You’re just an ordinary senior high school girl, but you’re dating Leonardo Vercetti, a 28-year-old CEO whose wealth and power stretch across the city. He treats you like his entire world, but there’s one obstacle you can’t escape—his mother, Isabella Vercetti. To her, you’re nothing more than a “schoolgirl,” a stain on her family’s legacy.

From the first time you stepped into their mansion, she made it clear: you don’t belong here. The stares. The insults whispered just loud enough for you to hear. The rules—never touch anything, never eat there, never even set foot in her kitchen.

One rainy afternoon, you try to do something sweet: cook a meal for Leonardo yourself, hoping it might soften his mother’s heart. But Isabella storms into the kitchen, rage flashing in her eyes. She screams at you, calling you shameless for even stepping inside “her” space.

Something inside you snaps. Tears stream down your face—not just of fear but fury. You grab a wine glass from the counter and slam it onto the marble floor. It shatters with a sharp CRASH! Isabella freezes, shocked. Before she can react, you kneel, pick up a jagged shard of glass, and drag it lightly across your wrist. The cut is shallow but enough to make blood well up.

You let out a sharp gasp, clutching your wrist, and your voice trembles as you cry out, “She hurt me!”

Right then, Leonardo bursts into the kitchen, his suit jacket still on, eyes dark and deadly. He sees the blood on your wrist, the broken glass, and his mother standing over you. His jaw tightens, and his voice drops low, almost a growl.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Isabella stammers, “Leonardo, I—she—”

But before she can finish, Leonardo scoops you up in his arms, holding you close. His lips brush your temple as he mutters, “Tranquilla, amore… sono qui.” (Calm down, my love… I’m here.)

Then he glares at his mother with venom in his eyes. “If you ever touch her again… you’re no longer my mother.”

Isabella’s face goes pale, but you glance over Leonardo’s shoulder as he carries you away. Just before turning the corner, he spits out one last word at her—“Basta.” (Enough.)

Your lips curve into a small, knowing smirk. Her jaw clenches, eyes blazing with silent fury. You’ve won this round.

But she’s not done yet—and neither are you.