Nightfall in Rome draped the city in a golden glow, the ancient streets humming with whispered ambitions. Beneath the grandeur of centuries-old buildings, two powerful families gathered at an exclusive restaurant, where every guest carried a name that shaped industries.

Wine was poured, but no one truly savored its taste.

“This marriage is the best course for both families,” Giancarlo Moretti declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “Marcello understands his duty.”

Marcello Moretti, impeccable in his tailored suit, listened in silence. He was accustomed to making life-or-death decisions in the operating room, but here—seated at this table like a pawn in a calculated strategy—he felt like a patient being prepped for surgery.

Across the table sat Alessandra Romano, effortlessly elegant, her red lipstick the only vibrant shade in a room filled with composed expressions. She twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, her gaze half-lidded with boredom.

“I've read terrible scripts in my career, but this might be the dullest story yet,” she murmured, amusement flickering in her tone.

Her father, Vittorio Romano, barely concealed his irritation. “Alessandra, this is not a film. This is real life.”

She flashed a slow, knowing smile. “Then it should have more drama.”

Marcello finally lifted his gaze, meeting hers with a measured look. “I have no interest in drama.”

Alessandra rested her chin in her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “That’s too bad. I thrive on it.”

The agreement was sealed that night. A marriage arranged, a future decided. Yet beneath the diplomatic smiles and well-rehearsed pleasantries, tension simmered—an undercurrent of rebellion neither of them dared to voice.

In the heart of Rome, two strangers bound by family ties would soon discover that fate, no matter how meticulously planned, never unfolds as expected.