The day came sooner than the mayor would have preferred.Cameras lined the freshly painted gates of the orphanage, their flashes blinking like restless fireflies. Reporters jostled for space, their microphones raised high, eager to capture every word and expression. The event had been publicized all week; The Mayor’s Official Donation Ceremony, and the crowd that gathered was far larger than usual.Niccolo arrived first.He stepped out of his car in a dark navy suit, sharp and understated, his expression unreadable as always. The children ran up to greet him, and the sight almost softened his features. Almost. He greeted each one gently before walking toward the podium that had been set up beside the orphanage’s new wing — the one he had personally funded.Ten minutes later, the mayor’s motorcade arrived.The man stepped out, adjusting his tie nervously though he hid it beneath a broad smile. His entourage followed behind, secretaries, bodyguards, and his PR manager. When he caught si

The knock at the door came sharp and deliberate, not hesitant, not rushed. Just enough weight to show confidence. Niccolo looked up from the file on his desk, the mayor’s face smirking up at him from a photo stapled to the front page. He closed the folder and straightened his jacket.“Come in.”The door creaked open, revealing a tall, sharp featured man in his late fifties. Dressed in a crisp navy suit with a gold tie pin, he looked like he belonged in a courtroom or on the front page of a campaign donor list. His eyes were cold, calculating. It swept the room before settling on Niccolo.“Mr Morrandi,” the man greeted. “When you asked to meet up, I was very confused... since we have no reason to see each other .”Niccolo stood and offered a hand he had no interest in shaking. “Oh don't be like that, I thought we were already acquainted. Although you're right, we don't have any personal business to discuss.”Casella gave a polite smile, though his eyes didn’t move. “And yet you called

The courthouse was packed to capacity. Cameras flashed from every direction, microphones extended like spears, and the murmurs of the restless crowd echoed through the marble hall. Reporters from every major news outlet had gathered to witness what was being called “The Trial of the Century.”For years, the Mayor had been the face of the city— charming, eloquent, and seemingly incorruptible. His posters still hung on some streets, fading reminders of a man who once promised reform and honesty. Now, he sat in the defendant’s chair, dressed in an immaculate gray suit, his expression stiff and unreadable. His once- confident posture had been replaced by a quiet tension that betrayed the storm raging inside him.Across the aisle sat Niccolo. Calm. Unflinching. Dressed in a black suit, he appeared almost untouchable —his presence commanding the room even before he spoke. He didn’t look at the mayor, not once. His focus was on the documents in front of him —the evidence that would decide th

Three days after Ariana’s video had gone viral, the world refused to move on. Every news outlet, gossip site, and political commentator had something to say about the mayor’s daughter and her bold defense of a man everyone now called “the face of corruption.”Her video had been meant as a plea— a heartfelt message from a daughter who refused to believe her father capable of such evil. But to the public, it was a confession in disguise. People twisted her words, pulling phrases out of context, spinning them into narratives that served their anger.“She knew all along,” one comment said.“She’s just as guilty as her father,” said another.The harshest ones cut deeper than she could ever admit:> ‘She’s not worthy of Niccolo.’‘He should break off the engagement before she ruins his career too.’The insults flooded every platform she used. Even when she logged out, they haunted her.Ariana sat on her bed that evening, her phone still lighting up with notifications, her eyes swollen from