The world always moved fast when you were the story.
By morning, Sarah's phone was vibrating nonstop.
Calls, messages, notifications — all blurring into one.
Her name was everywhere.
> "The Windsor Heiress's Mafia Lover — Society's Darkest Secret."
"Betrayed Fiancée or Dangerous Player?"
"Sarah Windsor Spotted Leaving Dante Moretti's Car at Midnight."
The photos were grainy but damning — her stepping out of Dante's car, his hand on the small of her back.
The city didn't need facts. It only needed fuel.
By the time she arrived at her father's company headquarters, the staff couldn't even meet her eyes.
Their pity was worse than their gossip.
Her assistant tried to intercept her at the elevator. "Miss Windsor, maybe you should—"
"Not now," Sarah said tightly.
She needed control.
A plan.
Something to silence the noise before it consumed her.
But when the elevator doors opened to the executive floor, she didn't find silence.
She found Dominic.
He was waiting for her in the hallway, his suit perfect, his smile cold.
And for a second, she almost laughed — because of course he'd come.
"Sarah," he said smoothly, as if nothing had ever happened. "We need to talk."
She crossed her arms. "We stopped needing to do anything months ago."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Don't make this worse than it already is."
"You mean worse than catching you in my bed with my sister?"
He flinched, but his tone stayed calm. "This — whatever you're doing with him — it's a mistake. He's dangerous."
She smirked. "You're suddenly concerned about my safety? That's adorable."
"I'm serious, Sarah. Dante Moretti isn't just rich — he's ruthless. If he's using you, it's to get to me."
Her pulse jumped, but she kept her face smooth. "Maybe that's the point."
Dominic's jaw clenched. "You don't know what you're playing with."
"I do now," she said evenly. "You taught me."
People were starting to gather — assistants, reporters, employees pretending to work while watching every second.
The tension thickened, hot and sharp.
"Listen to yourself," he said, his voice low but tight. "Sleeping with a criminal just to spite me? You're humiliating yourself."
"Humiliation?" She laughed, the sound sharp. "You taught me that word too, Dominic. Remember? When you called off our engagement and announced yours to Vanessa the same week?"
His mask cracked — just a flash of guilt, then anger. "You don't know what you're doing."
"Yes," she said softly. "I do."
And before he could speak again, her hand came up — fast, sharp, echoing across the hall.
The slap rang louder than words.
Gasps rippled through the corridor. Someone's phone clicked.
The flash of a camera froze the moment in time.
Dominic's face reddened, fury twisting his polished composure.
"You'll regret this," he hissed.
Sarah smiled — slow, calm, unafraid. "I already did. Once."
Then she turned and walked away, heels striking the marble like a drumbeat of defiance.
---
By the time she reached her car, the internet had already caught fire.
Her phone buzzed again — trending tags flashing like warnings:
> #MafiaLover
#SarahWindsorScandal
#TheSlapSeenAroundTheCity
Her pulse raced, but not with fear.
It was power. Raw, reckless, real.
For once, she wasn't the victim of the story. She was the story.
Still, as her car pulled away from the building, a shadow of unease crept in.
The photos. The timing. The precision.
It was all too perfect.
This wasn't an accident.
This was Dante's hand — unseen but everywhere.
---
High above the chaos, in a glass office overlooking the skyline, Dante Moretti stood watching the news play out on a massive screen.
His expression was unreadable — calm, controlled.
The video replayed again: Sarah's slap. The headlines. The storm he'd quietly orchestrated.
Luciano, his right-hand man, stepped forward. "You leaked it?"
Dante didn't look away from the screen. "I released what was inevitable."
"Won't this make things harder for her?"
He smiled faintly. "No. It'll make her stronger. Fire tempers steel."
Luciano hesitated. "And if she finds out you did it?"
Dante's eyes glinted with something dangerous — part affection, part challenge.
"She already knows."
The screen flashed another image — Sarah leaving the building, chin high, eyes fierce.
He traced her face with his gaze, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every detail.
Then, softly, almost to himself, he said,
> "You wanted revenge, princess. I'm just giving you the stage."
He turned away from the screen, his smile darkening.
> "And when the world burns," he murmured, "she'll finally realize who handed her the match."
---
From her car window, Sarah glanced up at the skyline — and saw him.
On the top floor of the Moretti Tower, standing by the glass, watching her.
Their eyes met across the distance — a silent recognition.
And on his lips, she saw it — that same dangerous smile.
The kind that promised two things:
Power.
And possession.