Chapter 5 His Karma

• Rosabelle La Rosa’s room was cold, sharp, and painfully neat, everything inside it was either black or white, like the world had no place for color. Just clean lines, order, and silence. It was her space, her rule. Everything in that room looked like it had a purpose, from the queen-sized bed made so tightly it could bounce a coin, to the wide polished desk paired with a tall-backed leather chair. And then there was the bar, no, not a mini one. A full shelf lined with all kinds of drinks, from rare wines to juices that tasted like sunshine.
• It was a plain room. No flowers, no pillows, no softness. But it was hers.
• A tall window stood open, letting in the morning sunlight. The light landed directly on her, Rosabelle, as she sat behind her big desk. Her face was calm, too calm, as she flipped through papers and ledgers stacked in front of her. The only sounds were the faint rustling of papers and the thick, dry smell of ink that clung to the air like an old memory.
• Marsha stood near the side of the desk, too nervous to breathe properly, her body stiff in a black gown that hugged her small frame. Her mask made it hard to speak or breathe, but it also did a good job hiding how anxious she looked. Even so, anyone with eyes could see the way her dark eyes darted around, wide and worried.
• She felt doomed. Finished. Completely screwed.
• Rosabelle’s desk was so wide it almost served as a wall between them, and though the lack of eye contact helped calm her nerves a little…
• “Marsha.”
• The sound of her name made her jump.
• “Y-yes, La Signorina!” she stuttered, snapping her head up like someone just yanked a string. Her platinum blonde hair bounced slightly, and she almost hiccuped out of fear when her eyes met Rosabelle’s.
• Rosabelle's eyes, sharp, brown, and almost unblinking, looked right through her. Behind her stylish glasses and neat bangs, she didn’t say much, but that gaze alone was enough to silence a whole crowd.
• “Aura left Italy about two years ago,” Rosabelle started, her voice low but steady.
• Marsha nodded quickly, almost too quickly.
• “I asked you to keep an eye on her. I wanted reports. Updates. Every step she took. But instead, she’s still chasing that foolish dream of hers. And now, she’s actually making progress.”
• Her tone was calm, but the edge underneath each word cut deep, anger mixed with that cool air of power she always carried.
• “I—I’m sorry, La Signorina!” Marsha blurted out. She bowed fast, too far, and almost lost her balance. “I messed up. I know I did. I should’ve done better. Please forgive me. I really am sorry!”
• But Rosabelle wasn’t listening anymore. Her eyes weren’t on Marsha, they were far away. Lost in thought. She stared at the twin doors at the far end of the room but didn’t really see them.
• Her mind had gone back in time, to years ago, to when Aura had come to them at just eighteen. Not to beg for money, or education, or even advice on life, no, if it had been any of those, the La Rosa sisters would have given it without hesitation. Not even the devil himself could’ve stopped them. But Aura had asked for something… strange. Something they didn’t agree with. Something hard to accept, even if they understood it deep down.
• Rosabelle sighed, her hand rubbing her temple. Her fingers stopped twirling the pen in front of her.
• “That girl’s so damn stubborn.”
• Her voice was soft, almost like she was speaking to the walls, to herself.
• “She’s stubborn, but she’s not impossible,” she added, still not looking at Marsha. “But that choice she’s making… it’s not hers to make.”
• “…It’s not yours to make!”
• The loud voice crashed through the room right along with the sound of the door slamming open.
• Aura had arrived.
• And with her came a heavy silence, like the kind that filled a courtroom just before the verdict.
• She stood in the doorway, her red hair practically glowing in the sunlight, her green eyes bright and unreadable.
• “Leave,” Rosabelle said quietly but firmly, her eyes still locked on her sister.
• Marsha didn’t wait. She bowed again, curtsied, and almost ran out of the room, her eyes never daring to rise above the floor. But as she passed Aura, she felt something, the heat of that girl’s gaze. Strong, intense, and impossible to ignore.
• Back in the room, Rosabelle and Aura… weren’t looking at each other anymore. Rosabelle’s focus shifted back to her papers while Aura stood still, clutching a small bag in one hand.
• After a few moments, Aura took a step forward.
• “I… brought you something from Australia,” she said, softly, walking slowly across the room.
• Rosabelle didn’t look up. “Did you bring your submission with you?”
• Aura froze. The almost-smile on her face disappeared instantly. Her steps stopped.
• “No. I didn’t,” she answered, her voice flat now. “Because I knew you’d still be the same, cold and stubborn. So why should I give you anything?”
• “Watch how you speak to me, Rosaura,” Rosabelle snapped, finally looking up.
• “Then watch how you treat me, Rosabelle!” Aura shot back, voice rising. “Why the hell did you ask your assistant to spy on me? Am I a lab rat to you? Some experiment you can just monitor and control?”
• “Because you are!” Rosabelle yelled, slamming her hands on the desk. “You’re a reckless, stubborn little rat, and if you keep acting like this, a damn hawk is going to swoop in and end you!”
• “It’s my life!”
• “And you’re throwing it away!”
• “How?!” Aura’s voice cracked. “How am I throwing it away by trying to fix what’s broken?! He ruined everything, Belle! I have to fix it, by making him pay!”
• Silence.
• Aura’s shoulders shook as she screamed, all that anger bubbling up and out. Her voice cracked from emotion, her hands trembling as memories flooded back. Her breathing turned into sobs, rough and uneven.
• Then came footsteps, three sets. And before long, three women appeared in the doorway.
• “Mia cara… Rosa…” one of them said gently.
• Aura turned slowly. Vera, Maria… and—
• “M-Munda!” Aura whispered, eyes wide.
• Munda smiled, calm and lovely in her sunflower dress, hair tucked up in a messy bun. Her voice, when it came, was like a soft breeze.
• “Can we talk? Please? No more yelling. Just talk.”
• Aura nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
• Belle sighed and slowly sat back down.
• ★★★★
• The garden was glowing under the warm afternoon sun, full of life and color. Roses bloomed in soft reds and pinks, sunflowers stretched tall and proud, and the lemon trees gave off a fresh, sweet scent. It felt like even the flowers were happy just to be near them.
• A narrow stone path curved gently through the garden, leading to a wooden table that looked like something out of a dream. Its top was made of colorful ceramic tiles, and it was covered neatly with a clean white tablecloth. In the middle sat a steaming teapot, and around it were little china cups and a plate of sweet snacks, crispy biscotti, crunchy cantucci, all made with love.
• “We just want what’s best for you, Aura,” Munda said softly, her hand, so gentle and soft, resting on Aura’s cold fingers. She poured the tea slowly, carefully, as if the act itself meant something deep.
• “If we could buy you happiness, Rosa, we’d give up everything to get it for you,” Vera added, lifting her cup. The tea inside was a calming mix of lavender and gray. She took a sip, closed her eyes, and let out a soft squeal of delight when the taste hit her tongue. Maria, reaching for her own cup, looked over at Aura.
• “Your happiness means everything to us, amour,” Maria said, her voice firm and full of love. Munda, done pouring, sat beside Luxia.
• Luxia, the actress, didn’t speak much. But she was always close to Aura, holding her hand in that sweet, protective way.
• Munda gave a short laugh, her voice smooth like silk. “It’s clear you still haven’t let go of your need to get back at Leonardo Bianchi, your real father.”
• While the others spoke, Belle said nothing. Munda kept throwing her small looks, silently asking her to speak, but Belle stayed quiet. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her eyes, deep and unreadable, watched Aura closely, like she was trying to see beyond her face and into her soul.
• “I… I can’t help how I feel,” Aura whispered, eyes fixed on the grass beneath her. But in her mind, the green blurred and twisted into dark memories. Painful ones.
• “Papà said he’d always be there for me. No matter what,” she said, her voice cracking. “But after Mamà died, he changed… and I suffered. A lot.”
• A cold breeze passed through the garden then, brushing against their skin and sending a chill through Aura’s thoughts. She shivered as memories of rain, storms, and drowning fear came rushing back.
• “He stood there and watched Penelope lock me in that barn! I nearly died! I almost died that day, and he didn’t care. He watched it happen. My own father!”
• Her voice rose without warning, loud and broken. Her eyes finally met theirs, her sisters’, and saw only worry and love staring back at her. That softened the pain a little. She smiled, just a little, without thinking.
• Still, Belle didn’t smile back. Didn’t move.
• “So?” she finally said, and her flat tone rubbed Maria the wrong way. Maria tensed, but Luxia noticed and held her hand before she could explode.
• Belle’s eyes, sharp, cold, piercing, felt like they were looking straight into Aura’s chest, seeing her fears, her rage, her pain.
• “Why don’t you just wait? Let karma catch up with your father?”
• “Karma’s slow!” Aura snapped, voice steadier now. “It’s been ten years, and nothing’s happened! If karma is sleeping, or on some long-ass vacation, then I’ll take its place. I am going to be Leonardo Bianchi’s karma.”
• The wind danced again, and the petals on the flowers shifted and rustled gently. The smell of roses mixed with bergamot filled the quiet air.
• It was silent for a moment… until Belle stood.
• “Then please,” she said softly, her eyes meeting Aura’s. “Please stop calling yourself karma.” She smiled gently, an expression no one saw often from Belle, and stepped closer. “You don’t have to carry that burden alone. We’re your sisters. We’re your family. We will be that bastard’s karma.”