Power was his empire.

Fear was his crown.

Love? An illusion Lucas Marlo had no use for.

At thirty-one, Lucas ruled both the underworld and the corporate world. Half Italian, half French, his blood carried elegance and brutality in equal measure. In the glossy boardrooms of Milan, he was the cold CEO of Marlo Enterprises, a trillion-dollar empire. In the shadows of Sicily, he was Il Fantasma—the Ghost—the ruthless mafia boss whose word was law and whose silence was deadlier than any bullet.

No one crossed him.

No one touched his heart.

Until she came.

Chapter One – Arrival

Kang Eiman 21 year old college student , came to italy to study .Her father had sent her to Milan with promises of safety, of education, of a brighter future. Her father had arranged everything—her university admission, her residence, even the car that waited to take her to her new life. Eiman was supposed to feel comforted by his planning, yet unease gnawed at her. He had been strangely quiet before she left, his phone calls hushed, his brow lined with tension she had never seen before.

Still, she told herself this was a new beginning. Italy was where she would discover herself, far away from the shadows of family expectations.

The black car that waited outside the airport looked more like something from a movie than a student pickup service. A sleek Mercedes, windows tinted to darkness. The driver—a tall man with graying hair and sharp eyes—opened the door without a word.

“Signorina Kang?” he asked, his accent thick with Italian vowels.

“Yes. That’s me.” She forced a smile, slipping inside. The leather seats swallowed her in silence.

The city blurred past her window as they drove. Milan was alive—fashionably dressed people hurrying across cobblestones, neon lights glittering above cafés, laughter spilling from crowded streets. She pressed her forehead to the glass, awed by it all. Yet her driver remained stoic, his gaze fixed on the road.

“Are we going to the university residence?” she finally asked.

His answer was simple. “No. You will be staying at Villa Marlo.”

Eiman frowned. “Villa… Marlo?”

The man did not elaborate.By the time they reached the villa, the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in blood-orange and violet. Eiman stepped out and froze.

The estate loomed before her, carved from pale stone that glowed under the evening sky. Iron gates towered behind them, shutting her in with a metallic clang. Gardens stretched endlessly, manicured to perfection, yet shadowed by statues that seemed almost alive. Guards in black suits lingered near the entrance, their watchful eyes making her shiver.

This wasn’t a student residence. This was a fortress.

The driver retrieved her luggage and gestured toward the enormous doors. “Inside. You will be shown your room.”

Eiman hesitated, her pulse racing. “There must be a mistake. I—my father said—”

“Your father arranged this,” the driver interrupted, his voice final. “You are safe here.”

Safe. The word again. But somehow, she had never felt more trapped.

Inside, the villa was breathtaking. Marble floors stretched endlessly, chandeliers glittered like captured starlight, and heavy curtains in crimson velvet framed tall windows. The air smelled faintly of leather, wine, and something sharper—power.

A maid appeared, her face polite but unreadable. She led Eiman through winding corridors, past rooms with locked doors and whispered voices that vanished as they walked by. Eiman clutched her bag closer, her footsteps echoing.

When the maid opened the door to her room, Eiman was stunned. The chamber was larger than her entire apartment back home. A canopy bed stood in the center, dressed in ivory silk. A balcony overlooked the glowing city beyond the estate walls. It was beautiful, but in a way that felt more like a cage than a sanctuary.

“You will stay here,” the maid said, bowing slightly. “Dinner will be served at eight. Do not be late.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Eiman sank onto the bed, her heart pounding. She didn’t understand any of it—why she was here, why her father hadn’t told her about this arrangement, who truly owned this house that breathed wealth and menace in every corner.

Her phone buzzed. A message from her father.

Trust me, Eiman. Stay there. Do as they say. I’ll explain soon.

Dinner at Villa Marlo was nothing like the family meals Eiman knew back home.

The dining hall stretched like a cathedral, its ceilings painted with angels that seemed to mock her from above. A long table glowed beneath golden chandeliers, yet only a handful of people sat there—guards, assistants, and a man with silver hair who appeared to manage the household.

And at the head of the table, empty, waited a chair.

Eiman ate little, the weight of silence pressing on her. Every clink of silverware echoed like thunder. She wanted to ask Who lives here? Why am I here? but the answers frightened her more than the questions.

When the meal ended, the silver-haired steward approached. “Your father has made arrangements, Signorina.”

Her heart stopped. “Arrangements?”

His gaze was sharp, pityless. “You will marry Lucas Marlo.”

The name struck like lightning. “Marry?” Her voice cracked. “No—that’s impossible. My father would never—”

The steward’s lips thinned. “Your father owes debts. Debts cannot be paid with money alone. You are… the answer.”

Her breath hitched. “This is insane. I came here to study, not—”

But his eyes had already moved past her, as though her protests were meaningless.

---

That night, she called her father again. His voice was weary, low, the sound of a man crushed under secrets.

“Eiman, listen to me. Lucas Marlo is powerful. Dangerous, yes, but he can protect you. Once you are his wife, no one will dare touch you.”

Her tears burned hot. “I don’t want protection. I don’t want him.”

“Sometimes,” her father whispered, “we don’t get to choose.”

The line went dead, leaving her shaking in the silence of her gilded prison.

---

The First Meeting

She met him the next evening.

The double doors of the villa’s library opened, and there he stood. Lucas Marlo.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his suit black as sin itself. His eyes, sharp and glacial, assessed her with a calmness that was worse than rage. He looked at her as though she were not a person at all, but a contract.

“So,” he said, his French-Italian accent curling around the word. “The girl my business partner sends me.”

Eiman swallowed hard. “My father never told me…”

“That he sold you?” Lucas’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, though it held no warmth. “Perhaps he thought you would run.”

“I still can,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

His eyes narrowed. “Run, and you’ll learn what happens to people who waste my time.”

The threat was quiet. Deadly. Final.

Eiman’s chest tightened, fear coiling inside her. She hated him instantly—his cruelty, his indifference, his terrible beauty. But what frightened her more was the flicker of something in his gaze, something unreadable, as though she already occupied a place in his thoughts.

“Dinner is at eight,” Lucas said coldly, turning away. “Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he left her standing in the vast library, her knees weak, her heart hammering.

---

A Ray of Light

The following day, she wandered the gardens, desperate for air, for freedom. It was there she met her.

“Are you lost?” a soft voice asked.

Eiman turned to find a girl her age—bright-eyed, with dark hair that fell in playful waves, dressed not in stiff gowns but in casual jeans and a soft sweater. She looked nothing like the others in the villa. She looked… alive.

“I’m Eiman,” she said nervously.

The girl’s smile was warm, disarming. “Luna. Lucas’s sister.”

Eiman froze. His sister.

Luna laughed at her expression. “Don’t look so scared. He may be Il Fantasma to everyone else, but to me? He’s just my overbearing brother.”

Something inside Eiman softened. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

The two began walking together through the gardens, their conversation easy, natural. Luna spoke of music, books, and her hatred for the suffocating rules of the Marlo family. Eiman found herself laughing, truly laughing, for the first time since she had left home.

By the time they returned to the villa, hand in hand, something had changed.

In this world of shadows and cold power, Eiman had found a spark of light.

And her name was Luna.

But Lucas Marlo—cold, unreadable, terrifying—was still waiting.

University was supposed to be freedom. For Eiman, it was the only place in Italy where she could almost pretend she was normal—just another student with books under her arm and dreams in her eyes.

And she wasn’t alone.

Luna Marlo, with her quick wit and warm laugh, turned out to be not only her guide to Milan but also her closest friend. They shared classes, coffee breaks, and endless walks across the cobblestoned streets near campus. While Eiman’s life at Villa Marlo felt like a gilded cage, university felt like an escape—a breath of air away from the suffocating presence of Lucas.

One chilly afternoon, the two girls sat at a café near the university, cappuccinos steaming between them. Eiman tugged her shawl closer, her eyes following the people rushing past with scarves and books in hand.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Luna said, leaning on her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

Eiman hesitated, then sighed. “It’s your brother.”

Luna raised a brow. “Ah, the Devil himself.” She said it lightly, but her eyes studied Eiman with curiosity. “What about him?”

Eiman traced the rim of her cup nervously. “He… he terrifies me. The way he looks at people, like he can see every secret you’ve ever had.”

“That’s because he can,” Luna muttered, half-joking, half-serious. “Lucas doesn’t miss anything.”

Eiman gave a weak laugh. Then, almost under her breath, she admitted, “But… he’s also… kind of… hot.”

Luna’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing so loudly that people turned to stare. “Hot? My brother?”

Eiman flushed crimson. “Don’t laugh! I didn’t mean it like—he’s just—objectively, you know—”

“Objectively terrifying,” Luna teased, wiping her eyes. “And apparently objectively attractive, too.”

Eiman buried her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But Luna’s smile softened. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first girl to think that. Every time we go out, people stare at him like he’s a god carved out of marble. But to me, he’s just Lucas—the coldest human alive.”

Eiman peeked at her through her fingers. “Do you think he’ll really… marry me?”

Luna grew quiet, stirring her coffee. “When Lucas decides something, no one stops him. Not even family.” She met Eiman’s gaze with rare seriousness. “But you don’t have to be afraid of him, Eiman. He’s… complicated. If you get past the ice, maybe you’ll see something different.”

Eiman shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to see anything.”

Yet that night, lying awake in her silk-canopied bed at Villa Marlo, Eiman couldn’t stop remembering his face—the sharp lines of his jaw, the dangerous calm in his eyes.

Eiman was thinking to her self he is kinda hot though....wtf am I think.... the hell is wrong with me...he might have other girls ....why am I jealous...no wayyy ...I need too go to therapy...I really need it