his hands. A droplet of drool slid down his chin, glistening under the chandelier.
Sorina smiled, swiping it away with her thumb. “Happy birthday, mi sol,” she signed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He smelled of vanilla soap and the faintest trace of Lucien’s cologne she’d dabbed it on his wrists, a pathetic attempt to conjure his father’s presence.
The cake sat on the coffee table, a modest vanilla sponge iced in pale blue, adorned with a single edible golden serpent coiled around the top.
Sorina had stayed up until 3 a.m. baking it, her fingers still smudged with powdered sugar. Dominic lunged for it, his tiny fingers leaving dimples in the frosting.
“No, no,” she signed, catching his hand. “Wait for Papa.”
By 7 p.m., the stars had dimmed, and Dominic’s patience had frayed.
He’d torn off his bowtie, smeared blue icing across his cheeks, and now sat in the center of the rug, stacking blocks engraved with the Thorne crest Lucien’s latest “gift.”
Each time the elevator chimed in the distance, his head snapped up, babbling, “Papa!”
Sorina paced, her rose-pink dress a Lucien-approved choice whispering against her knees. She’d texted him six times from the phone that Lucien gave her just to text him. 1. The cake’s ready. 2. He’s asking for you. 3. Please.
No response.
At 8:15 p.m., she cracked open the penthouse door.
The guard stationed outside a new recruit, baby-faced and sweating through his suit jerked to attention.
“¿Dónde está Lucien?” she signed sharply.
The guard blinked. “I—I don’t know, ma’am. He left for a meeting this morning. That’s all they told us.”
Her stomach dropped.
Tires screeched below. Sorina rushed to the window in time to see Alejandro’s black Escalade mount the curb, doors flying open.
