She found an empty notebook in the corner drawer of her room. Leather-bound, slightly dusty. Like it had been waiting for someone to bring it to life.

Serena opened it.

The pages were blank. Pure. Unscarred.

Unlike her.

She picked up her pen—same one she’d signed her life away with—and started to write. Slowly, like dipping a toe into freezing water.

“He was a monster born from shadows. But monsters didn’t scare her. Liars did. And she knew how to become one better than anyone.”

The words spilled like blood. And once they started, they didn’t stop.

Luciano had become her story.

Not the hero. Not even the villain. Something in between.

She didn’t write love. She wrote danger. She wrote obsession. She wrote about a man who looked at a woman like she was both a threat and a temptation—and didn’t know which one terrified him more.

She didn’t notice the knock.

Or the door creak open.

Luciano stood in the doorway, watching her. Arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You write at night?”

She looked up. “I write when I need to survive.”

His eyes flicked to the notebook. “You hiding secrets in there?”

“Would it matter if I said yes?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Depends on the secrets.”

She held his gaze. “You’re in them.”

He didn’t flinch. “Am I the monster or the muse?”

Serena tilted her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He came closer, stopping just beside her desk. Close enough to touch. Close enough to destroy.

“I’m not a man who likes being misunderstood.”

“You’re not misunderstood,” she said, pen still in hand. “You’re just… not finished yet.”

Luciano leaned down, voice low. “And you think you’re the one writing me?”

“I know I am.”

Silence stretched between them like a blade.

Then he picked up the notebook, flipped through it slowly—word by word, line by line. His thumb hovered on a paragraph.

Then he closed it, placed it gently back in her hands, and said, “Don’t let anyone else read this. Not yet.”

“Why?” she asked, quiet.

His eyes darkened. “Because they won’t see what I see.”

He left her with that.

And for the first time since stepping into his world, Serena’s hands trembled—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

Anticipation.