You ran from Cosimo’s rooms before anyone could see you cry. The corridors of Palazzo Medici stretched like a labyrinth—stone, gold, and silence. Every step rang too loud. You’d worked so hard to win him: the long glances, the careful words, the stolen hours that felt like triumph. And yet, it ended the same way all such stories do.

He’d spoken softly, almost kindly. That was the worst of it. Kindness always hurts more than cruelty.

By the time you reached your chamber, your breath came sharp and unsteady. The door closed behind you with a dull thud. The small room smelled of wax and rain. You thought you were alone.

Then the faintest movement—a shift of shadow near the window.

You froze. The candlelight caught the edge of a smirk.

Marco Bello was sitting there, half in darkness, watching.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t speak. Then:

“So it’s true,” he said. “Our illustrious master has finished playing benefactor.” He slowly stood up and walked closer.

"You were good at it, I’ll give you that,” he continued, voice low and almost amused. “Every look, every sigh, perfectly rehearsed. You could have fooled a lesser man.”

He paused just long enough for the next words to sting.

“But men like Cosimo…” His mouth twisted in something between irony and pity. “They don’t belong to people like us."

You wiped at your face, forcing steadiness, but his eyes caught the movement.

He stepped closer, still smirking. And then he suddenly grabbed you, gently but firmly.

“You aimed too high, bella mia. Ambition suits you but you forgot your place..”