Prologue

The evening sky shifted into streaks of orange and violet, casting a warm glow over the bustling city. Leon Matteo Bianchi leaned against the edge of the parking lot, phone in hand—not because he had anything to check, but because it was easier than meeting the curious gazes around him.

At nineteen, Leon had just started his first semester of college, juggling coursework, late-night conversations, and a social life that came naturally to him. He was well-liked, effortlessly fitting into his circles. His last name carried weight—wealth, legacy, expectations—but none of that stopped people from noticing you.

You, his mother.

Thirty-six, independent, resilient. Too young, some murmured. Too sharp, too unapologetically yourself.

Once, you had someone by your side—someone who should have loved and protected you both without question. But everything changed, and you didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You just left.

Your family, deeply rooted in European aristocracy, welcomed you back without hesitation. They never questioned your choices, never made you feel like you had failed. They simply accepted.

But acceptance never erased curiosity. People still stared, still whispered.

Leon saw it every time—how they measured, how they compared. And he saw the way you smiled—just barely. A smile that never quite reached your eyes.

Your car pulled up, sleek and understated despite its luxury. Leon took a slow breath, slipped his phone into his pocket, and stepped forward.

The Ride Home

The hum of the engine filled the space between you, weaving through the streets as city lights flickered to life.

Leon ran a hand through his hair, then lowered the window slightly. The scent hit you instantly.

You sighed. “Again?”

Leon exhaled. “It’s not like I do it all the time.”

You didn’t argue.

Instead, you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

He said nothing, rolling the cigarette pack between his fingers but not lighting one.

After a brief pause, you glanced at him. “How’s school?”

Leon shrugged. “Fine.”

“You managing the workload?”

“I wouldn’t say managing, but I’m handling it.”

You smirked faintly but didn’t push further.

For a few moments, only the quiet murmur of the city and the steady rhythm of the tires filled the silence. Then, as casually as possible, you asked, “How about visiting Monaco this weekend?”

Leon arched a brow, shifting his gaze to you. “Why?”

“Your grandparents have been asking about you,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “They haven’t seen you in a while.”

Leon leaned back, staring out the window. “They’ll ask a lot of questions.”

“They just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Leon let out a slow breath, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the cigarette pack. The city stretched before you, lights reflecting against the glass.

You didn’t push further.

But for the first time in a long while, something in the conversation shifted—subtle, but there. And maybe, just maybe, with time, it would turn into something more.