CRUELLA: THE MAFIA PRINCESS

The rhythmic beeping of machines was the first sound Roselle heard in what felt like an eternity. A heavy fog clung to her mind, a disorienting haze that obscured her thoughts. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt heavy and unresponsive. She could feel the crisp, sterile scent of antiseptic, the soft touch of a hospital blanket against her skin. Where was she?

Slowly, painstakingly, memories began to surface, fragments of a life that felt both familiar and distant. Laughter, whispered promises, the warmth of a loving embrace. Oliver. His name echoed in her mind, a bittersweet melody that brought both joy and pain. She remembered their first meeting, the way his eyes had lingered on hers, the spark of attraction that had ignited between them. She remembered the stolen moments, the whispered confessions, the dreams they had shared for a future together. She remembered the day she had finally confessed her love for him, laying her heart bare.

Then, the memories shifted, turning darker, sharper. His face was etched with a mixture of discomfort and something else, something colder. "Roselle," he had said, his voice carefully measured, "You're a wonderful woman. Truly. But... I can't. I can't give you what you want. I'm not... I'm not the right man for you." The words, each one a shard of ice, pierced her heart. "I don't... I don't love you," he had finished, the final blow delivered with a clinical precision that made the pain even more excruciating. He had left her that very day, leaving her heart shattered into a million pieces.

And then, the accident. The screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the sickening crunch of metal. The image of a car speeding towards her, its driver hidden in the shadows. Sofia. The name flashed through her mind, a venomous whisper. She remembered the look of pure malice on Sofia's face, the triumphant gleam in her eyes. It all came back to her now, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with terrifying clarity. Sofia, Oliver's fiancée, the woman who had always seen Roselle as a threat, had orchestrated the accident. She had tried to kill her. And her baby... A wave of grief washed over Roselle, a pain so profound it stole her breath. Her baby, her child, had been taken from her, a casualty of Sofia's jealousy and rage.

The memories flooded her mind, a torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Pain, anger, grief, and a burning desire for revenge. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them pay for what they had done to her. But her body was weak, unresponsive. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own broken body.

Three years. For three years she had been lying in this hospital bed, lost in the darkness of a coma. Three years they had lived their lives, oblivious to the fact that she was still alive, that she was coming back. And she was coming back for revenge. Not just for the accident, not just for the loss of her child, but for the devastating rejection, for the words that had cut her deeper than any knife.

Finally, her eyelids fluttered open. The bright lights of the hospital room assaulted her senses, making her wince. A nurse rushed to her side, her face filled with concern. "You're awake," she said, her voice gentle. "It's alright. You're safe now."

Roselle looked around the room, her gaze searching for something, someone. But she was alone. The nurse explained that she had been in a coma for three years and that her family had never given up hope that she would wake up. Her family. Her father. Don Antonio Ventura. The mafia king. The most powerful, and most dangerous, man in the city.

The nurse told her about the accident, about the investigation, about how they had never found the driver responsible. Roselle listened, her mind racing. She knew who was responsible. She knew that Sofia had tried to kill her. And she knew that she would make her pay. And Oliver... He would know the depth of his mistake.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Roselle underwent grueling physical therapy, slowly regaining her strength. She worked tirelessly, driven by her desire for revenge. She needed to be strong, to be powerful, to be able to protect herself and to make those who had wronged her pay for their crimes. Especially Oliver. He would see what he had lost.

As her 25th birthday approached, Don Antonio announced that he was throwing a grand party, inviting every elite member of the city's high society. It was a celebration, he declared a coming-out party for his daughter, his only heir.

Roselle, now fully recovered, stood before the mirror, her reflection a stark contrast to the innocent young woman she once was. The years of pain and betrayal had hardened her, transforming her into someone new, someone stronger, someone more dangerous. She was no longer Roselle, the naive therapist. She was Ruella, the heiress of a mafia empire.

The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and the sparkle of expensive jewelry. The air buzzed with the chatter of the city's elite, their laughter echoing through the room. Oliver Mitchell stood near the entrance, his arm around Sofia, his fiancée. He had spent the last three years searching for Roselle, haunted by the memory of their time together. He had never stopped loving her, never stopped regretting his decision to let her go. Especially, the moment he discovered she was carrying his child. But he was late, he couldn't find her anywhere.

Don Antonio took the stage, his voice booming through the ballroom. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "I am honored to introduce you to my daughter, my heir, the woman who will lead our family into the future. Please welcome... Ruella Ventura!"

The crowd gasped as Ruella walked onto the stage. She was stunning, her beauty radiating power and confidence. Her eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the crowd, stopping when they landed on Oliver and Sofia. The color drained from Oliver's face. He stared at Ruella, his heart pounding in his chest. It couldn't be. It was Roselle. But she was different, changed, a force to be reckoned with. He saw the ice in her eyes, the fury simmering beneath the surface. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that she remembered everything.

Sofia, standing beside Oliver, felt a chill run down her spine. She recognized Ruella, the therapist, the woman she had tried to eliminate. Her carefully constructed façade began to crumble. She knew then that her past was coming back to haunt her. Ruella was back, and she was out for blood. And Oliver, the man who had broken her heart, would witness her revenge firsthand. The game had just begun.