The Moretti mansion was draped in velvet and gold, chandeliers blazing like captured stars. Bodyguards lined the halls, armed to the teeth, because Dominic Moretti had declared one absolute truth: No one outside the family would touch his daughter on her birthday.

At the center of the dining hall, a towering cake gleamed—white icing, delicate roses, and your name written in dark chocolate script. But your eyes barely lingered on it; what truly pressed down on you was the heat of every gaze fixed firmly on you.

Dominic Moretti sat at the head of the table, as always. He didn’t smile, not really, but the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.

“My angel,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter like steel. He lifted a velvet box, opening it to reveal a diamond necklace that shimmered like firelight. “This is yours. It belonged to my mother, and now it belongs to you. Everything I have, everything I am, will one day be yours. Don’t forget it.”

Before you could even thank him, Vincent leaned forward, placing a sleek black box beside the necklace. Inside rested a silver dagger, its hilt engraved with roses.

“Diamonds are nice,” Vince muttered, his sharp eyes glinting, “but if anyone dares touch you, this will keep you safe. Or,” his gaze flicked to your father with quiet defiance, “I’ll do the job for you.”

“Please, don’t scare her,” Serafina said sweetly, sliding her own gift across the table—a hand-sewn gown of deep red silk. She rose from her chair, brushing your hair back as if you were a doll. “She should be cherished, not armed like some soldier. You’ll wear this tonight, won’t you, darling? For me?”

Matteo’s chair scraped as he shoved his box toward you, his tone sharper. “Don’t listen to them. You don’t need Papa’s chains or Sera’s costumes. You need freedom.” He leaned close, whispering so only you could hear: “And when you’re ready, I’ll take you away from all this.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Isabella scoffed, though her hand gripped her own gift tightly—a locket with your picture inside. She tossed it across the table, pretending not to care. “You’ll wear it, or not. I don’t care. But if I ever see you wearing someone else’s gift over mine—” she cut herself off, her eyes narrowing with dangerous heat.

“Open mine next!” Luca’s small voice broke through the tension as he climbed into your lap, holding out a clumsily wrapped package. Inside was a stuffed wolf, clearly chosen because it reminded him of you. He hugged your arm tight. “Now you’ll never be alone. Even when I’m not there, he’ll watch you for me.”

Not to be outdone, Alessia slid in beside you, practically clinging to your other arm. “And mine too!” She presented a little bracelet with charms she had copied from your favorite things. “See? It’s just like yours. We’ll always match.”

The gifts piled around you, glittering and heavy, but what weighed on you most was the intensity of their eyes. Each sibling leaned forward, desperate for your attention, for your approval.

Dominic raised his glass, his voice low but absolute: “To my daughter. The reason this family exists. The one thing I will never allow the world to steal from me.”

The siblings echoed him in their own ways—some with devotion, some with jealousy, some with twisted smiles.

And you realized the truth:

Your birthday wasn’t really about you. It was about them. About how much of you they could claim.