Elena's heart pounded painfully against her chest as she ran into the night, tears streaming down her face. Every step she took felt heavier, like her feet were dragging the weight of betrayal. The image of Lorenzo with her stepsister burned deeply into her mind. She couldn't breathe—her chest ached as if someone had ripped her heart out.
"How could he?" she whispered between sobs. "How could he sleep with her… knowing how much I hate her?"
Her voice cracked as she staggered down the lonely road. The night wind was cold, and the streets were empty. The sound of her heels echoed in the darkness, a reminder that she was completely alone. She wiped her tears roughly and kept walking, not caring where she was heading.
Then, out of nowhere, a gentle tap landed on her shoulder. Startled, she turned quickly to find a young man standing behind her. He was tall, with dark hair that fell slightly into his eyes, and a look of deep concern.
"Hey… are you okay?" he asked softly.
Elena froze for a moment. She didn't even know what to say. How could she tell a stranger that her entire world had just fallen apart? That the man she loved—her supposed protector—had betrayed her with her own stepsister?
"I'm fine," she said quietly, forcing a smile that couldn't even hide the pain in her eyes.
The stranger looked at her closely, unconvinced. "You don't look fine. You look like someone who just lost everything."
His words hit her like a slap. She turned away quickly and started walking again, but he followed her, keeping a little distance. "At least let me buy you a drink," he said. "It's not safe out here alone."
Elena hesitated. Her mind told her to say no, but her heart… her heart was exhausted. Maybe she just needed to forget—just for a little while. So she nodded.
They ended up in a small bar at the edge of town, the kind of place where nobody asks questions. She sat opposite the man, staring blankly at the drink in front of her. He tried to make her laugh, cracking little jokes, and surprisingly, she did laugh—just a little. It felt strange to laugh again after so many tears.
At some point, she began talking. The words came out without her even realizing. She told him everything—how she met Lorenzo, how her life changed, how she began to fall for him, and how tonight, her heart broke into pieces.
The man's face hardened as she spoke. "That's cruel," he said, his tone colder now. "No woman deserves that."
"I thought he loved me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I thought I meant something to him…"
He leaned closer, his expression soft again. "Forget him. Some men don't deserve the kind of love you give."
She gave a weak smile. The alcohol was slowly taking over. Her head felt heavy, her vision blurry. She didn't even notice when the world around her began to fade.
The man's hand brushed over hers. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll take care of you."
By the time she realized something was wrong, it was too late. She tried to stand up, but her legs gave out. Her body felt weak—too weak. Panic filled her chest. "What… what did you…" she tried to say, but her voice broke into a slur.
He smirked faintly. "You'll know soon enough."
The world went black.
The next morning, Lorenzo's mansion was in chaos. He hadn't slept all night. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-buttoned, his eyes bloodshot. Since his teenage years, he had never felt fear—but now, he was terrified.
He had searched every corner of the city, every place she could've gone, but there was no trace of her.
He stormed into the room where Clara was being held, beaten and bruised, her tears falling uncontrollably. "Where is she?!" he shouted, slamming his hand against the wall.
"I–I don't know!" Clara stammered, trembling. "I swear I don't know where she went! Please, Lorenzo—please don't kill me!"
He glared at her with hatred burning in his eyes. His voice was low and dangerous. "You drugged me. You made her believe something that never happened. Because of you, she's gone."
Clara's sobs echoed through the cold room. "I didn't mean to—my mother made me—please, I beg you!"
Before he could say another word, his phone vibrated.
He looked down—and froze.
On the screen was a message:
"Missing her already?"
Attached was a photo. Elena. Tied to a chair. Her face bruised, her dress torn. Her eyes… filled with fear.
Lorenzo's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. His breath grew shallow, fury boiling inside him. Then another message came in:
"I heard you cheated on her with her stepsister. That was harsh, Lorenzo. Don't worry—I'll take good care of her."
He smashed his fist into the table, shattering it into pieces. "No…" he whispered through clenched teeth. "No one touches her. No one."
For the first time, Lorenzo felt powerless. He wanted to unleash his men, burn down the city, destroy anyone who dared hurt her. But he knew—if he went the violent way, she could die. His enemies knew that too.
So, for the first time in his life, the ruthless Lorenzo decided to do something he never imagined he would—he called the police.
When the news spread, the entire city was shaken.
A man known for slaughtering rivals without blinking.
A man who never asked the government for help.
A man whose name made criminals tremble—was now asking for help… because of love.
People whispered everywhere:
"Has the mafia king lost his mind?"
"He's gone soft because of her."
"That woman… she changed him."
But Lorenzo didn't care. He didn't care about his reputation, his pride, or his empire. All that mattered was getting Elena back alive.
As he stood before his men, his voice was low, deadly calm. "Find her. Even if it takes tearing down the whole city—find her."
And in that moment, everyone knew… the man who once ruled with blood was no longer just fighting for power—
He was fighting for love.