A/n: the whole chapter is a flashback

Flashback

Alexandro had built his empire with discipline, strategy, and a willingness to do what others wouldn’t dare. He intended to raise his daughter, Alissa, the same way—not as a delicate flower to be sheltered but as a force to be reckoned with. From the moment she entered his world, he began crafting her into someone who could stand beside him, not behind him.

By the time Alissa turned three, Alexandro decided it was time to lay the foundation for her future. He arranged for the best tutors from around the world to teach her languages, mathematics, history, art, and other subjects. It wasn’t just about knowledge; it was about preparation. Alexandro believed power wasn’t just physical—it was intellectual. She needed to outthink her opponents before she ever needed to overpower them.

At first, Alissa struggled with the intensity of her lessons. The tutors were relentless, demanding excellence in every subject. But Akexandro saw the fire in her eyes, the same fire he saw in the mirror. When she mastered her first foreign phrase in fluent French, she ran to him with excitement. For the first time in his life, Alexandro smiled without restraint.

"Good," he said, his voice firm but proud. "But don’t stop here. Learn more. Always more." Alissa nodded, determined to make him proud.

When Alissa turned five, her training shifted. Alexandro introduced her to the physical side of her education. It began with balance and coordination exercises disguised as games but soon progressed to handling weapons. Under the watchful eye of Gabriel, Alexandro's most trusted enforcer, Alissa learned how to hold, aim, and fire a small pistol. At first, her tiny hands struggled to steady the weapon, but her determination was unshakable.

Gabriel grinned as he watched her improve. "She’s a natural," he said one day, handing her a smaller blade for training. "Just like her father."

Alissa beamed at the praise, but Alexandro merely watched from the shadows, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t training her for compliments. He was preparing her for survival.

By the time she was six, Alissa could disarm a grown man twice her size with precision and speed. Her movements were fluid, her strikes calculated. Alexandro pushed her harder than he pushed anyone else, knowing the world wouldn’t go easy on her just because she was a child. And Alissa, eager to prove herself, embraced every challenge.

One day, during a training session, Alexandro finally stepped onto the mat himself. "Enough sparring with Gabriel," he said, his deep voice commanding. "Fight me."

Alissa hesitated, her wide gray eyes searching his. "You’re my father. I can’t hurt you."

Alexandro knelt to her level, his expression stern but not unkind. "You fight to survive, Alissa. It doesn’t matter who stands in front of you. Never hesitate."

She nodded, swallowing her fear, and attacked. Her strikes were swift and precise, but Alexandro was faster, dodging and countering effortlessly. Each time she fell, she got back up, more determined than before. Hours passed until, finally, Alissa managed to land a small but decisive blow, her blade grazing his arm.

Alexandro looked at the faint scratch and smirked. "Good," he said. "Now do it again. Better."

From that day forward, their bond deepened, not as just father and daughter but as master and apprentice. Alissa grew stronger with each passing year, her skills sharpened by relentless training and her father’s unyielding expectations. She learned to read people’s intentions before they acted, to command authority with a single glance, and to wield her weapons like extensions of her own body.

By the time Alissa was seven, Alexandro decided that strength alone was not enough. The world he ruled was brutal, and pain was not a possibility—it was a certainty. He believed she needed to endure it, to learn to withstand it, and most importantly, to rise above it. But teaching her this meant becoming the one to inflict it, a role that weighed on him in ways he didn’t show.

It began subtly. During training, Gabriel would increase the intensity of their sparring, occasionally striking Alissa harder than necessary. When she winced or hesitated, Alexandro would step in.

“Pain is temporary,” he told her coldly, his gray eyes locked on hers. “Weakness is not. You must learn to push through it, no matter how much it hurts.”

One day, Alexandro took matters into his own hands. He brought Alessia into the cold, damp basement of their sprawling estate—a place that even his enemies feared to tread. The room was dimly lit, with chains hanging from the walls and a faint metallic scent in the air. Alissa’s small figure seemed out of place, her determined gaze betraying her unease.

“Why are we here, Papa?” she asked, her voice steady but curious.

“To teach you what the world will never spare you,” Alexandro replied. He motioned to Gabriel, who handed him a thin leather whip. Alissa’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but she quickly masked her fear.

“This will hurt,” Alexandro said, his voice devoid of emotion. “But you will not cry. You will not scream. You will endure.”

The first strike against her back was light, almost hesitant. Alissa flinched but remained silent, her small fists clenched at her sides. With each subsequent strike, Alexandro increased the force. Her breaths grew shallow, and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she refused to make a sound. Her defiance was both a source of pride and agony for Alexandro. Every lash he delivered felt like one against his own soul.

When it was over, he knelt beside her trembling form and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What did you learn?” he asked.

“That pain can’t break me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

For a moment, Alexandro felt a pang in his chest, something deeper than guilt. He had hurt her, his own flesh and blood, and though it was for her own good, the sight of her fragile frame made him question himself. Yet, he buried the emotion as quickly as it arose.

---

The lessons didn’t stop there. Over the years, Alexandro subjected Alissa to various forms of controlled pain—holding her hand over a flame to teach her endurance, making her walk barefoot across broken glass to teach resilience, and even depriving her of food and water for days to strengthen her willpower. Each session left him feeling more fractured inside, but Alissa only grew stronger.

---

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Alexandro sat alone in his office, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table before him. The mansion was silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside. Gabriel entered the room, his expression unreadable.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Gabriel said, breaking the silence. “She’s just a child.”

Alexandro didn’t look up. “She’s not just a child. She’s my child. My heir. She has to be stronger than anyone else.”

Gabriel hesitated. “And what about you? Do you ever think about what it’s doing to you?”

Alexandro finally met Gabriel’s gaze. “Every lash I give her, every ounce of pain I inflict, I feel it tenfold. But if it means she survives in this world, I’ll bear it.”

Gabriel said nothing more, but as he left the room, Alexandro’s stoic mask cracked. He pressed his hands to his face, his mind replaying the sight of Alissa’s small, bruised frame. For all his strength, he felt powerless to protect her from the monster he was shaping her to face.

---

Despite the harsh methods, there were moments of tenderness Alexandro allowed himself to show. On nights when Alissa’s training left her too exhausted to climb the stairs, he carried her to bed, brushing her dark blonde hair away from her face as she slept. He whispered apologies she would never hear, promising himself that everything he did was for her future.

But as Alissa grew older, she began to notice the cracks in her father’s armor. His cold demeanor faltered when he thought no one was looking. She saw the way he clenched his fists during her training, the way his jaw tightened whenever she got hurt. And though he never spoke of it, she understood: every lesson he taught her hurt him more than it hurt her.

One night, as Alexandro stood outside her room after a particularly harsh session, Alissa opened the door and looked up at him. “It’s okay, Papa,” she said softly. “I know why you do it. And I’ll be strong. For you.”

Her words broke something inside him, but Alexandro only nodded, his gray eyes unreadable. As she closed the door, he whispered to the empty hallway, “You’re close to being stronger than me, my little lioness.”

By the age of ten, Alissa had become a ghost of her father—calculating, powerful, and utterly unshakable. But even as Alexandro watched her transformation with pride, a small part of him worried. She was becoming everything he wanted her to be, but at what cost?

One night, as Alissa sat cleaning her favorite blade under the glow of a dim light, Alexandro approached her. "Do you know why I push you so hard?" he asked.

Without looking up, Alissa answered, "Because the world won’t go easy on me. I have to be ready."

He nodded but hesitated before speaking again. "I push you because I love you. Because you’re mine. And no one will take that from me."

Alissa finally looked up, her gray eyes softening for the first time in days. "I know, Papa. And I won’t let you down."

Alexandro didn’t respond, but as he turned to leave, he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. She wasn’t just strong. She was unstoppable. And in her, he saw not just an heir, but the legacy of everything he had fought to build.

END OF FLASHBACK

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