Hold Me, Then Hurt Me

My expression remained unchanged as I nodded lightly. "Rocco, you've misunderstood."

I raised my wine glass, my voice calm and gentle.

"Your future wife. I wouldn't dream of slighting her."

The crimson liquid swirling in the glass looked too much like the blood I had lost in my past life. My fingers trembled slightly, but I forced myself to remain composed.

Hearing my detached tone, Rocco's hand, holding his fork and knife, froze mid-air.

A muscle in his brow twitched. He was about to speak.

Clara gently touched his arm. "Rocco, it's alright. Harper is the family's Principessa. It's normal for her to be a little proud. I'll do my best to win her over."

She clearly didn't understand the power dynamics at play.

Rocco ignored her, setting down his utensils to continue staring at me.

"Don't say that, Clara," he said, his voice indulgent. "Harper is just shy. She's actually very sweet. You two will get along once you spend more time together."

The way he framed it, I was the one at fault.

My stepmother tried to smooth things over. "Alright, now, it's so rare for the whole family to be together..."

This was Rocco's specialty. That lethal gentleness.

In my last life, I drowned in the illusion of his deep affection, right until he personally pushed me into the abyss, his face still wearing that same "I'm doing this for your own good" expression.

I set down my silverware, my appetite gone.

The memory of being starved to skin and bones in that rival family's warehouse stole my appetite. I had been looking forward to a hot meal.

I should have just gone with my father to deal with the family business.

I couldn't stand another second of this meal.

"I'm finished. Please, enjoy yourselves."

I dabbed my lips with my napkin and rose from the table.

Half an hour later, I was about to leave for my father's legitimate enterprise in an armored sedan.

I had just opened the door and settled into the back seat when the door on the other side was pulled open.

Rocco leaned in, his eyes full of concern and confusion.

The dim back seat instantly became an intimate, enclosed space for just the two of us.

"Harper, what's wrong with you today? You wouldn't even respond to me."

Rocco's long fingers reached out, his fingertips gently stroking my cheek.

"You're never this quiet. You didn't say a word at the table. I was worried about you."

"Tell me, is this about Clara? Are you jealous?"

His warm touch made my stomach churn, reminding me of that dark warehouse from my past life. Faced with endless humiliation, all I could do was cry and scream until I became numb and hopeless.

I quietly clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, using the sharp pain to suppress the turmoil rising within me.

I turned my head slightly to avoid his touch, "Brother, you're mistaken."

I didn't look at him. "You and Clara are a perfect match. I'm truly happy for you."

Rocco let out a low chuckle.

He didn't pull back. Instead, he moved closer, his warm breath fanning across my ear.

His hand slid down from my cheek, stopping at the nape of my neck.

He knew my body intimately, knew that was one of my most sensitive spots.

His fingertips drew slow circles, his voice low and husky. "Is that so?"

"But Harper, if I recall correctly, when I was teaching you how to hold a gun, your heart was pounding louder than the gunshots."

"Harper, you don't have to pretend to be strong in front of me."

"I still remember how you cried and tripped down the stairs when you saw me writing love letters to Clara."

He lowered his head, his nose almost brushing my neck, as if greedily inhaling my scent.

"I know your secret, good girl."

"You love me. You're crazy about me."

Those words were like a rusty, sugar-coated knife, stabbing into my heart all over again.

Yes, I had loved him once.

I was young when my stepmother, Elena, married my father. The family business was just starting to take off.

My father was busy expanding his empire in both legitimate business and the underworld, while my stepmother was busy managing her social calendar among the city's elite.

It was Rocco, this brother with no blood relation, who wove a giant cocoon around me with his meticulous "care."

He would stay up all night by my side when I was hurt and gently defend me when I was scolded.

He seemed to have an endless supply of patience and gentleness for me. "Don't cry, little princess. Your tears are too precious to be wasted on small things."

Exquisite toys from his drawer, limited-edition desserts, surprises at my birthday parties, Rocco took care of everything for me.

He would say softly, "No matter what, you'll always be my little princess. All the beautiful things others have, you must have them too."

Later, as a teenager, I was sensitive and my feelings were just beginning to bloom.

Rocco was still with me every day.

He patiently taught me how to shoot, how to read people, and then, intentionally or not, drove away every suitor who came near me.

His men would joke, "Rocco, you treat Harper so well, taking her everywhere. You raising a future wife or something?"

Rocco would just smile faintly. "She's my most precious treasure."

To this day, I remember when the youngest Moretti son stood outside our estate with roses for three days straight, Rocco dragged him out with a stern face.

"Harper is my family. Please stay away from her."

How could a young girl's fragile heart have resisted?

But the pain of my past life taught me just how wrong I was.

Seeing my silence, Rocco assumed I had given in once more.

He cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. "Harper, don't look at me like that."

"You know it's impossible between us."

The atmosphere was intimate and his voice was full of deep affection, yet every word was like a shard of ice.

"I can't give you what you want, so don't force me to hurt you."

He paused, leaning closer to my lips.

"If you and I... last night... of course I would have taken responsibility. But for you to do what you did, it only makes me feel,"

"like you've cheapened the special bond between us."