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The Sea Took My Name, Not My Revenge

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 23:08:55 +0800

Three days before the blood union that was meant to bind the Colombo Family to the Falcone throne, I was struck by a speeding car. My spine shattered against the cold asphalt.

Lorenzo Falcone, the man I was supposed to marry, personally made sure the driver disappeared into a prison cell where no one could ever reach him.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Lying in the Family's private clinic, I wished I would never wake up. Anything was better than facing a future where I would never walk again.

Somewhere between the haze of pain and the pull of unconsciousness, I heard Lorenzo's voice outside my room.

Dr. Bruno spoke first, his tone heavy.

"We still have time to operate. But if we delay another few days, Serafina will be permanently crippled. If you truly want Ambra by your side, so be it. But why destroy Serafina's life?"

A long silence followed before Lorenzo let out a weary sigh.

"As long as Serafina recovers, she'll never agree to the arrangement."

His voice was calm, almost indifferent.

"But if she spends the rest of her life in a wheelchair, she'll have no choice except to stay with me."

"I promised Ambra I'd bring her into the Falcone Family."

"When the child is born, Serafina will raise it as her own. At least that way, our baby will never be mistreated."

My breath caught in my throat.

A single tear slid silently down my cheek.

So this was the truth.

The blood union I had spent years longing for had always been a lie.

The man I had loved with all my heart had never intended to make me his wife.

To him, I was nothing more than a convenient cage for another woman's child.

Fine.

If this was the future he had chosen for me...

Then I would make sure he got exactly what he wanted.

"Just follow the plan," Lorenzo said quietly. "Make sure the damage is permanent. She can never suspect a thing."

Dr. Bruno removed his glasses and rubbed them with a trembling hand, deliberately drawing out the silence.

"Are you absolutely certain?" he asked at last. "Serafina has already lost the use of one side of her body. If you take away her chance of ever bearing children as well... what will she have left? How is she supposed to survive in this Family after that?"

His voice dropped even lower.

"And what about the child you have with Ambra? She's already three. Anyone with eyes can see she's your daughter. If Serafina ever learns the truth, everything you've built will collapse."

Lorenzo didn't answer immediately.

He dipped a cloth into warm water and carefully wiped my dry lips, his movements impossibly gentle, as though tending to someone precious.

The tenderness made me sick.

Finally, he spoke.

"She'll never know."

His thumb slowly traced the engraved crest on his signet ring.

"As long as she can't walk, she'll spend the rest of her life inside the Falcone estate. She'll never leave those gates, and she'll never have the chance to uncover the truth."

He let out a quiet breath.

"I promised Ambra the wedding she deserves. I promised I'd watch our children grow up beside her."

"Even if she's another man's wife now, I'll make sure she never lacks for anything."

Dr. Bruno looked at me for a long moment before lowering his eyes.

"Serafina has loved you since she was a girl," he said softly. "You grew up together. She would have given you everything."

He shook his head.

"But this isn't my decision to make."

"If you've already chosen your path... I won't try to stop you."

Lorenzo's expression remained cold.

"Just make sure it's done properly."

"No visible scars. No complications."

"Operate while she's still unconscious."

"I don't want her suffering any more than necessary."

After a long hesitation, Dr. Bruno finally nodded and walked out.

The room fell silent.

Lorenzo pulled out his phone and sent a voice message to one of his soldiers.

"Did the driver disappear?"

A brief pause.

"Good."

"Make sure he sticks to the story."

"Give his family five hundred thousand and move them beyond our territory."

"Serafina can never learn this was ordered."

Another tear escaped the corner of my eye, soaking silently into the pillow beneath me.

Completely unaware that I could hear every word, Lorenzo continued bathing me with warm water.

His hands were steady.

Careful.

Almost impossibly gentle.

Yet no matter how warm the water felt against my skin, an icy chill spread through my bones.

The blood union I had waited five years for had never belonged to me.

It had always belonged to Ambra.

And the collision that shattered my body...

Had never been an accident.

Lorenzo had ordered it himself.

I was nothing more than an obstacle standing between him and the woman he truly loved.

Every promise.

Every embrace.

Every dream of a future together.

Every single one had been a lie.

I fought to open my eyes.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to tear away every mask he wore.

But before I could move, a cold sting spread through my veins.

The anesthesia.

The ceiling lights drifted farther and farther away as the nurses wheeled me toward the operating room.

Lorenzo walked beside the gurney.

Just before the doors closed, he leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to my forehead.

"Rest now, Serafina."

His voice was as gentle as it had always been.

"When you wake up..."

"It'll all be over."

The surgical lights blazed overhead.

Cold steel sliced into my body.

I barely felt the pain.

My heart had already been carved to pieces.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the Family's private ward, hidden on an isolated floor where no names appeared on doors and no records existed on paper.

The numbness remained.

I still couldn't feel anything below my waist.

Lorenzo sat beside my bed, his face drawn with exhaustion. The moment he saw my eyes flutter open, relief flooded his expression.

He immediately took my hand and pressed it against his cheek.

"Serafina... you're awake."

His voice was soft, almost trembling.

"How do you feel? Does anything hurt? I'll call Dr. Bruno right away."

His touch was as gentle as it had always been.

Only now did I realize how empty his eyes truly were.

It was almost admirable.

A man raised for the Falcone throne learned to lie long before he learned to pull a trigger.

And Lorenzo had mastered both.

I smiled faintly and reached up to brush my fingertips over the stubble along his jaw.

"You haven't slept, have you?"

"I'm alright."

"You should get some rest."

He studied me for a moment before letting out a weary breath.

Finally, he nodded.

Within minutes, exhaustion pulled him into a deep sleep.

My gaze drifted to the phone resting on the bedside table.

Almost instinctively, I reached for it.

The wallpaper was still the photograph we had taken before the blood union, the one prepared for the alliance announcement.

Looking at it now felt almost laughable.

His messages were still open.

At the very top sat Ambra's name.

I tapped the conversation.

There were only a handful of messages.

Each one felt like another knife sinking deeper into my chest.

> Gia called for her daddy again today. She already knows how handsome you are. She's going to break a lot of hearts someday.

> She finished every bite of the cake you sent.

> She's been begging to go to the amusement park with you. I tried talking her out of it, but she wouldn't listen. Come if you have time.

Lorenzo had barely replied with words.

Instead, beneath every photo was a two-hour video call.

I remembered how many times he'd told me he didn't like children.

Now I finally understood.

It wasn't children he disliked.

It was the idea of having one with me.

I opened his photo gallery.

A hidden album.

The password was Gia's birthday.

More than five thousand photographs.

Three years.

Every birthday.

Every holiday.

Every family dinner.

Every ordinary moment that should have belonged to us...

He had spent beside Ambra instead.

I wasn't in a single one.

The next conversation was with the woman organizing the blood union.

From the very beginning, the bride's name had been Ambra.

The wedding gown had been tailored to her measurements.

The invitations sent to every major Family bore their names.

I had never been meant to stand beside Lorenzo at that altar.

Not even once.

A quiet laugh escaped my lips.

There was nothing left worth reading.

I closed the phone and messaged Delia instead.

Find me a hospital overseas.

Somewhere far away.

Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere beyond the reach of the Five Families.

Then erase my name from every Colombo ledger still tied to Falcone territory.

She didn't ask why.

She simply assumed I had finally seen Lorenzo for the man he truly was.

Her replies came almost instantly.

Every message carried unmistakable relief.

She sounded happier than she had in years.

As if she had been waiting for this day even longer than I had.

I put my phone aside and slowly drifted back to sleep.

When I woke again, Lorenzo was crying.

His shoulders trembled as he clutched a medical report in both hands.

"Serafina..."

His voice cracked.

"Dr. Bruno discovered something during your examination."

He swallowed hard, absentmindedly turning the Falcone signet ring around his thumb again and again.

"You..."

"You were born without a uterus."

"You'll never be able to have children."

I simply looked at him.

Without speaking.

Without blinking.

"It's alright," he rushed to say.

"I don't care."

"You're still going to be my wife."

"Nothing about that will ever change."

"When you're discharged, we'll bring a child into our Family."

"A child will help you heal."

"I promise."

"Everything will be alright."

The diagnosis belonged to me.

Yet he looked like the one whose world had fallen apart.

It was a flawless performance.

Almost.

Only the restless movement of his thumb against the signet ring betrayed him.

A habit he could never quite control whenever he lied.

I said nothing.

I simply watched him continue grieving over a future he himself had stolen from me.

Outside the ward, an enforcer shifted his weight in the hallway.

The sound echoed through the silence before disappearing again.

After what felt like forever, Lorenzo wiped away his tears.

He nodded once, as though he had finally reached some noble decision.

Then he wrapped his arms around me.

"I swear on the Family..."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'll protect you for the rest of my life."

"No matter what anyone says..."

"I'll never leave your side."

"And after we're bound..."

"I'll transfer every piece of territory..."

"Every dollar of cash flow..."

"Everything I own..."

"It'll all belong to you."

"I just want you to be safe."

His arms held me tightly.

His heartbeat echoed against my chest.

But ours never found the same rhythm.

Not anymore.

Lorenzo was silent for a long moment before finally speaking.

"The blood union has already been arranged. Since you're still recovering, we may have to..."

"Find someone to stand in for me so the Falcone Family doesn't lose face."

I finished the sentence for him.

For a brief second, surprise flickered across his face.

Rather than waiting for him to humiliate me, I chose to spare myself what little dignity I still had.

In our world, a bride who couldn't stand at the altar became a liability.

And liabilities were always dealt with quietly.

Lorenzo searched my face for a moment before giving a slow nod.

He had already gotten everything he wanted.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

His eyes drifted toward the screen.

"Serafina," he asked, frowning slightly, "what records did you cancel?"

I deleted the notification before he could read it.

"Nothing important," I replied evenly.

"Just an old document that had expired."

"I had it updated."

He accepted the explanation without another question.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his voice gentle with practiced concern.

"You're still recovering."

"If there's anything you need, tell me."

"I'll take care of it myself."

I looked up at him and smiled.

"Lorenzo... I want to leave the hospital."

His expression tightened immediately.

"No."

"You aren't well enough."

"I can't allow that."

I caught his sleeve and gave it a light tug, swaying his arm the way I never had before.

"You said we should bring a child into the Family."

"There are plenty of people at the estate to look after me."

"I just want to visit the children's home and have a look around."

"Please?"

In five years together...

It was the first time I had ever acted spoiled in front of him.

Lorenzo hesitated.

Then, slowly, he gave in.

On the drive, as the Falcone estate disappeared behind us, he reached into the back seat and handed me a beautifully wrapped box of pastries.

"I picked these up especially for you."

Only after taking the box did I notice the cheerful cartoon packaging.

It was designed for small children.

I quietly closed the lid and set it aside.

"My stomach doesn't feel very good."

I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes.

The lie had lasted five years.

It was finally time to end it.

I slowly turned my mother's old ring around my finger twice and let every trace of emotion disappear from my face.

The moment we entered the children's home, an enforcer quietly closed the door behind us.

I settled into my wheelchair.

A little girl suddenly ran toward us with a bright smile and threw herself around Lorenzo's legs.

"Daddy!"

she called happily.

Lorenzo froze.

For the briefest instant, panic flashed across his face.

Almost immediately, he forced himself to smile.

His thumb unconsciously rolled the face of his signet ring.

"Don't misunderstand," he explained quickly.

"The Family sponsors this place."

"I've visited a few times."

"She's just an orphan who started calling me that."

I smiled softly and reached out to stroke the little girl's cheek.

"She looks so much like you."

"If you hadn't explained it..."

"I would've thought she was your daughter."

"What's her name?"

"Gia."

The answer came too quickly.

Then he hurried to add,

"She's the child we're planning to bring into our bloodline."

Before he could say anything else, Gia suddenly burst into tears.

"Mommy..."

"I want Mommy..."

The color drained from Lorenzo's face.

He glanced at me nervously.

I simply smiled.

"It's alright."

"Go comfort her."

"She's adorable."

"She even resembles her mother."

Relief washed over his face.

Without another word, he scooped Gia into his arms and hurried toward the offices at the back.

The moment he disappeared from sight, I quietly wheeled myself in the opposite direction, pretending to look for the restroom.

Just as I rounded the corner, voices drifted through a half-open door.

"Why would the Falcone heir make his own daughter pretend to be an orphan?"

one woman whispered.

"Look at the clothes she's wearing."

"They're worth more than I make all year."

"Who would actually believe she's fatherless?"

"You don't understand," another woman replied.

"He arranged everything."

"It's the easiest way to bring the child into the Falcone bloodline without anyone asking questions."

"Just don't let the Colombo girl hear any of this."

"You know what happens to people who talk too much."

Another woman sighed.

"So his heart still belongs to that Ricci woman after all."

"They were together long before the alliance between the Families was ever discussed."

"I always suspected there was something between them."

"I guess I wasn't wrong."

"A man and a woman hidden under the same roof for years..."

"Who knows what they've really been doing?"

Their laughter echoed through the hallway.

Each sound landed on my chest like another stone.

Breathing suddenly became difficult.

I gripped the wheels of my chair and silently rolled closer to the half-open door.

Then I heard the voice I knew better than my own.

"Did she agree?"

It was Ambra.

Lorenzo answered without the slightest hesitation.

"Yeah."

"She's away overseas most of the time."

"There are plenty of things she can't keep track of."

"This couldn't have worked out better."

"She'll never find out about Gia."

"And she's already agreed to bring our daughter into the Falcone bloodline herself."

Lorenzo smiled, though a trace of melancholy lingered in his eyes.

"Once Gia is officially entered into the Falcone bloodline, you won't have to worry about her anymore."

"If anything ever happens, come to me."

"Oh... and this."

He placed a small velvet box into Ambra's hands.

"A little gift before the blood union."

Ambra laughed, her smile playful.

"Another one?"

"Lorenzo, honestly, how many presents have you bought me this year?"

"My closet is already overflowing."

"If Serafina ever found out, she'd probably lose her mind."

Despite her teasing, she accepted it without the slightest hesitation.

Beside her, Gia giggled happily, clutching Ambra's skirt.

"Mamma..."

She repeated the word over and over, each time lifting her little face expectantly, waiting for praise.

At that moment, the matron hurried into the office.

She pushed open the door, clearly preparing to finalize Gia's legitimization papers.

The instant Lorenzo saw me standing outside, every ounce of color drained from his face.

"Serafina?"

His voice caught.

"What are you doing here?"

I kept my expression perfectly calm.

My thumb slowly turned my mother's ring.

"Relax."

"Ambra does charity work here."

"I only came to say hello..."

"And to finish Gia's paperwork."

Ambra adjusted Gia on her hip before smiling warmly at me.

"Serafina."

"It's been a long time."

I returned the smile.

"It has."

"I'll take a look around."

"You two are busy."

"I won't interrupt."

"I'll wait in the car."

Without another word, I turned my wheelchair toward the exit.

Lorenzo must have mistaken my silence for hurt.

He hurried after me.

"It isn't what you're thinking."

"Ambra comes here often."

"The children all call her 'Mamma.'"

"Once the paperwork is finished..."

"I'll explain everything to Gia."

I looked at him.

At the panic hidden beneath his carefully composed expression.

At the desperation in his eyes as he searched for words that might convince me.

For a moment...

I almost laughed.

He had orchestrated everything.

The staged hit.

My broken spine.

The operation.

Every lie.

Every sacrifice.

All so that his daughter could enter the Falcone bloodline without anyone asking questions.

He already had everything he wanted.

So why did he still look guilty?

I smiled gently.

"Relax."

"I'm not angry."

"Finish the paperwork."

"I'll wait outside."

Then I turned away.

He remained where he stood, watching me leave.

Only after I disappeared down the hallway did he finally let out a long breath of relief.

The staff passing nearby didn't bother hiding the smug looks they exchanged.

I ignored every one of them.

Instead, I quietly took out my phone.

With a few taps...

I erased the legitimization request.

Gia's name would never appear in the Falcone Family records.

Not through me.

That evening, to celebrate Gia officially joining the Family, the Falcones held a lavish dinner at the estate.

I claimed I wasn't feeling well and stayed upstairs.

Even with my bedroom door tightly shut...

Their laughter still drifted through the halls.

A family mansion built to hide secrets could never hide happiness.

I wheeled myself toward the landing at the top of the staircase and looked down.

There they were.

Lorenzo.

Ambra.

Gia.

A picture-perfect family.

Lorenzo carefully picked out every dish Gia liked, placing each one neatly onto her plate.

Ambra laughed softly.

"At this rate, you're going to spoil her."

Lorenzo smiled without a trace of embarrassment.

He gently straightened the tiny crown resting on Gia's head.

"She's my daughter."

"She deserves the very best."

Something inside me finally broke.

I quietly turned away.

Back inside my room, I gathered everything Lorenzo had ever given me during the past five years.

Every letter.

Every piece of jewelry.

Every carefully wrapped gift.

One by one...

I tore them apart.

Paper shredded beneath my fingers.

Photographs split cleanly down the middle.

Jewelry boxes smashed shut before being thrown into the trash.

When I pushed the overflowing bin aside, it tipped over.

Everything spilled across the floor.

At that exact moment...

Ambra appeared in the doorway.

She walked toward me slowly.

Deliberately.

A smug smile curled across her lips.

Without warning...

She drove her foot into my wheelchair.

The chair overturned instantly.

Pain exploded through my body as I crashed onto the hardwood floor.

Ambra simply stood over me, smiling.

"Serafina."

"It must be exhausting..."

"Living like this."

"So helpless."

"So useless."

She slowly crouched beside me.

Her voice overflowed with mock sympathy.

"You really are pathetic."

"You watched your blood union become mine."

"You watched your husband bring my daughter into his home."

"And after all that..."

"You still swallow every bit of humiliation without a word."

She tilted her head.

"Honestly..."

"I almost pity you."

I clenched my teeth and struggled to push myself upright.

Before I could even move...

Ambra suddenly stumbled backward.

Her eyes widened theatrically.

Then she screamed.

Her body tumbled down the staircase.

Everything happened so fast that my mind went blank.

Before she could strike the marble floor, Lorenzo rushed forward and caught her in his arms.

He held her tightly.

As though she were the most precious thing in the world.

Then he looked up at me.

His eyes burned with fury.

"Serafina!"

His voice thundered through the mansion.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Ambra only came upstairs to invite you to dinner..."

"And you attacked her?"

Every member of the Falcone Family looked at me as though I were a stain on their bloodline.

Gia's cries echoed through the drawing room, bouncing off marble floors and centuries-old oil paintings.

"She's evil!"

"She hurt my mamma!"

"I don't want her here!"

"I want my mamma!"

Ambra leaned weakly against Lorenzo's shoulder, her voice soft enough to invite sympathy.

"I'm sorry..."

"I only told Serafina I was willing to stand in for her at the blood union."

"I never imagined she'd misunderstand me."

The corner of her lips lifted for the briefest instant before she forced it back down.

Lorenzo let out a weary sigh.

"Don't blame Serafina."

"She didn't mean it."

Still sprawled across the floor before an entire room of made men who had executed people for far less...

I laughed.

Coldly.

"Lorenzo."

"The blood union."

"The accident."

"The child."

"Don't you think I deserve an explanation?"

His expression froze.

For the first time, genuine panic flashed across his face.

His thumb unconsciously rolled the face of his signet ring.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your accident has nothing to do with Ambra."

Ambra lowered her eyes and sighed softly.

"I only wanted to celebrate your special day with you."

"I never thought you'd hate me so much."

Lorenzo's restraint finally shattered.

"Serafina."

His voice rang through the room.

"When did you become someone like this?"

"Ambra showed you nothing but kindness."

"And you attacked her."

"Apologize."

Before I could utter a single word, his parents spoke.

The atmosphere in the room turned icy.

The Don slowly shifted in his chair.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.

Renata Falcone smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the sleeve of her black dress before looking down at me with open contempt.

"You're already crippled."

"And somehow you still manage to cause trouble."

Don Falcone calmly set his glass of grappa onto the table.

The crystal touched the wood without making the slightest sound.

"Do you still think you're worthy of carrying the Colombo name?"

"Besides my son..."

"Who else would ever take a useless woman like you?"

"Enough," Renata interrupted impatiently.

"This is simply the consequence of her own actions."

"Forget about her."

"Take Ambra to Dr. Bruno before the injury worsens."

Every word cut deeper than the last.

But none of them hurt as much as the warmth slowly spreading beneath me.

Blood.

It seeped quietly across the floor.

Not one person noticed.

Or perhaps...

No one cared enough to look.

Without sparing me a single glance, Lorenzo wrapped one arm around Ambra while taking Gia's hand with the other.

The three of them walked toward the door together.

The soldiers stationed outside stepped aside in perfect silence.

Like a family.

Five years.

Reduced to nothing in a single evening.

My entire body trembled.

I dragged myself back into the wheelchair inch by inch.

Then I booked a flight scheduled for the morning of the blood union.

Afterward, I checked into a hotel under a name that no longer belonged to Serafina Colombo.

That night, Lorenzo finally sent me a message.

> Ambra is still willing to attend the blood union for your sake.

> You hurt her. Asking you to apologize was only for appearances. Don't take it to heart.

> My parents didn't mean those things.

> After the ceremony, I'll bring them to apologize to you personally.

> Get some rest.

> I have a surprise waiting for you.

> I promise you'll love it.

I stared at the screen.

For five years...

He had played the perfect fianc.

Patient.

Gentle.

Devoted.

Now the performance was finally over.

I never returned to the estate during the next two days.

Neither did Lorenzo.

He was too busy preparing every detail of the alliance ceremony.

Nothing could be allowed to go wrong.

On the morning of the blood union, I called him one last time.

He answered absentmindedly.

"Make sure everything is arranged exactly the way my mother requested."

He was clearly speaking to someone else.

One of his men hesitated.

"Boss..."

"Are you certain about transferring half the Family's cash flow and territory to Miss Ricci?"

"She isn't blood."

"That's an enormous risk to put into the ledgers."

Lorenzo didn't hesitate.

"Do it."

"I promised her half."

"The other half belongs to my daughter."

"And increase security."

"If anyone from the Colombo Family shows up..."

"Don't let them cause trouble."

His man acknowledged the order and left.

Only then did Lorenzo remember I was still on the line.

"Serafina?"

"I'm sorry."

"I kept you waiting."

"The ceremony is about to begin."

"I'll be home as soon as it's over."

"Don't be upset."

"Alright?"

I lowered my eyes to the boarding pass resting quietly in my hand.

My thumb slowly turned my mother's ring.

Once.

Twice.

Then it stopped.

"I won't keep you any longer."

A faint smile crossed my lips.

"Lorenzo..."

"Happy wedding."

He paused for a second before chuckling.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's our blood union."

"Just wait for me at home."

I ended the call.

Turned around.

And walked toward the boarding gate without looking back.

A notification flashed across my screen.

**Alliance Pact Successfully Nullified.**

Without the slightest hesitation...

I deleted Lorenzo Falcone from my life.

At that very moment...

The ceremony was in full swing.

Yet somewhere beneath the music and celebration, an inexplicable unease settled inside Lorenzo's chest.

Something about that final phone call felt wrong.

Very wrong.

His brow slowly furrowed.

His thumb rolled his signet ring once.

Then again.

He looked toward one of his captains.

"Find Serafina."

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

"If I were truly marrying another woman..."

"She would never stay this quiet."

After the vows, Lorenzo walked through the banquet hall beside Ambra, raising glass after glass with the heads of the allied Families.

His smile carried unmistakable triumph.

Then one of his men rushed through the crowd.

His face had gone completely white.

"Boss..."

His voice shook.

"Something's happened."

Lorenzo's smile disappeared.

"What is it?"

The soldier swallowed hard.

"Miss Colombo boarded a flight this morning..."

"It crashed into the sea."

He Needed My Name, Not Me

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 22:51:06 +0800

At my father's wake, with all Five Families gathered to pay their respects, my betrothed dropped to one knee before my father's illegitimate daughter and pledged his loyalty to her in front of every made man in attendance.

Then he ordered the footage to be played.

There they were, locked in each other's arms, their intimacy projected onto the screen for the entire underworld to witness.

That night, I became the greatest joke in Wildore. From private clubs to Family backrooms, my humiliation spread through every corner of the Five Families.

Just as I was on the verge of breaking, my betrothed's older brother, Lorenzo, stepped forward.

He personally had the two of them thrown out of the wake before every capo and underboss present.

Then he knelt before me on one knee and made a solemn vow.

"As long as I live, no blade will ever reach you. I will be your shield for the rest of my life."

Moved by his devotion, I accepted him.

Three years later...

One week before our union ceremony, I happened to pass the study and overheard Lorenzo speaking with his Consigliere.

"There are far easier ways to seize the Marchetti territory," the Consigliere said quietly. "Is entering a blood-bound union with Signorina Adriana really worth the risk?"

Lorenzo answered without a moment's hesitation.

"Only by becoming her husband will Adriana lower her guard completely. Vittoria deserves the place that should have been hers all along. If marrying Adriana is the price I have to pay to put Vittoria where she belongs, then so be it. For Vittoria, there is nothing I won't sacrifice."

In that instant, every illusion I had clung to shattered.

The man I believed had saved me had only been carrying out a carefully orchestrated deception.

The union I had waited three long years for was never a promise of salvation.

It was simply another grave waiting to bury me.

If that was the future they had chosen for me...

Then I would be the one to grant their wish.

Inside the study, Lorenzo held the signed agreement in his hands, a smile of quiet devotion softening his features, the very expression I had once believed belonged to me.

"The Signora doesn't have long," he said evenly. "Before she dies, Adriana will insist on having her attend the ceremony. Once the old woman is buried, the Marchetti name dies with her. Adriana will have no one left to rely on except me."

His lips curved into a faint smile.

"And that's when we make our move."

"Has the transfer agreement been finalized?" he continued. "Make sure nothing goes wrong. Every inch of Marchetti territory comes into my hands first. Once every obstacle has been removed, I'll transfer everything to Vittoria."

Standing across from him, the Consigliere looked down at the stack of documents spread across the desk, unease written plainly across his face.

"Don Falcone, Vittoria was born outside the Family. Doesn't this seem... too cruel to Signorina Adriana? These past three years, she's truly fallen in love with you. If she ever discovers that this entire union was nothing more than a scheme to hand her Family's empire to someone else..."

Before he could finish, Lorenzo's expression hardened.

"That's enough."

His voice dropped, cold enough to freeze the room.

"I've warned you before. Vittoria is the Marchetti Family's second daughter. If I ever hear you call her a bastard again, you'll answer for it."

Silence settled over the study.

After a long moment, Lorenzo spoke again, his tone noticeably softer.

"Besides, this marriage is compensation in its own way. Even after losing the Family, Adriana will still have me. She'll never have to live a difficult life."

He slowly brushed an invisible crease from the lapel of his suit.

"My brother has always envied everything I've had. Now Vittoria has chosen him instead. As the older brother, the least I can do is clear every obstacle from their path."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"As long as they're happy, nothing else matters."

The Consigliere quietly removed his glasses and folded them in his hands.

After a long silence, he sighed.

"...Very well. I'll review the agreement one last time. I only hope you never come to regret this."

As he reached the door, Lorenzo spoke again.

"One more thing."

"The footage from the wake three years ago... destroy every copy."

His gaze turned icy.

"Adriana must never see it."

Footsteps echoed toward the hallway.

My heart lurched.

I stumbled backward, hurrying to my room before either of them could open the door.

The tea in my hands splashed across my fingers, scalding my skin.

I felt none of it.

Only a coldness so deep it seemed to seep into my bones.

So...

The footage shown before every Family at my father's wake had never been Matteo's doing.

It had been Lorenzo.

Every humiliation.

Every carefully timed act of heroism.

Every promise.

All of it had been planned from the very beginning.

Three years ago, when Matteo abandoned me before the Five Families, I became the greatest disgrace the Marchetti name had ever known.

Everyone believed Lorenzo had appeared to save me.

How laughable.

He hadn't come to pull me out of the fire.

He had simply delivered the final push.

I thought of my mother.

With her last breath, she had placed my hand in his, believing she was entrusting me to the safest man alive.

He had sworn before every Family that he would protect me for the rest of his life.

Every word.

Every look.

Every promise.

Performed so flawlessly that even the oldest Dons at the sit-down had believed him.

For three years, I had trusted him without question.

I had placed the Marchetti territory in his hands.

Its businesses.

Its laundering routes.

Its soldiers.

Its fortune.

Never once realizing that every decision he made was another stone laid beneath Vittoria's feet, paving her road to the throne that should have been mine.

And I...

Like a complete fool...

Had treasured the love he pretended to give me.

Believing that, after losing everything else, I had finally found someone who would never betray me.

How utterly ridiculous.

The study door clicked open.

The Consigliere left first.

A moment later, Lorenzo walked toward me with hurried steps.

His hands gently cupped my face as though I were something precious, and he pressed a tender kiss against my forehead.

His eyes, faintly clouded with wine, were filled with what looked so convincingly like concern.

"Adriana?"

"What are you doing standing out here?"

I slowly turned my father's heavy signet ring around my finger.

The metal felt colder than ever.

"It's nothing," I said quietly.

"I wanted to bring you some tea."

A faint smile touched my lips.

"But I accidentally spilled it."

"Leave these things to the staff, tesoro," Lorenzo said softly. "You've been at the clinic every day looking after your mother. No woman should have to carry that much. If you wear yourself down, I'll be the one who can't forgive himself."

With that, he leaned down and kissed my forehead once more.

His touch was as gentle as it had always been.

Yet for the first time, I felt nothing.

How far could a man go for the sake of another woman?

I closed my eyes.

A tear slipped silently down my cheek.

I helped him onto the bed, pulled the blanket over him, and before long, the wine carried him into a deep sleep.

Only then did I quietly reach for his phone.

I entered the password.

It unlocked on the first try.

It was Vittoria's birthday.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

I opened his chat with her.

The screen was filled with confidential Family business, messages no Don would ever entrust to someone outside his inner circle.

And the conversation had never stopped.

Not for a single day in the three years since my father's funeral.

Every piece of Marchetti territory that came under Lorenzo's control was carefully explained to Vittoria so she could learn how the Family operated.

Every alliance he forged with another Family was forwarded to her in detail, laying the foundation for the future he envisioned.

Even the transfer agreement for the Marchetti holdings had been drafted three years ago.

All he had been waiting for was my mother's death...

And my signature.

My fingers trembled as I opened his private photo album.

Every photograph belonged to Vittoria.

Some showed her attending Family gatherings as the Falcone Family's second lady.

Others captured her celebrating successful operations beside Matteo.

The resemblance between Matteo and Lorenzo was striking enough that, at a glance, anyone could mistake one for the other.

Beneath the photographs were records from private auctions.

Every necklace.

Every bracelet.

Every diamond.

Purchased by Lorenzo, yet sent to Vittoria under Matteo's name, disguised as gifts from an elder of the Family.

His love had always been hidden.

Quiet.

Lavish.

Carefully woven into the smallest details.

And every detail drove another knife into my heart.

Only then did I recognize those pieces of jewelry.

He had once handed them to me with a smile, telling me they were complimentary gifts from the auction house.

I had believed him.

I let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

There was no need to keep looking.

I closed the album and sent a message to every Capo, calling for a sit-down in three days.

At that table...

I would reclaim everything that belonged to the Marchetti Family.

For three years, Lorenzo had taken what was mine.

Now...

He would return every last piece of it.

I didn't sleep that night.

At first light, I washed and dressed.

Just as I finished, a notification appeared in the Family communication channel.

Lorenzo immediately called.

His voice carried an urgency that made it sound as though a rival Family had crossed into our territory.

"Adriana? Since when are you checking Family business?" he asked. "Your mother's condition is getting worse. We agreed I'd oversee everything in your name. You shouldn't burden yourself with these matters. If you make yourself sick, your mother will blame me for failing to take care of you."

I set my phone aside and smiled faintly.

"It was nothing. I must have enabled the notifications by accident. I'll mute them in a moment."

I paused.

"Don't you have a meeting with the Capos about the new venture today? You should go."

The tension in his voice disappeared instantly.

I could almost picture the relief settling across his face.

He stepped closer and wrapped me gently in his arms.

"Thank you for understanding, cara."

He kissed the top of my head.

"I just want to finish everything as quickly as possible, so we can finally have our union."

I simply lowered my eyes.

I didn't answer.

After a moment, I quietly turned off my phone.

"You're going to the clinic today, aren't you?" he asked. "Stop by the hotel first. I had them prepare your favorite meal. You've lost weight lately."

"All right," I replied with a smile. "I'll bring some for Mother too."

My mother had remained in that clinic for an entire year.

Lorenzo had hired the finest caregivers money could buy, insisting he couldn't bear to see me exhaust myself.

Once, I believed that was love.

Now I knew better.

If he truly cared...

How could he have visited her fewer than twice in an entire year?

He had handed her life over to strangers.

People loyal not to my family...

But to the man who paid them.

Everything he had done...

Every thoughtful arrangement.

Every gentle word.

Every act of concern.

Had been nothing more than a carefully constructed cage.

One designed to keep me occupied...

While ensuring Vittoria never had to worry about me standing in her way.

Enough.

Three years of lies...

Would end with me.

I slowly turned my father's heavy signet ring around my finger as the car pulled up outside the clinic.

Before I even reached my mother's room, I heard several nurses whispering to one another in the hallway.

"The Marchettis are one of the oldest bloodlines in Wildore," one nurse whispered. "The Signora has been in this clinic for over a year, and they still haven't approved the surgery. When I changed her dressings this morning, she could barely breathe. How can her own Family be so indifferent?"

"Keep your voice down," another warned. "The Falcones have already given their instructions. Even the director refuses to interfere. They aren't trying to save her anymore. They're simply waiting for time to do the work."

She lowered her voice even further.

"They even replaced her medication with glucose. At this point... she doesn't have much time left."

"Maybe a day or two," the first nurse murmured, shaking her head. "For a Family that launders millions, they're unwilling to spend anything to save one woman."

My heart stopped.

I rushed into my mother's room.

Only then did I realize how much she had changed.

Just days ago, there had still been color in her face.

Now she looked frighteningly pale.

I had stayed by her side every single day...

Yet I hadn't noticed.

The cardiac monitor screamed beside her bed while each breath grew weaker than the last.

Even so, her thoughts remained fixed on me.

She reached for my hand with trembling fingers.

"Adriana..."

Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Mamma... probably won't live long enough to see your union."

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

"Lorenzo is a good man. After I'm gone... he'll take good care of you."

She gently patted the back of my hand twice, just as she always had whenever she spoke about the future she hoped I would have.

"Can you... ask him to come?"

"I'd like... to speak with him one last time."

My vision blurred with tears.

I tucked the blanket around her before running into the hallway to find the attending physician.

After examining her, he slowly lowered his stethoscope and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Signorina."

"Her condition has deteriorated too far. Her body can no longer survive surgery."

He hesitated before quietly adding,

"You should begin preparing for her funeral."

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

Without another word, I drove straight to the Falcone headquarters.

It was the legitimate front where Lorenzo met with capos, signed contracts, and conducted Family business.

Before I reached the office door, Vittoria's voice drifted out.

"Lorenzo... you've already done so much for me over these past three years. The Signora is still alive. If I take over the Marchetti territory now, my sister will be heartbroken."

Lorenzo answered in a low voice filled with practiced restraint.

"You're my brother's future wife. Looking after you is only natural."

I heard papers sliding across the desk.

"Sign it."

"You'll have to learn how the Family operates sooner or later."

"As for the Signora..."

His tone remained frighteningly calm.

"She won't survive much longer."

"You don't need to concern yourself with her."

A flash of triumph crossed Vittoria's face before she quickly concealed it beneath a look of carefully rehearsed sympathy.

"Then... I'll visit the clinic today."

She lowered her eyes.

"Even if Mamma never acknowledged me as her daughter... I'd still like the chance to earn her forgiveness."

The rage inside me finally snapped.

I shoved the office door open.

"Save your performance."

"My mother doesn't want to see you."

Lorenzo froze.

For the first time in years, genuine panic flashed across his face.

He immediately stood and hurried toward me, unconsciously smoothing the front of his jacket as he walked.

"Adriana... why are you here?"

"You've misunderstood."

"I was only discussing the new territory with Vittoria. She brought it up in passing. It isn't what you're thinking."

Vittoria rose gracefully and smiled as though nothing had happened.

"Adriana."

"It's been a long time."

I didn't even look at her.

I turned and walked away.

Lorenzo hurried after me, explaining himself over and over, speaking faster than I had ever heard him speak.

Watching him scramble after me...

I almost laughed.

Three years ago, he had sacrificed my dignity before the Five Families to clear Vittoria's path.

Now he had sacrificed my mother's life.

He had already obtained everything he wanted.

Who was this performance still meant for?

I stopped walking and looked at him calmly.

"Don't worry."

"I'm not unreasonable."

"I won't interfere with Falcone business."

"I was only passing by on my way to the clinic."

"I thought I'd come see you."

"Since you're busy..."

"I'll leave."

Only then did the tightness leave his shoulders.

He personally walked me downstairs, every bit the attentive fianc until the very end.

Halfway back to the clinic, my phone rang.

It was the attending physician.

"Signorina..."

"I'm sorry."

"Your mother passed away a few minutes ago."

My hands tightened violently around the steering wheel.

The brakes screeched.

The car lurched to a stop at the roadside.

I couldn't breathe.

Grief...

Rage...

Betrayal...

They crashed together inside my chest until everything around me became painfully silent.

After what felt like an eternity, I turned the car around.

Instead of returning to the clinic, I drove to the Marchetti estate.

Someone had to pack away my mother's belongings.

As I folded the last of her clothes into a wooden chest, I slowly turned my father's heavy signet ring around my finger.

Just then...

Footsteps echoed outside the room.

When I looked up, Vittoria was standing quietly in the doorway.

Vittoria lifted her foot and kicked the wooden box aside.

It crashed across the marble floor, sending my mother's belongings scattering in every direction.

She looked down at me with undisguised triumph.

"Adriana," she laughed, "after all these years, you're still just as pathetic."

"You couldn't save your mother."

"You couldn't protect the Marchetti territory."

"And the two men you once loved..." Her smile widened. "They're both clearing the way for me."

"You're nothing more than a joke."

Something inside me snapped.

Before I even realized I had moved, my hand struck her across the face.

I hadn't used much force.

Yet Vittoria staggered backward, lost her footing, and tumbled down the stone steps.

The lunchbox slipped from her hands.

Its lid burst open, and the scalding broth splashed across her face.

I froze.

Before I could even react, someone slammed into me from the side.

I hit the ground hard.

Lorenzo was already kneeling beside Vittoria, gathering her into his arms as though she were something unbearably fragile.

He looked up at me, fury blazing in his eyes.

"What have you done?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Vittoria only came to bring soup for the Signora. Why would you hit her?"

His jaw tightened.

"She's your own sister."

The warmth I had once believed lived in those eyes was gone.

There was only anger.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet.

A cold smile touched my lips.

"My sister?"

I laughed softly.

"Does she deserve that title?"

I met his gaze without flinching.

"Why did my mother become gravely ill?"

"What about the footage played at my father's wake?"

"Lorenzo..."

"What explanation do you owe me?"

"What right do you have to question me?"

For the briefest moment, panic flickered across his face.

Instinctively, he smoothed the lapel of his jacket.

"My mother was already dying," he said evenly. "I arranged the best clinic available."

"As for the footage..."

"I was the one who had every copy destroyed."

"What else is there to explain?"

His expression hardened.

"Didn't you already figure everything out?"

"No matter what happened before, it doesn't justify raising your hand against your own sister."

His voice suddenly rang through the courtyard.

"Adriana."

"Apologize."

"Or I'll call the clinic this instant and stop every treatment your mother still has."

The courtyard fell silent.

Members of the old Families who had gathered nearby all turned toward us.

Every eye watched the Marchetti heiress unravel in public.

I laughed.

Yet tears slid uncontrollably down my face.

"Then do it."

"Go ahead."

"Stop the treatment."

"I don't need your mercy anymore."

"The truth is..."

"I never did."

Before Lorenzo could answer, Vittoria gently clutched his sleeve.

Her voice trembled with practiced vulnerability.

"Adriana..."

"No matter how angry you are, you can't gamble with the Signora's life."

"I know you resent me."

"It was my fault that everything happened at the wake."

"I owe you an apology."

"But today..."

"I only wanted to make peace with her."

"I never wished her any harm."

She lowered her head.

"So why do you hate me this much?"

For just half a heartbeat...

The smile at the corner of her lips lingered too long.

Then she turned toward Lorenzo.

"If my sister truly despises me..."

"Perhaps we shouldn't see each other anymore."

"I don't want to put you in such a difficult position."

My fingernails dug into my palms until blood seeped between my fingers.

I watched the two of them leave together.

Only then did I finally understand.

Three years of love...

Could turn to ash in a single moment.

I unlocked my phone and sent Lorenzo a single message.

**The union is off.**

Five hours later, he finally replied.

**Vittoria is still my sister-in-law in name, and she's overseeing several important rackets for the Family. What happened today could have damaged the Marchetti reputation in front of the other Families. Asking you to apologize was simply strategy. A performance for outsiders. Don't overthink it.**

A second message followed almost immediately.

**Once Vittoria's injuries are taken care of, I'll bring you to choose your gown. Don't speak out of anger. Your mother would be devastated if she knew. Her greatest wish was to see us bound in union.**

I stared at the screen.

A bitter smile slowly appeared.

It had never been a performance for outsiders.

It had always been a performance for me.

For three years...

He had never once stepped out of character.

Now...

The play was over.

My mother had dreamed of seeing me marry.

But more than that...

She had wanted me to be happy.

And happiness had never depended on becoming a Falcone.

If she could still see me from wherever the dead watched over the living...

She would understand.

After arranging everything for my mother's wake, I returned to the clinic.

I requested every medical record.

Every prescription.

Every treatment order.

Every document proving that someone had quietly replaced her medication.

Two days passed.

Lorenzo never came.

The only news of him came through whispers on the street.

Then came the leaked photographs.

He had signed over nearly half of the Falcone territory and several lucrative rackets to Vittoria.

For a scratch across her face...

He had handed her a hundred million.

In every photograph, he held her close.

The tenderness in his eyes...

Was something he had never once looked at me with.

When the wedding planner called to confirm the final arrangements, I canceled the ceremony.

The news reached Lorenzo almost immediately.

For the first time...

He panicked.

His call came within minutes.

"Tesoro..."

His voice was unusually anxious.

"Are you still angry?"

"Please, listen to me."

"The union can't be canceled."

"The invitations have already gone out to every Family."

"How could you call it off now?"

"You promised your mother she'd live to see us bound together."

He paused before speaking more softly.

"I've already sent your gown and the jewelry back to the estate."

"Try them on for me."

"Don't be stubborn."

"Be good."

"I'll come home as soon as I'm finished."

I closed my eyes.

Every word was a lie.

Only thirty minutes earlier, the auction had been streaming live.

Lorenzo sat alone in the private gallery.

One by one...

He had selected jewels for Vittoria.

Without another word, I deleted every trace of him from my phone.

Then I packed my belongings and returned to the Marchetti estate.

Before leaving...

I sent one final gift to everyone who still served under Lorenzo.

Copies of the clinic records.

Proof that someone acting in the Falcone name had ordered my mother's medication to be switched.

Only after securing the jewels for Vittoria...

Did Lorenzo finally remember the woman he was supposed to marry.

And the dying Signora lying alone in the clinic.

He stared at my unanswered messages.

For the first time...

An unfamiliar unease settled in his chest.

He stepped out of the auction hall and immediately called one of his couriers.

"Tell the clinic to restore the Signora's original medication."

"Whatever it costs, keep her alive until the end of the year."

"If necessary, fly in specialists from overseas."

"I don't want Adriana to suffer any more than she already has."

The courier stood frozen, the newly signed transfer agreements still clutched in his hands.

His face slowly lost all color.

After a long silence, he swallowed hard.

"Don Falcone..."

"The Signora has already passed away."

"And..."

"Signorina Adriana knows the medication was switched."

He hesitated.

"The wake... is today."

"I think..."

"You should be there."

The Baby That Wasn't Mine

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 22:31:53 +0800

When I was eight months pregnant, carrying the Marchetti heir, someone pushed me from the second-floor landing of the estate. I crashed to the marble below, pain searing through me as blood pooled around my body.

In a frenzy, my husband, Salvatore, the Don himself, carried me out to the car and summoned the surgeons the Family kept on quiet retainer, men who asked no questions and signed no records. By some mercy, they saved the baby.

When I woke, however, neither the baby nor Salvatore was at my side.

I struggled to rise, limping through the sterile corridors, searching every room. It was not until I reached the cold storage at the end of the wing that I overheard my husband speaking low with the doctor.

"Don Marchetti, the child was still breathing. How could you smother him? He is your own blood."

"Better he goes early and finds another life. He never should have drawn breath in this one." Salvatore's voice came flat and cold. "Vittoria gave me a son yesterday. I gave her my word that our boy would be the only heir to the Marchetti name. I will not have anyone contest what is his."

Hearing it all, I felt my blood run cold. The happy family I had dreamed of was only my delusion. The union I had been so proud of, the pact sworn before the whole famiglia, was nothing but a cold hell.

If that was the truth of it, then it was better to leave.

The doctor hesitated, his face torn. "But Don Marchetti, if you mean to pass Vittoria's child off to your wife, what happens when she learns the truth?"

"Newborns all look the same. She won't see it. I'll bring the boy to her shortly." Salvatore answered as though discussing a shipment. "Dispose of the body the way we dispose of things. And give me the sterilization drug your people have been developing. I'll see that Adriana takes it."

The doctor went still, then spoke in an urgent rush. "Don Marchetti, you've already taken your wife's child to seat Vittoria's in the bloodline. Why sterilize her too? Isn't that too cruel?"

The chill of that cold room seemed to bleed out into the hall, yet Salvatore's words were colder still.

"I promised Vittoria our son would never want for anything in this life, and that no other child of mine would ever rise to compete for his place. She belongs to another man's house now. I want her to rest easy all the same."

The doctor's reluctance did not fade. "Don Marchetti, I must warn you. This drug is still in trials. It has never been given to a living patient. The side effects are severe. Can you truly carry that?"

Salvatore paused, and let out a slow breath. "I have no choice. Adriana will wake soon. If I have them take her womb now, she'll grow suspicious."

"She'll have to endure it. I'll make it up to her after. But I cannot allow Adriana to carry again."

Just then his phone rang. He pressed the speaker, and a man's pleased voice crawled out into that cold room.

"Don Marchetti, the five million came through. Don't trouble yourself, I'm leaving New York tonight. Your wife will never know it was your order that put her down those stairs. Heh."

Then footsteps came toward the door.

Ignoring the pain screaming through my leg, I staggered back to the ward.

Thinking of my dead child, I clutched my chest, trying to hold in the anguish as tears fell on my bandaged leg.

So it had been no accident, that fall down the stairs. It was my own husband clearing an obstacle from the path of the woman he loved and the child she'd given him.

My baby had been saved on that table, only to be smothered by the hands of his own father.

To Salvatore, we, mother and child both, were nothing but stones in his road.

"Adriana, you're awake?"

Salvatore came in cradling an infant and sat beside me with a smile. "Look at our son. Doesn't he look just like us?"

"Cara, thank you for giving me such a beautiful boy. I'll be a good father to him." He grinned.

I looked at the baby sleeping peacefully in his arms, and my heart ached.

Salvatore was wrong. No mother mistakes her own child. The boy had his brow and his eyes, but the nose, the chin, were Vittoria's, near enough to be traced.

That was their child.

But my son was now a cold and lifeless corpse!

"Adriana, does your leg still hurt? Here, take something for the pain." Salvatore looked at me, his thumb rolling that heavy signet ring in slow circles the way it always did when he was calm, in control, sure of every card on the table. His eyes were filled with the same tenderness as always, but I knew now. It was all just an illusion meant to deceive me.

I looked at the pills in his hand and recalled what I had just overheard through the door of this quiet estate room, where even the walls kept the Family's secrets.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "Salvatore, the medicine is too bitter. Can I take it later?"

'You've already killed my child. Can't you at least leave me the right to be a mother?'

Salvatore hesitated for just a second before smiling and patting my head. "You're a mother now, yet you're still acting like a child? Giving birth was already hard on you, and now your legs are hurting. I couldn't sleep all night worrying about you, Adriana. Just take pity on your husband, will you? I still have a son to raise like a proper father."

"Don't worry. I put honey in the water. It's sweet. Come now, let me feed you."

'No. That is not my baby. It's yours and Vittoria's!' I screamed inside.

He brought the pill to my lips, leaving me no room to refuse, the way a Don leaves no room in a sit-down once he has already decided.

A chill spread through my body. I closed my eyes and swallowed the pill dry, refusing the honeyed water.

I didn't want that kind of fake sweetness.

The drug hit quickly. A searing pain burned through my lower abdomen, as though flames were consuming me from the inside, or as if someone were slicing me open with a knife. Blood gushed from between my legs.

"Adriana, what's wrong?!"

Salvatore shouted for the doctor, the Family's own man, the one who kept his mouth shut for a price. The pain was unbearable, and I passed out.

In my daze, I heard the doctor's voice.

"Don Marchetti, the drug has completely corroded her uterus. She will never carry a child again."

Salvatore let out a long, slow breath of relief.

When I woke again, his eyes were red, his face filled with grief as he gazed at me. "Adriana, the doctor said you lost too much blood after the birth... He said you won't be able to have children anymore."

"Don't be sad. Thank God we already have Matteo. He'll grow up to be a good son to you."

Matteo?

He had already given Vittoria's child a Marchetti name, this fast?

Salvatore wouldn't let the nurse clean me. Ignoring the fastidious cleanliness the whole Family knew him for, he fetched the hot water himself and carefully wiped away the blood.

He told me the matriarch, his mother, wished to see her firstborn grandson, the heir to the bloodline, and had already taken the baby to the main house.

By the time the estate went quiet, it was deep in the night.

I looked at his faintly tired face and forced a weak smile. "I'm fine. You've been on your feet all day. You should rest now."

Salvatore kissed my forehead. "All right. If you need anything, wake me. Tomorrow I'll take you to see Matteo. From now on, the three of us will live happily, as one famiglia."

After he fell asleep, I quietly picked up his phone.

To prove his devotion to me, Salvatore had never set a lock on it. That, too, had been part of the performance.

But I had never known he kept a second life inside it, a hidden system, and the code to open it was Vittoria's birthday.

The moment the screen changed, the wallpaper became a photo of the two of them from their university days, back before the vows, back before the alliance he'd sworn to me before the Family.

His messenger held a single contact. Vittoria.

I opened their thread. The first thing to load was a photo of her cradling a newborn.

[Salvatore, look at our beautiful boy. He's going to be as handsome as you when he grows.]

That baby looked exactly like the one Salvatore had carried to my bedside earlier that night.

The further I scrolled, the colder my heart became.

Through all eight months I carried his child, Salvatore had been forever away on "the Don's business." The days he had actually spent at my side I could count on my fingers.

I hadn't wanted to pull him from the work of the Family, so I bore the sickness and the exhaustion alone, going to every checkup by myself.

And now I knew. Those errands, those long shadow nights away, had only ever been the road to Vittoria, to her side, to her and the child growing in her.

Among the thousands of photos buried in that phone, every single one recorded Vittoria's journey from the first swell of pregnancy to the birth.

Salvatore cooked for Vittoria himself every day, rich broths and hand-rolled pasta carried up to her rooms. He walked her through the estate gardens, took her into the city to spend without limit, and when the morning sickness came he cupped his own hands beneath her chin without a flicker of disgust.

He never missed a single visit from the family physician, staying at her side, his gaze filled with devotion as though she were the most precious thing the Marchetti bloodline had ever guarded.

I had begged Salvatore more times than I could count to choose a name for our child. He always took a long time to answer.

"Adriana, a name is just a label. Pick anything. I have business at the club. We'll settle it after the baby comes."

Yet the moment Vittoria was carrying his child, Salvatore already had a hundred names ready.

"Vittoria, what about Asha for our baby? It means a bright road ahead."

"Or Ethan? It carries wisdom, and a future that answers to no one."

"No. We'll call him Matteo. I don't care if he ever sits at the head of the table. I only want him safe. I want him to live a long life."

After every visit from the physician, he gave Vittoria a gift. A necklace off a jeweler's private tray. A limited car that never touched a showroom floor.

"Our Vittoria came through another checkup without harm. That calls for a celebration."

He gave her a castle in Europe when she was delivered of the child, safe and whole.

And me?

All I was ever given was a single line. "Adriana, thank you for the trouble you've gone to. I have a sit-down to attend."

So this was the distance between love and indifference.

I set the phone down, my heart cold and numb. Without a second thought, I booked passage out of the country three days from now.

I lay back against the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling, my chest filled with an unbearable emptiness.

I didn't sleep a single moment that night.

The next morning Salvatore, as always, had one of his associates bring me a proper meal.

I used to be touched by such thoughtfulness, believing that even when he wasn't beside me, he still cared whether I ate, whether I healed.

It wasn't until I remembered him moving around that kitchen the night before, cooking for Vittoria with his own hands, that I understood it was all for show.

I finally understood. This was not love. It was routine. A gesture that meant nothing.

Set against real affection, blood money was worthless.

Seeing that I hadn't touched a bite, Salvatore frowned, his voice filled with concern. "Adriana, why aren't you eating? Is it not to your taste?"

"It's nothing. I just miss the baby," I answered coldly.

Salvatore gave a low laugh. "You mean Matteo? I miss him too. I never understood it before, but now that I'm a father I can't stand to be away from him even a moment. Our Matteo is the most beautiful child in the world."

"My mother is beside herself now that there's a grandson to carry the name. She's been holding court at the old estate. We'll go and collect Matteo later."

I said nothing. I had already decided to leave, so none of it reached me anymore.

When we came to the old Marchetti estate, the moment we crossed the threshold I saw the matriarch and Vittoria at ease with the child, the two of them playing with Matteo like women who owned the place.

Vittoria wore something limited and expensive, her face bright, no trace of the exhaustion that childbirth leaves behind.

Carmela, doting on her grandson, was feeding Vittoria spoonfuls of bone broth from a good bowl, treating her like a daughter of the blood.

The moment Vittoria saw me she let a small smile cross her lips and turned to the matriarch, her voice dripping false modesty. "Zia, you really shouldn't spoil me like this. People will take me for your son's wife. Adriana might grow jealous. You ought to give her the broth instead. She's weak. She needs it more than I do."

Following her glance, Carmela looked at me, and her expression soured at once.

I was still in the bloodstained clothes from the day it all went wrong.

Disgust crossed her face. "Has my son ever let you go without food or clothing? Why do you present yourself like this? It's an ill omen. Are you trying to shame this family before everyone?"

"Look at Vittoria. She's only just given birth, and she carries herself better than you do. You're making a spectacle of nothing."

"You couldn't even conduct yourself properly while you were carrying, running around like a fool. It's a wonder that fall didn't kill you. And now you dare play the wounded one? If anything had happened to my grandson, I'd have had Salvatore sever the pact with you where you stood."

"You knew you were to nurse him, and still you took your medicine as you pleased. If Vittoria hadn't stepped in to feed him, my grandson would have starved because of you. You bring bad luck into this house."

The rosary in her hand snapped shut with a sharp click. "I'll say it plainly, here and now. Vittoria is my goddaughter. From this day she calls me 'Mother,' the same as Salvatore does."

I always knew the Marchetti matriarch didn't like me.

She believed I wasn't good enough for Salvatore, that I could never compare to Vittoriaher son's childhood love from the Bellini branch, beautiful, sweet-tongued, effortlessly charming.

It was only when Vittoria married into a bloodline overseas and I became pregnant that Carmela reluctantly acknowledged me as her son's sworn wifefor the sake of the child, for the sake of the line.

Even so, every time we met beneath the estate's high ceilings, she never spared me from her sharp-tongued ridicule.

In the past, Salvatore would at least defend me a little. And it was the Don himself who had insisted on dragging me out the day of the accident, saying he wanted to buy gifts for the heir soon to be born to the Family.

But now, his eyes were locked onto Vittoria, filled with an undeniable tenderness.

Vittoria cradled Matteo in her arms and playfully clung to Salvatore's sleeve.

"Salvatore, did you hear? The Matriarch has officially named me her comare, her godchild! Dear brother, have you a gift ready for your little sister?"

Salvatore pinched her cheek, indulgent, half scolding and half spoiling. "You're incorrigible. Don't call me brother."

Yet even as he spoke, he had a soldier carry in ninety-two mink coatseach from the finest houses, every one paired with jewels laundered clean of any history.

"I know you love fine things, but you're still recovering. You need to stay warm. Winter runs three monthsninety-two days exactlyso you'll have a different one for each."

Vittoria giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the picture of a pampered, innocent girl.

"Some of these aren't even released yetall limited pieces! And you had them brought to me early. Salvatore, you truly spoil me."

Then she turned her gaze to me, feigning concern, her fingers drifting to the hollow of her throat. "But you've given me so much... Adriana won't be angry, will she?"

Standing there in my bloodstained clothes, I looked like a complete fool beside her dazzling, extravagant display.

For a brief moment, Salvatore hesitated, as if suddenly remembering I still stood in the room. He tried, awkwardly, to explain. "Adriana, it isn't what you think. Vittoria has lived away from the Family so longyou know how different their ways are out there."

"And the coats... I only heard she'd recently given birth herself. Her husband isn't here, and since we came up together, I only thought"

Before he could finish, Matteo began to cry.

Vittoria gasped. "Oh, is Matteo hungry again? Mommy will take you upstairs to feed you."

Then she turned to me with a falsely apologetic smile.

"Adriana, don't misunderstand. I'm simply used to soothing my own baby. And every time I say it, see how happy Matteo becomes."

She cradled Matteo and started toward the stairsonly to sag suddenly against Salvatore's chest, murmuring, "Sal, I feel a little dizzy..."

Salvatore shoved me aside at once and caught her in his arms, his face full of worry.

"How can this be? You're weak after the birth. I told you to rest at the center. Come, I'll carry you up."

My right leg was still bandaged from the accident.

With that sudden push I lost my balance and collapsed to the floor, pain shooting through me like a knife. But Salvatore didn't spare me a single glance.

Right there before everyone, he scooped Vittoria into his armsholding both her and Matteoand carried her toward the stairs.

The room erupted in ridicule. The made men and their wives who filled the Don's parlor let their voices drop into that low, poisonous murmur that carries further than a shout.

"No wonder the Don dotes on Vittoria. Beautiful, and kind enough to nurse another woman's child. Not like this useless oneso cheap, so embarrassing. Can't even bear a little pain in her leg, and took medicine while nursing besides. Selfish."

"Does she even deserve to be a mother? If you ask me, Vittoria is more the boy's true mothershe cares for him more, and see how the child even favors her. He'd rather not resemble that disgraceful creature. Vittoria and the Don, such a perfect match. A shame they were never bound."

Instead of standing up for me, the Matriarch looked at me with even deeper disgust. She scoffed, and the rosary in her fingers snapped shut with a sharp click as she turned on me.

"Still lying there like a dog? If you want to beg for food, get out and do it somewhere else! This bloodline doesn't feed worthless, lowly women like you!"

"You don't even care about your own son, and you can't keep your husband's heart. I heard you'll never be able to carry another child? My son binding himself to you is the worst misfortune of his life. Get lost. Just looking at you takes ten years off my life."

Carmela's rosary snapped shut in her fist, that small final sound telling the whole room the matter was closed. Humiliation washed over me like a tidal wave.

I clenched my fingers around my phone, where I had long since prepared the severing of the blood pact.

Without a word, I struggled to my feet, limping toward the study upstairs, past the soldiers who lowered their eyes and pretended not to see the Don's wife dragging one ruined leg across the marble.

I retrieved the printed severance agreement and slid it into my bag before heading to the guest room to look for Salvatore.

But he wasn't there.

Instead, I saw the nanny holding Matteo, who had just finished feeding and was sleeping soundly.

Frowning in confusion, I suddenly heard noises coming from our bedroom. Sounds that made my stomach turn.

The door wasn't fully closed.

Through the gap, I saw Vittoria straddling Salvatore, her blouse wide open as she cooed in a sickly sweet voice. "Sal, I have too much milk... Matteo's appetite is too small, and I'm so full it hurts~"

"I feel awful... Won't you help me relieve it?"

Salvatore hesitated. "Vittoria, don't... You gave birth two days ago. Your body can't handle it. You already risked everything, hiding the pregnancy from your husband to carry my child. I can't put you in danger again..."

Vittoria grabbed his head and pressed him against her chest. Her fingertips brushed the hollow of her throat, and her voice quivered exactly on cue. "Silly Sal, I'm not afraid, so what are you afraid of? I wanted to give you a child. My husband is always away on the Family's errands; he doesn't even know. Come on, spoil me a little. Don't you want to taste the sweetness of a love that's bled for you?"

Salvatore finally lost control. He leaned in, his lips sealing over her skin.

The sounds inside grew more obscene, making my stomach churn with nausea.

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and fled the house.

Only when I inhaled the crisp air of the estate grounds did the suffocating weight in my chest lessen. But the tears wouldn't stop falling.

Salvatore, you knew I was just downstairs. How could you do this? In our bedroom?!

I slumped onto the stone steps, dazed, not knowing how much time had passed. Beyond the wrought-iron gate, an enforcer stood with his back to me, a silent shape against the dark, saying nothing, seeing everything.

Then, without warning, a foul-smelling liquid was dumped over my head.

I gasped in shock as the stench filled my nose.

Vittoria stood before me, her lips curled into a smug smirk.

"Adriana, how does my son's piss taste? Did you enjoy watching Salvatore lose himself in me?"

So this was intentional. She had wanted me to see everything.

"Tsk tsk, just look at you now. Your son is dead, and you're hobbling around on one leg. If I were you, I'd have ended it already. What's the point of living?"

She bent down, whispering cruelly into my ear. "Even though you were bound to Salvatore before the Family and gave him a child, so what? He still smothered your son for me and my baby, and made sure the Marchetti line would never come from your body again."

My breath hitched.

Vittoria held up her phone, tilting the screen toward me. Her answer came a half-second too fast, that hair-thin eagerness slipping through the mask. "I even recorded it for you. Want to see how your baby's little face turned from red to purple? It's quite a sight."

My entire body trembled violently.

I stared at the screen as my child... my baby... struggled for breath.

And then, slowly, he stopped moving.

I felt like I was suffocating too.

How could she speak of murdering an infant so casually, as if the killing of a bloodline heir were nothing at all?

Fury erupted within me.

I raised my hand high, ready to strike her. But before I could, Vittoria suddenly pulled a knife and slashed it across her own chest.

Bright red blood soaked through her blouse.

She shrieked in agony, the knife clattering to the marble.

In the next second, a force slammed into me, knocking me to the ground.

Salvatore cradled Vittoria protectively in his arms.

His furious voice rang out, searing through the air. "Adriana, are you insane?!"

I opened my mouth to explain, but before I could speak, Vittoria burst into pitiful sobs, her hand at her throat, her whole body shaking against him. "Sal, I was only afraid Matteo would go hungry, so I came to explain things to Adriana. But she said I was trying to steal her child... She swore she'd cut the breast off me so I could never feed him again."

She trembled, burying herself deeper in his embrace. "I was only thinking about the baby! How could she do this to me?!"

Salvatores face darkened as he glared at me. "You were the one who fell down the stairs and broke your leg. Thats why things turned out this way. Why are you taking it out on Vittoria?"

"Youre not a good mother. You took medication and couldnt nurse your own child. Vittoria was kind enough to help, so what right do you have to lash out at her? Just because you dont care about your child, does that mean no one else is allowed to?"

Im not a good mother? I dont care about my child?

Tears streamed down my face as I roared at him in fury, "Im not a good mother?! Then what about you?! Do you dare to tell me why I fell down the stairs? Where is my child? And what exactly was in that medication I took?!"

Salvatores brow drew together. "Matteo is sleeping soundly in the nursery, of course. And the medication was only for the pain in your leg. You knew that already."

"As for why you fell, that was your own carelessness. With so many soldiers in that house, why were you the only one who got pushed? Youre useless, and yet you have the nerve to lay a hand on Vittoria? Youre a mother too. How could you be so cruel to another mother? Apologize to her. Now."

Yes. So many men in that house. And yet I was the only one pushed.

I looked at him. So certain of himself, so at ease inside his own lies, his thumb turning that heavy signet ring slow and lazy around his finger the way it always did when nothing in the world could touch him. And suddenly, I laughed.

That was my husband. The Don I had been bound to before the Family.

A liar.

A murderer.

I picked up the knife from the ground.

With every scrap of strength left in me, I dragged the blade across my chest, again and again, cutting deep until the front of my dress went dark and soaked through with blood.

Salvatores eyes widened in horror. "Adriana! What are you doing?! Stop it!"

I dropped the knife and met his gaze, calm as still water. "Youre right, Salvatore. I shouldnt have hurt a mother. So Im atoning for my sins. To your beloved. Is this enough sincerity for you?"

With that, I turned and walked away.

Blood dripped from the wounds, leaving a trail behind me down the marble.

My steps were unsteady, but I never looked back.

Salvatore hesitated. For half a breath his hand lifted toward me on instinct. But Vittoria wound herself around his neck, her fingers grazing the hollow of her throat, her voice thin and pitiful and right on cue.

"Sal, it hurts so much... Can you take me to a doctor? We cant let Matteo go hungry."

Salvatore wavered a moment.

Then he made his choice. He gathered Vittoria into his arms and walked the other way.

A few hours later, my phone rang.

Salvatores voice was gentle, almost coaxing. "Adriana, have you tended to your wounds? Dont worry. I made sure the medicine Vittoria used wont affect her nursing. Im sorry for what I said earlier."

"But the doctor confirmed the medication you took wasnt suitable for a nursing mother. Vittoria has plenty of milk, and formula isnt as good for him. Matteo still needs her. Im only looking after her to show my gratitude. Dont read too much into it, all right?"

I answered without feeling. "Im fine. Take good care of her. Make sure the child doesnt go hungry."

"I always knew my wife understood me best." Salvatore chuckled low. "I already spoke with my mother. She wont come at you anymore."

"You gave a son to this bloodline. Thats no small thing. The day after tomorrow, Im holding a feast in your honor at the estate. Consider it my way of making it right. Be good and wait for me."

That night, every mouthpiece the Family owned ran the same segment.

"In a stirring show of devotion, the honorable Don Marchetti summoned the finest physicians in the country by private helicopter, all for the sake of a wifes minor wound."

In silence, I took out the disinfectant and the hemostatic powder and tended to myself with the barest, most necessary care.

The next day, Salvatore still didnt come home.

I gathered up everything I owned and gave it all away. Then I took our union pact, the one sanctified before the Family, the one I had once held so close to my heart, and tore it into pieces, and dropped them in the trash.

On the third day, just past noon, Salvatores message came in.

[Adriana, Ive finished my business. Im going to the hotel to check on the arrangements. One of my men will come for you this afternoon.]

But in that same moment, he was walking through a high-end arcade with Vittorias hand in his and Matteo cradled against his chest, moving from one luxury jeweler to the next.

All around them, envious eyes trailed their every step.

"The Don truly adores his wife and child. My commissions for the next twenty years are as good as made. What a picture that little family makes."

"But I heard the Don booked the cheapest banquet room at the hotel today. Supposedly to celebrate the birth of his son."

"You must be mistaken. A man who spoils his wife like that, would he really pinch pennies? Did you see the necklace at Madam Marchettis throat? He bought it this very morning. That one piece could pay for ten banquets."

I heard every word.

I stood on the upper floor, a new suitcase just paid for at my side, and watched them, my heart gone completely numb.

I didnt bother answering his message. Instead I took out the severing of the blood pact and a handful of other documents, and arranged for a courier to carry them straight to the banquet hall.

Once it was done, I slid my sunglasses on and went straight for the airport.

A few hours later, Salvatore finally finished the shopping with Vittoria and Matteo. They arrived at the hotel, expecting a grand celebration.

Instead, they were told that Adriana had never come.

Salvatore glanced at his watch. More than an hour past the appointed time. Something cold stirred low in his chest. Adriana had never once been late for anything between them.

Just as he reached for his phone to call her, one of his men came running, panic written all over his face.

"Boss. Trouble. The Madam is gone. Someone just had these delivered."

I Was Just His Substitute Wife

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 20:03:44 +0800

I'd been following The Last Words to the World for a long time, and that night a young girl suddenly appeared on the show.

When the host asked her who she wanted to leave her final words for,

her face was pale, and a broken smile touched her lips.

These last words of mine, I want to leave them for my ex-boyfriend.

"Back then I unexpectedly came down with leukemia. I didn't want to be a burden to him, so I pretended to be shallow and greedy, and I broke up with him."

"After we split, his life was hard, and he ended up marrying someone he doesn't love."

"Now my days are numbered. I hope the production team will give him the recording of this show after I'm gone."

"I want him to know that, really, I've loved him this whole time, all along."

As the girl spoke, not a single person in the audience was unmoved. Even the host was brought to tears.

At the very end, the girl held up a photo of herself and her ex-boyfriend to the camera.

The moment I saw it, the hand I was using to wipe my tears froze mid-motion.

The face in the photo was one I knew better than any other.

It was unmistakably my husband of three years, Harry James.

I'd followed this show for a long time.

The whole point of it was to help people whose days were numbered pass on the words they could never bring themselves to say out loud.

Every story the guests brought was moving.

I lifted my hand and swiped it across my face. My fingers came away wet.

But now, all I felt was that I was a joke.

When I got home from the hospital, Harry was already there.

Seeing me come in, he stepped forward and naturally took the things from my hands.

Then he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You must be worn out from your checkup today, sweetheart. Come eat."

I didn't move. I stood in the doorway, staring straight at him.

Once, this had been the moment I looked forward to most, the happiest part of my day.

Coming home after a long, busy day, Harry would kiss me, tell me I'd worked hard, and have a warm meal waiting.

The girl's words kept circling in my head.

"He married someone he doesn't love"

Harry didn't love me.

My eyes settled on his face without my meaning them to, searching for some faint trace, some tell.

But there was only that gentle, doting smile he always wore. I couldn't catch a single thing out of place.

Could someone who wasn't a trained actor really put on a show this good?

Trust and doubt tore at each other inside my head.

Seeing that I hadn't moved, Harry called to me from across the room by the table.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Come eat, quick, the food's getting cold."

I walked over to the table and sat down.

Harry picked up a piece of pork rib for me.

"I made your favorite tonight, braised pork ribs. Try it, sweetheart, see if it's to your taste."

I looked at the rib in my bowl, feeling strangely far away.

A distant memory suddenly churned up in my mind.

The truth was, my favorite wasn't braised pork ribs at all. It was durian chicken stew.

But Harry couldn't stand the smell of durian.

This was our third year of marriage, our fifth year together, and it had been five years since I'd last eaten durian chicken stew.

I suddenly thought of what the girl had said on the show.

"He treated me so well. He remembered every food I couldn't eat, remembered that I like cilantro but not onions, ginger, or garlic."

"Even though one whiff of cilantro made him gag, there was always a big bunch of it in the fridge, kept just for me."

I lowered my head and took a bite of the rib. It tasted like ash in my mouth.

Harry didn't notice anything different about me.

He pulled a gift box out from behind him and smiled at me.

"An early birthday present for you, sweetheart."

"I have a business trip in a couple of days, so I might miss your birthday. I wanted to give it to you ahead of time."

If this had been before, I would have taken it, delighted.

Expressionless, I opened the box.

A necklace from some luxury brand's 2026 spring collection.

Expensive, respectable, and no effort at all.

The Harry James of today could get one with a flick of his finger.

I faked delight.

"You actually remembered this!"

"Remembered what?" Harry blinked, caught off guard.

"Three years ago, the birthday gift you were going to give me was a necklace from this same brand. It was a spring release too, what a coincidence!"

"Later you said your project fell through, so you couldn't buy that necklace anymore. I was sad about it for the longest time."

The flawless smile slid back onto his face.

"That's right. I just knew you'd love it. From now on I'll get you the new release every year."

Liar.

I closed the lid and set the gift aside.

He didn't remember at all.

Three years ago, what he'd actually told me was that the project bonus had gone toward gifts for his business partners.

Just bear with the disappointment for now, he'd said. I'll make it up to you later.

Today, I'd seen that necklace around a girl's throat.

She'd told the host,

"This was the birthday gift he mailed me after we broke up."

"Honestly, every year I told him I threw away everything he sent, that he should stop mailing them. But he never listened."

I remembered the price of that necklace perfectly.

Eighty-seven thousand three hundred sixty-two dollars.

I'd caught a glimpse of it on Harry's phone by accident, a number I'd chewed over in private for a long time.

Back then we were crammed into a basement apartment.

It ached, knowing he'd spent enough money to change our lives on a single necklace.

And it made me happy, believing that if he had a hundred dollars, ninety-nine of it would go to me.

In the end, the money and the love, I got neither.

Harry still didn't know about that girl.

I curled up on the couch, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen.

It has to be said sooner or later.

Five years between us.

I'd built everything with him from nothing, all the way to now.

At our lowest, one plate of pickled vegetables and one roll, split between us for two days.

I didn't want to wait until the recording actually arrived at our door and then watch him hold another woman in his heart for the rest of his life.

Before I could open my mouth, Harry's phone rang.

He answered, said a couple of words, and his face changed. He rushed straight into the study.

"Is Phoebe"

He was too frantic to notice the study door hadn't shut all the way.

Out in the living room, I heard every word.

Phoebe. Phoebe Fox. That was the girl's name.

I opened my phone.

A news story was sweeping across every social platform.

The Real-Life Novel Heroine, a Life Buried for Love.

That lukewarm little show had gone viral because of Phoebe Fox's story.

And it had reached Harry too.

"Libby, something came up at the company. I have to go deal with it."

Harry left in a hurry, forgetting even the parting kiss he always gave me before walking out.

Night fell, and the apartment was swallowed in darkness.

I didn't get up to turn on the lights. Only my phone flickered, its glow rising and dying against my face.

Numbly, I watched people online debate the story with feverish excitement.

Praising and mourning their love, hoping the two of them would get back together.

Refresh again.

A new post shot straight to the top of my feed, unstoppable.

Folks, I think I just witnessed a live grovel-to-win-her-back scene.

The video was shot from a hidden angle, yet it let me see the man's face perfectly clearly.

Harry had always been elegant, put-together.

Even the ten-dollar street-stall clothes from back then, he'd worn with restraint and dignity.

But now, he was on his knees in front of Phoebe Fox, pressing his face to her hand, weeping like his heart was breaking.

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"If you'd said something sooner, I wouldn't have just grabbed the first person I could find and married her!"

Just grabbed the first person he could find?

My hands trembled as I opened the timer app I used for keeping track.

Today was the two-thousandth day since I'd met Harry James.

Today was the one thousand eight hundred and sixty-first day since we'd been together.

Meeting Harry had been an accident in my plain, ordinary life.

For him, Ia girl who'd spent her whole life following her parents' plans, step by careful stepworked up the courage for the first time to leave everything behind and come to Capital City with Harry to build a life from nothing.

Back then, everything we owned added up to just enough to rent a leaky basement.

He chose to start his own business. I took a steady job as a clerk.

My salary was six thousand a month. His, some months, was a negative number.

We stretched every dollar into two, and somehow, through all the stumbling, I propped him up until his business finally started to turn.

Later, his company was short on people.

I didn't understand any of that world.

So when he talked business, I was the one drinking at the table.

A woman who'd never touched a drop learned to drink until my stomach was bleeding, and never once let it show on my face.

And now, out of his own mouth, I was just someone he'd grabbed to marry.

The comment section had lost its collective mind over the two of them.

The handful of comments defending me, the wife, got reported and buried at the very bottom.

Before long, someone dug up Phoebe Fox's social media too.

Her latest post had gone up five minutes ago.

Thank you all for helping me reach him. Getting to spend this last stretch of time with him before I go, I have no regrets left.

The photo attached showed a man in an apron, his back to the camera, busy in the kitchen.

The man who not so long ago had carried a plate of braised ribs over and called me to dinner was now washing up and cooking soup for her.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I screenshotted it and sent it to Harry.

Come home soon. We need to talk about the divorce.

Harry didn't answer.

I sat there through the whole night, empty.

He didn't see my message until the next morning.

Wait for me to get home. I'll explain everything properly.

Harry came home carrying breakfast, a luxury shopping bag hanging from his arm too.

I was scrolling through my parents' feed, head down.

Since I'd followed Harry to Capital City, they and I had never spoken again.

Harry set a steamer basket of dumplings in front of me and leaned in close.

"Your favorite dumplings, that place you love. Eat them while they're hot?"

I'd told him just last week that this place had switched chefs and the food wasn't good anymore.

Then he held out the luxury bag.

"Didn't you say yesterday that you liked this brand? This one's new too. See if you like it?"

I'd seen it on Phoebe's social media.

A whole row of the latest luxury pieces. This one was her leftover, the one she'd passed over.

Only then had it made its way to me.

I closed the box, tossed it aside, and turned the laptop on the table toward Harry.

"This is the divorce agreement I drew up. Look it over and see if anything's off."

"If there's nothing, let's go down to the civil affairs office in a bit."

Snap

The usual smile on Harry's face dimmed a shade, and he clapped the laptop shut.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

Over the course of one night, I'd made up my mind.

While Phoebe was still alive, more than half of Harry's heart was tied up in hernever mind what it would be like after.

I didn't want to live the rest of my life in someone else's shadow.

"I don't think there's any point in the two of us going on."

"I can't accept a husband who has an ex-girlfriend he loves this deeply."

Harry let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing the space between his brows as if utterly at a loss.

"Libby, Phoebe doesn't have many days left. I only want her to leave this world without regrets."

Lies.

You've just finally found an excuse to be good to her out in the open.

"Can you not pick this of all times to get jealous and pull something so petty."

The emotions I'd been holding down began to break apart.

Tears slid to the corner of my mouth before I noticed, bitter, so bitter.

Every word of protest I might have thrown back was crushed under the weight of a human life.

I wanted to say I wasn't jealous.

It was because you still had Phoebe Fox in your heart.

It was because you didn't love me.

But in this situation, no matter how I explained it, I would come off as a madwoman who trampled on a dying person's life out of pure spite.

So I only said it again.

"I mean it. Divorce."

"Enough!"

Harry's face went dark, and he slammed the bun in his hand down on the table.

"Libby Curry, how can you be this cold-blooded!"

The greasy smell of the bun rose into my nose and made me want to gag.

"I already told you Phoebe doesn't have much time left! Can't you show a little mercy, let her go with some peace of mind?"

"I'll come back to you sooner or later anyway. For now, I'm begging you, just turn a blind eye, all right?"

They say the dead deserve the highest respect.

The world is always forgiving toward those about to die.

If I were the woman I'd been before yesterday, I could even have accepted Harry seeing Phoebe off on her final journey.

Because I'd been so sure Harry loved me.

But after yesterday, I finally learned what Harry looked like when he truly loved someone.

He would give up the things he hated for her.

Even when money was tight, he would give her the best.

So I couldn't accept it. And I didn't dare gamble on how high Phoebe might climb in Harry's heart down the line.

It hurt, but I had to cut my losses in time.

Harry didn't give me another chance to speak.

His phone rang.

On the screen, the word "Phoebe" flashed over and over.

He threw out one line, "Think it over carefully," slammed the door, and hurried out.

I opened Twitter. Phoebe's account had just posted an update.

Another flare-up, it hurts so much. At least this time I have you here with me.

Fans swarmed under Phoebe's account in an instant.

Oh my god, my heart aches for you. You have to get better soon.

You two really have it so hard. I hope you can be happy in the time you have left.

Do you have any last wishes? Have your husband make them come true! Like wearing a wedding dress or something...

Phoebe replied to that one.

If I could, I really would love to wear a wedding dress for him once.

That comment shot straight to the top.

I knew Harry had seen it too.

Because that same afternoon, more than a dozen wedding-dress photos went up on Phoebe's account.

Married three years, and our own wedding had never even taken shape.

At first, I'd pushed him about it, desperate.

I wanted to invite my parents, to let them see that their daughter hadn't misjudged the man all those years ago.

But Harry always said work was too busy, that there was no time to plan it.

He said he needed to earn more money before he could face my parents, before they would accept him.

I waited and waited.

It took until today to learn that throwing a wedding wasn't so hard for Harry after all.

The next day, they'd even booked the reception.

Phoebe posted the hotel address and a welcome photo on Twitter.

Your brother-in-law booked out the entire hotel. He says he welcomes you all to our wedding. Any of my babies who have time, please come cheer us on!

I looked at their photos.

I kept scrolling through my phone's album, and finally I reached the record of the day Harry proposed to me.

The backdrop was somebody else's wedding.

I'd caught the bouquet at a friend's wedding, and Harry had gone with the moment and proposed to me right there.

We didn't even have a ring back then. We used pull-tabs off soda cans instead.

The photographer hired for my friend's wedding was good at his job, so we ended up with two respectable pictures.

But next to a real bridal shoot, they looked crude, like two kids playing house.

I kept firing messages at Harry.

You're married, and you can still throw a wedding with someone else. You've really got some nerve.

If you want to have one, divorce me first.

Harry, what exactly do I even count as to you

He didn't answer a single one.

After the fight that day, he threw all caution to the wind and paraded his romance with Phoebe Fox all over social media, hiding nothing.

Every topic on every platform was about the two of them, and the gossip accounts kept lining up, one after another, to feast on the traffic.

On the day of Harry and Phoebe's reception, one video that took a different angle cut straight through the noise.

Does nobody feel bad for the first wife of this "brother-in-law"?

A lot of people caught on, late.

Oh. So it turned out there was a first wife in this story.

My name, along with Harry and Phoebe's wedding, climbed the trending list one after another.

Overnight, opinion flipped, and Phoebe was met with a flood of abuse.

They called her scheming. They called her a homewrecker who knew exactly what she was doing.

And I knew none of it.

I hadn't slept for days, and while I was resting at home with my eyes closed, Harry came storming in, enraged, and hauled me up.

He slammed me hard onto the floor and gripped my face, squeezing like he meant to crush the bones.

"Libby, was it you who leaked all of it?"

"How can you be this vicious? Do you know Phoebe collapsed on the spot when she saw the news, she was so upset?"

"She's in the hospital fighting for her life right now. Happy now?"

From his scattered words, I more or less pieced together what had happened.

I just couldn't believe it.

Couldn't believe the trust between us was this thin.

Phoebe had only been with him for two years.

We'd been together five, married three.

And in the end, she was his idealized love.

I was the one who'd swallowed every hardship at his side, and I was the one who was vicious to the core.

It was too absurd.

The heart that had gone numb these past few days started to beat again.

Faster and faster, more and more painful, like it wanted to burst out of my chest.

"Enough, Harry!"

I heard myself scream, hysterical.

"I told you and told you I wanted a divorce, and you're the one who wouldn't agree!"

"We've been married three years. I came all this way to help you build a business, slept in a basement with you, lived on scraps with you."

"And in the end you were thinking about your ex the whole time, and the second she cries you go scrambling right back to her!"

"So tell me, what exactly am I, to be treated by you like this?"

I had never blown up at Harry like this before.

His reason came flooding back, and he looked lost.

"Libby, I"

"Don't say anything. Divorce! Whatever the two of you do from now on has nothing to do with me!"

The area under my nose was wet. I kept wiping at it with my hand, and no matter what I couldn't get it clean.

Then Harry looked at me, terror all over his face.

"Libby, what's wrong with you?"

A streak of vivid red slid into my vision.

Only then did I realize my hand was smeared with blood.

Something was dripping from the tip of my nose, drop after drop onto the floor, carrying a thick, rusty smell.

The room spun.

I saw Harry lunge forward to catch me.

The next second, I blacked out completely.

Scars of the Past

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:55:36 +0800

Thank you for letting him go.

Camilla raised her glass across the reunion table, sweet as anything, and the whole room turned to look.

On her wrist, catching the candlelight, sat the Fenwick heirloom bracelet.

The one that used to be mine.

Really, she said, the dimple deepening. If you hadn't walked away six years ago, I'd never have gotten to be the future Mrs. Fenwick.

Cassius sat beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders. He didn't look at me.

"It's all in the past," he said. Cold. Even.

The whole table leaned in, waiting for my face to break.

I slid my hand over my wrist, over the scar not one of them would ever see, and I made my mouth curve.

"Right," I said. "The two of us. We've been nothing to each other for a long time."

Chapter 1

"So she's the one who ended it, right? Evangeline?"

The second Camilla left for the restroom, the whispers started.

Six years since the breakup. First time I'd laid eyes on him since.

I only came because the reunion organizer swore up and down that Cassius Fenwick wasn't going to show.

And there he was, across the table. Half a smile on his mouth, nothing behind his eyes.

Everyone knows the name now. Youngest self-made CEO in the city, Ivy degree, back from overseas with an empire trailing after him. The watch on his wrist cost more than most people in that room made in a year.

They all leaned toward him like plants toward the sun.

Then there was me. My coat sleeve had gone thin at the cuff. I kept my hands in my lap.

"It was her call," Cassius said, easy, answering the question the table was too polite to put to him directly. "She ended it."

The rest they filled in themselves. Gold digger. Couldn't hack the lean years. Bet on the wrong man and lost the whole table.

"Hey, Evangeline. That guy you took up with after me leaving. Didn't he end up inside?" Someone smirked over the rim of a glass. "Heard you covered his debts, too. That why you showed up tonight? Shaking the tree for cash?"

I smiled and said nothing.

Across from me, Cassius watched. Quiet, dark, not blinking. He didn't say one word in my defense.

He didn't need to. The silence was doing plenty.

The door opened and Camilla came back, read the air, and laughed.

"What did I miss?"

Just like that, he moved. His hand found hers, warm, easy. "Nothing. Old friends catching up."

She settled in, her eyes on me, and let the dimple show.

"Cass has told me all about you," she said. "If you hadn't let go back then, you'd be the one wearing the Fenwick name."

Half the table lit up at that. There's a particular joy people save for watching someone fall.

They remembered what I used to be. Back when the Winslows owned half this city and I never walked into a room I didn't own.

Envy like that doesn't burn off with time. It just waits. Years later it comes back as a reason to kick you while you're already down.

"It's all in the past." Cassius again, cold enough to shut the subject.

The table let it drop. You don't push a man like that.

Camilla lifted her glass to me anyway.

"Thank you. For stepping aside." Sweet. Loud enough for everyone. "You have to come to the wedding."

I pressed my hand over the scar on my wrist.

"Congratulations," I said. Nothing more.

"Why didn't you just tell him the truth?"

Frankie was livid on my behalf, loud through the phone.

The reunion had let out early. I stood in the wind with my coat wrapped tight and breathed a cloud of white into the dark.

"He has someone," I said.

A beat of silence on her end.

"Someone."

"A fiance."

Down the street the others peeled off in twos and threes, laughing, and the streetlights broke across the snow like shattered glass.

"You finally got to see him. After everything. After how hard you"

"Frankie." I closed my eyes. "Nobody waits in the same spot forever."

Some things, if you don't say them in the moment, saying them later only turns your stomach. There's no point to it.

The wind stung my eyes until they watered.

I'd clawed my way out of the mud for years just to stand in front of him one time with my head up. Do it clean. Do it right.

I was six years too late.

"I'm done."

Chapter 2

Below freezing, my booked cab stuck in a queue that wouldn't move, my hands stiff inside two minutes.

Heels clicked behind me. Then that soft, sweet voice.

"Cass. Look at the snow. Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It's cold out. Wait in the car. I'll be a minute." His voice. You'd know it anywhere.

"Don't be long."

She passed close on her way by. Slowed just enough to turn her wrist toward me, so the bracelet caught the light.

His grandmother's. The Fenwick heirloom.

It used to sit on my wrist. When we ended things, I had someone carry it back to him.

Six years, and it had found a new wrist. So had he.

So she wasn't just the girlfriend. She was the fiance.

Then the lot emptied out and it was only the two of us. My cab still hadn't come.

He stood behind me and said nothing. Two shadows overlapping under the streetlight.

My mind slid back six years, to the night we broke up. He'd wrecked his car racing to reach me.

His brother had called, voice like a blade.

"Cass is in the hospital."

"Is his life in danger?"

"Oh, so otherwise you wouldn't come." A pause, shaking with it. "Do you have any idea what that man has given up for you? You couldn't pay it back in three lifetimes. And you just forget all of it?"

He was one breath from calling me an ungrateful bitch to my face.

He wasn't wrong, from where he stood. I was the one who threw Cassius away. Of course they hated me.

"How much do you owe?"

Cassius pulled me out of the memory. Flat. Cold.

"None of your business."

I dragged in a breath of freezing air. It caught in my throat, still raw from the wine, and I doubled over coughing.

The cold sliced down my windpipe. I gripped the streetlight and shook, eyes streaming.

He watched me do it. Didn't move.

A cab rolled up. The driver leaned across the seat. "Kingsley Court, right?"

"Yes."

I braced on my knees, got myself upright, reached for the door. A hand closed around my arm and hauled me back.

I hit his chest before I could stop myself.

"What are you going out there for?"

Kingsley Court. Old money behind gated walls. They don't let just anyone through.

I shoved at him. He caught my wrist and turned it in his grip.

His skin was burning. The heat of it landed somewhere under my ribs and stayed. His thumb sat over my pulse, and I knew he could feel how fast it was going, and I couldn't make it slow.

I pulled twice. Didn't come free. My head tipped back to a face I couldn't read.

"Was there something you wanted, Mr. Fenwick?"

His mouth went flat. Black eyes, deep and still, giving me nothing.

The wind tore my hair loose across my face.

I said his thought out loud for him. "You're like the rest of them. You think the money I make is dirty."

"Fifty grand a month." He cut me off, cold.

"Excuse me?"

Something contemptuous surfaced in his eyes. "You needed cash, didn't you. Fifty. A hundred. Name the number it takes to get you."

Chapter 3

My hand came up before I'd decided to swing it.

The crack of it split the cold night open.

Five clean fingerprints bloomed across Cassius Fenwick's face.

Somewhere behind us a woman shrieked and shoved the car door open.

"Live your life," I told him. "And keep your hands where they belong."

I left him standing there and got in the cab.

"You hit him?"

Frankie pressed a mug of hot water into my hands.

"He offered to keep me." I curled into the corner of the couch and rode out another wave of cramp twisting through my stomach, sipping slow.

A minute later I bolted for the bathroom and brought it all back up.

Frankie rubbed my back. "Bad stomach and you're out drinking anyway."

I caught my breath and wiped my mouth. My throat burned the whole way down.

"All these years you've carried him," she said. "Was it worth it?"

Fourteen years of loving one person. And he'd handed my seat at the table to someone else and thanked me for it.

I looked at the girl in the mirror. Wet lashes, black hair stuck to a pale forehead.

Her voice came at me from somewhere far away. "If you hadn't cut him loose, he wouldn't have any of this today"

I thought about the fiance instead.

She had a brightness on her that I'd lost somewhere. A long time ago, I think I used to look like that too.

Then I fell, hard. And by the time I clawed my way up out of the ditch, everything had changed.

Frankie finished her shift at Kingsley Court and we walked home to the rental hand in hand.

My phone rang. His brother.

"Evangeline. If money's tight, I can find you work."

I said nothing and waited for the rest of it.

"They're getting married next month. Camilla's a good girl. Good family, too. You"

"I won't bother him again," I said. "You have my word."

He went quiet, then tried to explain anyway. "We just want him to have a good life."

"Sure."

Every friend I'd had back then. Every last one of them, standing on his side.

The call ended. Frankie's eyes had gone red. "They don't understand anything."

"It doesn't matter."

I was going to be in the city a while, so I took a job near the rental.

In the interview, the HR woman gave me a careful look. "You've had depression?"

"That was a long time ago. I'm well now. I have a letter from my doctor."

Two other companies had run their background checks and dropped me for the same reason.

This one was small. The offer came that same night.

I told myself the reunion had been the last time Cassius and I would ever cross paths.

Three days later he dropped into the company out of nowhere and became my boss.

And my desk got moved. Right outside his office door.

"I decline," I said.

"Fine." He didn't look up. Flat as ice. "Leave your resignation with HR."

I laughed at the sheer nerve of it. "You'd fire me over a desk?"

His pen stopped. He finally lowered himself to look at me.

"I gave you a choice, that's all. Or do you think I want something from you?"

The words stuck. I thought about Frankie the night before, arguing herself hoarse over a little rent money. I made my mouth smile. "You're a man of great principle, Mr. Fenwick. Nothing for me to be afraid of."

He gave a small nod. "Thanks. Shut the door on your way out. And turn your chair around. I don't want to see your face."

After that, we barely crossed paths at all.

But my chair stayed exactly where he'd put it. Backed to him, three feet from his door.

He said he didn't want to see my face.

He just kept it that close. And once, when I glanced up, his eyes were already on the back of my head, and they cut away the second mine moved.

Chapter 4

A week later the company threw a team dinner.

I was the new hire, so they poured and poured until I lost count.

"Come on, Winslow, drink up. Or it comes out of your paycheck."

"Relax, if you pass out we'll get you home. We're all girls here. What's the harm?"

The manager laughed and kept the glasses coming, and with the whole table egging me on I threw back the last one of the night and went down against the tabletop.

After that, nothing.

I woke in a wide bed.

Sunlight bright enough to blind. I pushed upright and the blanket slid off me. A soft hotel robe underneath.

I sat there a second. Then I got up and walked out.

Cassius was in the open living room, one leg crossed over the other, reading the morning paper. The same hotel robe.

He glanced up. "You're awake. Breakfast's on the table. Eat, then get some more sleep."

Cold went through me, head to heel. "Did we"

He tossed the paper onto the coffee table and drew his collar open just enough to show the mark on his throat.

"Unfortunately," he said, "last night was your idea."

The floor dropped out from under me. Where last night should have been, there was nothing at all.

"That's not possible."

He laid a contract in front of me. My thumbprint was pressed into the bottom of the page.

I read enough to get the shape of it. I would be his mistress. He would pay me a hundred thousand a month.

I stared at my own print on the page, and my hand started to shake.

"There's no way I put that there"

"No?" A soft laugh. "You sure?"

He watched me, calm and certain, and I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

He ignored how lost I looked and produced a small voice recorder. "I happened to catch your little monologue last night. Want to hear the ugly things running around inside your head, Miss Winslow?"

The chill went through me like I'd been dropped into a frozen lake.

Shame came up so fast the room tilted. My nails bit into my palms, knuckles white.

Thoughts like that were filthy enough kept buried. Spoken out loud, logged as evidence, they made me into something criminal.

Cassius kept his eyes low, unreadable. "Lusting after a taken man. Tsk." He turned the recorder over in his fingers. "How about I let them all hear it, Evangeline?"

"Is this you getting your revenge?"

"Yes." He said it like it cost him nothing. "You didn't care whether I lived or died back then. Why would I make things easy for you now?"

The clock in the corner ticked. My own pulse came up under it, knocking at my eardrums.

"Two choices." He laid them down like line items. "Honor the contract. Or the recording goes public."

My lips had cracked dry. I lifted my head.

"Then let it go public."

Under that cold, flat stare, I heard the words leave me, level and numb. "I'm not going to be the other woman, Cassius."

He studied me. Then he smiled.

"And who exactly do you think you are?"

"Do you even have a choice left?"

Chapter 5

Frankie called, her voice scraped thin. "Evangeline. They want fifty thousand."

The sky hung gray. No sun anywhere in it.

She'd spent everything she had getting me treated. There was nothing left saved. My own account was almost as thin.

"They said if you don't pay, they'll drag your whole story into the open. And your mom's ashes, her things. They won't tell you where any of it is."

"I'll take an advance on my salary. Borrow the rest. I should have it together by next month."

"Okay."

I sat with the phone a while. Then I pressed a number I'd been circling for days.

It rang a long time before it picked up.

"Miss Winslow. Is something wrong?"

I breathed out a cloud of fog. "Dr. Brooks. I'm sorry to bother you. I"

He sounded busy. He moved through somewhere loud, then somewhere quieter, and asked, patient, "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

I pulled in a breath. "Could you lend me forty thousand?"

First time in my life I'd ever asked anyone for money. The second it left my mouth my whole body went up like it was on fire.

Noise broke out on his end. "Dr. Brooks, we've got an emergency surgery."

"On my way."

I hadn't let myself hope for much. I was braced for him to just hang up.

At the last second, Everett said, short: "Send me the account number. It'll be in by end of day."

The line went dead.

The sky was still gray.

The cold dial tone had gone warm against my ear. I stared at the phone until my eyes stung.

That evening the manager rapped his knuckles on my desk. "Client dinner tonight. You're coming."

A few hours before, I'd taken that month's advance off him. With the loan and the little I'd saved, I had the fifty thousand. Barely.

I walked into the private room. And there he was. Cassius.

That tall frame, working the table like it cost him nothing. Chandelier light carved out the clean line of his profile.

The manager nudged me forward, and every eye in the room swung to me.

"Mr. Fenwick, one of yours?"

Cassius gave me a lazy glance. "New hire," he said, smiling.

"Since when does a new hire get walked in by Mr. Fenwick himself? Pretty little thing, too."

Everyone sat. The manager put me right next to Cassius and dropped his voice. "Be sharp tonight. Take the drinks when they need taking."

Someone asked, delicately, "Mr. Fenwick, this new employee of yours. Can she drink, or can't she?"

Before Cassius could answer, the manager jumped in. "She can, she can."

He pushed a glass in front of me. "Start us off."

Cassius said nothing, just tapped one finger against the table, smiling.

I lifted the glass, held my breath, and drained it.

The liquor tore down my throat and lit a line of fire all the way into my stomach, where it churned and screamed.

They cheered and reached for the next one. Cassius cut in and turned the subject, and the room rolled on, loud and warm. People kept trying to toast him. He waved them off, said his stomach was bad, didn't touch a drop.

Every glass got funneled, one way or another, into me.

When I couldn't take another, I made it to the restroom.

I ran the tap and heaved over the sink, dry and endless, my hair coming loose and slipping into the basin until it hung soaked.

I texted Frankie, and then there was nothing left in me. I folded down over the counter, head bowed, breathing hard with my eyes shut.

Footsteps came down the hall. Unhurried.

Chapter 6

The door opened.

I thought it was some woman coming to use the restroom.

Then Cassius's voice, level. "That's you done already?"

I gathered what strength I had, pushed myself up, and swayed past him toward the door.

He caught my arm and hauled me back.

A big hand settled over the back of my neck. Burning hot.

"Let go of me." Stomach acid had scorched my throat raw. Every word came with its own small pain.

He steered me to the mirror without effort, turned me to face it, and tipped my chin up. Cold smile. "Take a good look at yourself. You want to walk out there like this, with people around who'd love the excuse?"

The girl in the mirror had wet eyes, two flushed cheeks, hair straggling at her ears, collar fallen open.

His gaze moved over me through the glass, deep and unhurried, and my skin crawled under it.

I shut my eyes, shaking a little. "And who in this room has more of an excuse than you?"

He gave a low laugh and kissed the shell of my ear. "Come home with me tonight. Say yes."

"Go to h"

He caught the word in my mouth and pressed it back down, pulling the air out of my lungs.

The alcohol had my blood moving wrong, too hot, slamming through me. The light smeared into one blur. Every place he touched landed like acid on the raw spot behind my ribs.

A cold sweat broke over me. I hit at him with nothing behind it.

It was like being dragged back into those years. Looking out at a bright, gaudy world I didn't fit into anymore.

"Cassius. Please. Let me go."

I was falling without a sound, straight down, and I hit the bottom of the well hard.

It probably hurt.

I just couldn't feel it anymore.

"Evangeline!"

He was calling my name.

And the look in his eyes wasn't the one that wanted me dead anymore.

He'd panicked

My Roommate is a Billionaire

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:52:39 +0800

For three months, I thought my roommate was a soft little sweetheart.

Then she showed up at my door as a six-foot-three man holding a shopping bag the size of a toddler.

Is this enough? he said. I can grab more.

The bag was full of period pads.

Let me rewind.

Me: [Babe, there's braised beef in the fridge. Saved you a plate.]

Summer: [thanks.]

Me: [Babe, scarves were buy-one-get-one. One's yours.]

Summer: [okay.]

I babied her for weeks. She answered in three words or less, always with that little trailing dot-dot-dot, like she was swallowing something she couldn't quite say.

I thought it was shyness.

I thought she was a girl.

Then came the day my body declared war, and I texted the only person home.

Me: [BABE HELP do you have any overnight pads???]

Ten minutes later, someone knocked.

Not a sweet girl.

A man. Tall enough to fill the doorframe, cheekbones you could get hurt on, cheeks flushed pink like he'd run the whole way.

Holding my pads.

So somebody explain this to me.

How does a soft little roommate named Summer turn into a six-foot-three man?

Chapter 1

My last roommate was a biohazard in gym socks.

He left fruit in the fridge until it turned to soup and never cleaned it up. He piled sweaty socks in the bathroom sink and vanished into his room to game. We fought every other day.

So when he finally moved out, I begged my landlord for a girl this time.

She said yes on the spot.

A few days later, my new roommate added me. Her name was Summer. Her profile picture was a Samoyed grinning with its head tilted. Her one and only post was the same dog, flopped in the grass, tongue out, not a care in the world.

My heart melted on contact.

Nobody who loves a Samoyed that much could be a bad person. That's just science.

Everything after that checked out. Before she'd even moved in, she texted me.

Summer: [Hi. I'll be moving in Wednesday, sometime between 10 and 1. If I disturb you at all, please let me know.]

Now, me? Manners: questionable. I match whatever energy you give me. She was so polite it flipped a switch, and I went full golden retriever.

Me: [no worries babe!! I'll be at work, place is all yours, move in however you want!]

Summer: [okay. thank you.]

I didn't think much about the dots. Went back to work.

The day she moved in, the apartment didn't get messier. It got cleaner.

The crystal chandelier, dusted spotless. The one dead bulb, replaced. A new enamel vase in the corner, a loose spray of flowers in it, throwing scent every time the evening breeze came through.

The whole place looked warm. Lit from the inside.

Didn't even have to guess who'd done it.

Last time a roommate moved in, the living room was a crime scene of footprints and drywall dust, the rug wrecked, and take a wild guess who mopped. Me.

How was this one an actual angel?

I'd clearly been racking up good karma. The universe was finally cutting me a check.

I floated toward my room and found a gift box outside my door. A sticky note on top, handwriting clean and gorgeous.

[Hi. Happy to be your roommate. A little something to say so. Hope we get along. Signed, Summer.]

Inside was a candle. Sweet, long scent, like warm caramel.

I almost knocked to thank her in person, then clocked the time. Almost eleven, and I'd worked late. She was probably asleep.

So I texted.

Me: [BABE!! thank you for the gift.]

Me: [I LOVE this scent!! mwah mwah mwah]

Me: [here's to living together!]

A few minutes later:

Summer: [glad you like it.]

She wasn't done, though. The little "typing" popped up at the top of the screen.

And stayed.

For ten straight minutes it sat there, pulsing, while she typed and deleted, typed and deleted.

What could possibly be that hard to say?

I showered. When I came out, one new message was waiting. Sent three minutes ago.

Summer: [Small correction. We're not living together. We're roommates.]

Chapter 2

Our team finally wrapped a monster project, and the boss waved us off for a day.

So I bought out the grocery store and rolled up my sleeves to cook myself a feast.

Her Highness will now be served braised short ribs.

Her Highness will now be served a seafood tower.

Her Highness will now be served okay. I overdid it. Obviously.

I stood there staring at a table built for six, did the math, and boxed up half for Summer.

She was always gone before dawn, back after dark, never touched the kitchen. Probably lived on takeout. Tragic.

I sealed the good stuff in a container and texted her.

Me: [babe! made way too much food, saved you half. come taste my genius]

Summer: [thank you.]

Me: [also!! work handed out a whole crate of mangoes and I cannot finish them. help me out here]

Summer: [okay. thank you.]

I put the phone down and demolished my dinner.

An hour later, stuffed and glowing, my screen lit up.

Summer: [This might be out of line, but I have to ask. Do you call everyone babe?]

I typed back instantly.

Me: [of course not!! I only call people I like babe. I like you a lot. so you're my babe!]

Summer: [You've never seen my face. And you already like me?]

Me: [obviously! don't question my read on people!]

Summer: [Okay.]

Me: [wait. do you not like being called babe? say the word and I'll stop.]

Typing

Ten full minutes of it.

Summer: [It's fine. You can call me that.]

Me: [mwah mwah mwah]

My best friend's online shop went under and mailed me two giant boxes of dead stock.

Lace. Cat ears. Bunny tails.

Waste not, want not. I washed all of it.

Back when my roommate was a guy, my underwear had to dry in my own little room, door shut. Not anymore. My roommate was a girl now, same as me, so I hung everything out on the balcony without a second thought.

That day I was stuck late again, in a meeting that dragged into the void.

Making coffee, I caught the flash-flood alert on my phone.

And remembered.

My laundry. On the balcony.

Me: [BABE!! 911!! are you home??]

Summer: [Yes. What's wrong?]

Me: [it's about to pour and I forgot my laundry outside. can you grab it??]

Summer: [No problem.]

Me: [thank you babe you're the BEST]

I set the phone down and got back to it.

One more discussion circle later, I finally checked my phone and found a stack of messages waiting.

Summer, 9:27pm: [You didn't say it was this kind of laundry.]

Summer, 9:28pm: [Are you sure you want me to bring it in?]

Summer, 9:56pm: [You there?]

Summer, 10:46pm: []

Summer, 10:49pm: [Got them in for you.]

Chapter 3

Me: [omg thank you babe!! I was heads-down at work, didn't see my phone, sorrysorry]

I scrolled back up and tried again.

Me: [wait, what's wrong with that kind of laundry? you don't like it?]

Summer: [...]

Me: [more of a classic-cut person?]

Summer: [That's not it.]

Me: [okay so which one's your favorite?]

Summer: [...]

Me: [helloooo??]

Me: [the suspense is killing me]

Me: [ANSWER ME]

Summer: [...the bunny tail one.]

Me: [GOOD taste!! that's my favorite too! I have two sets, want one?]

Summer: [No thanks.]

Me: [oh don't be shy~~]

Summer: [I can't wear it.]

Me: [huh?? you a big size?]

Summer: [...]

Summer: [You could put it that way.]

Me: [UGH so jealous!!!]

Me: [I need to squeeze something. babe's so soft, babe's so good, I work overtime AND I suffer, let me squeeze!!]

Summer: [Don't. We've known each other a month.]

Me: [sorry babe!! I'll never do it again.]

Summer: [That's not what I meant.]

Me: [then what did you mean? once we're close, squeezing's on the table?]

Summer: [...depends.]

Summer was away on a work trip last week.

When she got back, she gave me a pearl necklace. Same as always, a sticky note on the box, that flowing, gorgeous handwriting.

[Saw this and thought it'd suit you. Hope you like it. Signed, Summer.]

I know nothing about pearls. I put it on, thrilled, and wore it to work.

I didn't make it past the front desk before the swarm.

"Saltwater pearls, right? Look at that luster. Not one flaw on any of them."

"Cleo, where's this from? Is there a link?"

"My roommate brought it back from a trip," I said. "No link, I don't think."

One of the older girls turned the pearls over in her fingers. "Your roommate's loaded. This is a few grand, easy. Male roommate, or female?"

I touched the pearls and grinned like an idiot.

"Female. And she's the best. Total clean freak, does basically all the cleaning, there's not a single hair on the floor. And every time she travels she brings me something back. I'm telling you, I hit the jackpot."

The desk dissolved into pearl talk.

I slipped out my phone and texted her on the sly.

Me: [babe! miss you miss you miss you!]

Summer: [What's up?]

Me: [nothing. just really glad you exist. ugh.]

Summer: [Mm. When are you back?]

Me: [no idea. looks like another late one.]

Summer: [Okay.]

Me: [did you need something?]

Summer: [No.]

Me: [dead on my feet over here]

Summer: [The landlord redid the bathroom. There's a bathtub now. Text me when you're off and I'll run it for you.]

Me: [WHAT!!!! the landlord is the BEST!!!! how did she know I wanted a tub!!!! I only ever said it to my cactus!!!]

Summer: [Who knows.]

Chapter 4

Me: [oh babe, can you grab the bunny tail one for me? third drawer in the closet.]

Summer: [You're going to wear it?]

Me: [yep yep.]

Summer: [...for who?]

Summer unsent a message.

Summer: [Sorry. That was out of line. It's your business, I shouldn't have asked.]

Me: [babe you are NOT allowed to apologize! we don't need to be careful with each other!! not for anyone, I just like looking at myself, hehe.]

Summer: [Just for yourself?]

Me: [hehehe, wanna see? my body is gorgeous. I own the single most beautiful body on the planet, actually.]

Summer: [I believe it.]

Summer: [I'll pass for now, though.]

Me: [next time then! I'm a museum-grade masterpiece, thank you.]

Summer: [Head home early, Miss Masterpiece.]

End of the month. The weather turned.

I passed a mall and found scarves, two for thirty percent off.

So I bought two, obviously. One for me, one for Summer.

Sisters against the world. When we're old and gray we'll wear our matching pink polka-dot scarves to take cute-old-lady photos at tourist traps.

Summer wasn't home yet when I got back, so I looped one scarf over her bedroom door handle and texted her.

Me: [babe, got us two scarves, one's yours, WEAR IT ok? matching set, we'll be adorable~~]

Summer: [...you mean like a matching-couples thing?]

Summer: [why aren't you answering]

Summer: [am I reading too much into this]

Summer unsent a message.

Summer: [Thanks.]

Me: [babe what'd you unsend?? I was washing my hands.]

Summer: [Nothing.]

Me: [okay!! wear it though!! pink's gonna look amazing on you!]

Summer: [Okay.]

I'd been extremely online lately, posting nonsense.

Me: [PSA: say sorry, please, and thank you more often. It strengthens your relationships. Example: sorry, please buy me dinner, thank you.]

The comments rolled in.

Commenter: [You can scam my feelings. Just not my money.]

Commenter: [Love being friends with you. Real "lose the cash and the dignity" energy.]

Commenter: [Socializing with humans is hard. Lucky for me you barely qualify.]

I laughed into my phone for a while, then got back to work.

A bit later, I noticed Summer had commented too.

Shocking. I didn't think she ever looked at my posts.

I opened the notification. She'd written:

Summer: [I'd like to take you to dinner. Is that okay?]

Oh, it was okay. It was extremely okay.

Good food plus a gorgeous girl. That dinner was going to be beautiful times two. Beautiful enough to fizz.

We locked in Saturday night, and I had nowhere to put all the happy-excited energy, so I posted again.

Me: [poll: do you like orange juice, watermelon juice, or a little snack like me?]

Summer commented right away.

Summer: [I don't like orange juice. And I don't like watermelon juice.]

Straight to the heart.

Fireworks behind my eyes.

Chapter 5

I clutched my phone and let out a shriek at my desk.

The coworker next to me nearly jumped out of her skin. "Cleo? What?"

I pressed my palms together like I was praying. "So. I think I'm having a sexuality crisis."

"What makes you say that?"

"I think I have a crush. On a girl."

She nodded, sage. "Women are perfect. This is known."

"Right? Without women the earth would stop spinning."

"The crush isn't me, is it?"

"No. My roommate."

"Cool. Go write your report."

"hehehehehehe."

It was Friday.

Normally it was either me working late or Summer working late. Our hours never lined up. We were never home at the same time.

But.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I was finally going to meet her.

I tried on outfits, shoes, necklaces, buzzing out of my skin.

And then it hit.

My lower belly twisted like a knife.

A hot rush, and I bolted for the bathroom.

A streak of red on the toilet.

Yep. Right on schedule.

I opened my supply drawer, dead inside, reaching for an overnight pad, and found none. I'd used the last one.

Great. Karma for that flex video last month, the one that made me spite-wear an overnight pad on the final light day. Payback had arrived.

But it was fine. I had my darling roommate.

Me: [BABE HELP do you have any overnight pads??]

Summer: [What are those?]

Me: [huh? you've never used overnight pads? do you just wear the extra-long overnight ones? those are the worst, you leak in your sleep.]

Summer: [...]

Summer: [I don't wear the extra-long overnight ones.]

Summer: [So you mean sanitary pads?]

Me: [yes... barely hanging on here]

Me: [it HURTS I'm dying I'm actually dying, I'm gonna blow up the planet and take everyone down with me]

Summer: [Don't die.]

Summer: [I'm coming right back.]

The front door opened, then shut.

Summer didn't come.

Weird. I texted her.

Me: [babe, did you go out to buy me pads?]

No reply.

I swallowed an Advil, curled around a stuffed animal on the couch, and doomscrolled through the agony.

Wailing the whole time.

"Advil. What are you DOING in there. Move it.

"Universe. UNIVERSE. If I have ever meant one thing to you, you will make this stop.

"What kind of trash teammate. You can't even jungle, so stop stealing my farm. Go for the kill. Why are you RUNNING"

The door creaked open.

A tall, gorgeous man stood in the doorway, a shopping bag in one hand.

I screamed. "HELP!"

Break-in. Robbery. Murder. HELP.

He stepped forward, and the warm lamplight caught his face.

Deep-set eyes, a high straight nose, cheeks faintly flushed like he'd run the whole way.

He frowned, puzzled.

"What's wrong, Cleo?"

He lifted the bag and pulled something out to show me, voice uncertain.

"Are these the overnight pads you wanted?"

Clatter.

My phone hit the floor.

I scrambled up off the couch and stared at him.

Chapter 6

The Mastermind's Divorce Game

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:47:14 +0800

Come home with me. Or leave in pieces. Pick one.

Glass was still coming down when I said it. The wine bottle had gone to pieces over her head, and the whole room flinched.

I stood in the middle of the private lounge, the broken neck of the bottle still in my hand, and watched my husband decide.

Sinclair Fenwick didn't move.

The trust-fund boys who'd been circling us all night took three slow steps back, out of range, and stayed there.

The woman folded against his side lost every ounce of color. She grabbed his arm, her eyes gone red and glassy, and looked up at him like I wasn't standing right there.

"Sin. I came back," she whispered. "You're not really going home with her. Are you?"

Chapter 1

For a moment the room held nothing but the sound of people breathing.

Sinclair lifted his eyes to me. Just that. Just enough to show me how much I bored him.

The heirs who'd been standing in a loose ring edged backward, out of splashing distance.

I stayed where I was, the bottle steady in my hand, and didn't move an inch.

"Who let the wife in?" he said at last, one corner of his mouth curling.

The color dropped out of the girl beside him like someone had pulled a plug. She looked ready to break.

She caught his arm. Her voice shook.

"Sin. You're going home with her, aren't you?"

I laughed. It came out flat. I dragged a chair over, sat, and put myself at eye level with her.

"Seraphina. While I've still got the patience, walk out on your own."

A single tear slid off her lashes.

"You know who I am. Then you must know"

"I know." I didn't let her finish. "I know you're his first love. He still keeps your photo in his study."

The blush climbed her face right on cue. Her eyes lit, and she tipped her head onto his shoulder.

"Sin, I came back. Divorce her. After all these years, marrying you is still the only thing I've ever wanted." Her voice went soft, and sure of itself. "I know you're not happy. I know how much you've suffered."

Sinclair held his usual flat face, but the vein standing out at his temple gave him away. He raised a hand to stroke her back.

I cut into the tender little moment before it could take root.

"Mr. Fenwick." I smiled at him. "Looks like you'd rather not come home."

"Then you'll have to excuse me."

I brought the bottle down on her head.

The burst of it and the screaming hit the air together.

She stared out white-faced from inside the arms that had thrown themselves around her. Blood and wine ran down Sinclair's forehead in a steady line. He'd taken it for her.

"Sin. Sin, look at me, are you okay?"

She hauled him into a chair, hands scrambling for the napkins on the table, mashing them to his forehead. They soaked through almost faster than she could stack them.

She spun on me, screaming like something had torn loose in her.

"You psycho! Are you trying to kill someone? How did he ever marry a lunatic like you!"

Sinclair steadied himself, wiped the blood out of his eyes, and pulled her back by the wrist.

"Sera. Don't provoke her." Then, gentler: "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Her mouth crumpled. She held out her hand. One glass nick, maybe half an inch, along the side of it.

Sinclair was on his feet at once, careful, cradling her hand in both of his, already steering her toward the door.

"Why didn't you say something? Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

He walked her out with the wine and blood still sliding down his own face.

His eyes never once landed on me.

Chapter 2

I looked down at the hand I'd let hang at my side. Blood slipped off my fingertips one drop at a time, sank into the carpet, and vanished.

I'd been at the Group since morning. A major client to host, and lunch had been two bites of a roll I ate on my feet. I'd counted down to the end of the day, seen the message someone sent me, and come straight here.

Sinclair. I'm tired and I'm starving and I'm hurt too.

The boy who once rubbed his hands raw and came out of it soaked in his own blood to drag me out of the kidnappers' grip. When did he turn into this stranger?

My head went light, then lighter. The room tilted. I caught the edge of the table without meaning to and dropped into a chair.

Behind me, a voice went up.

"Bro. Your wife's hurt too, she looks really bad."

Sinclair's answer drifted back from across the room.

"She's tough. She can handle it herself."

I looked up in time to watch him go. There was nothing unfinished in the line of his back.

Good.

When I pull the net in, at least I won't have to feel guilty.

I turned around. The most notorious rich boys in the city were standing there like schoolkids, every one of them watching me with worry in his eyes.

I smiled and waved a hand. "I'm starving. Look alive."

"On it, Sis!"

Wes moved first. The club belongs to his family, and he's never once been able to sit still. He had the table cleared and fresh plates coming inside of a minute.

I watched them scramble around me, and it could have been fifteen years ago, back when they trailed after Sinclair and me, calling out big brother, big sister.

When did I stop being big sister and turn into the wife?

Since I was five, maybe. The nanny took me. Sinclair, three years older, worked the few scraps she left behind and found me before the police did.

I came to on his thin back. His teeth were clenched, and he carried me out of that awful abandoned warehouse one unsteady step after another. The picture stayed cut into me for the rest of my life.

The elders used to tease him that for the rest of his days, Sinclair would always be Ria's favorite, her one exception.

But later. Later, he found his first love.

I wasn't like her. I lost my mother to that kidnapping, and after it I was raised to the exact specifications of an heir. Everything I did, I did for the empire and for revenge.

Seraphina never raised her voice at him. She never pushed him to read finance journals or learn an eighth language. She cooked for him, sat through lectures she couldn't follow, just to be near him.

Every one of those things she gave him, I could never give.

What my upbringing taught me was how to weigh a gain against a loss.

Then she fought with him. About his money, about how she'd never belong in his world. And she left for the other side of the earth. He didn't go after her.

What he was reaching for was never a secret. He wanted the Fenwicks. He wanted the Whitmores too.

Until he had both houses in his hand, he was never going to give me up for her.

So when Sinclair proposed, I said yes without a second's pause.

He gave me every kind of romance money can buy. I let myself enjoy all of it.

Because I knew, better than anyone:

The Fenwicks. The Whitmores. In the end, both of them are mine.

Everything beautiful his money built, I was only spending a little early.

Chapter 3

I kept my eyes on my plate and ran the plan again, front to back. Fifteen years in the making. I don't leave room for a single crack.

Maybe I'd stayed quiet too long. Wes cracked first. He slapped the table and shot to his feet.

"Sis. You have never once gone soft on a woman sniffing around my brother." His voice climbed. "So why are you rolling over tonight?"

Trust him to grab the one thread I didn't want pulled.

The table went dead silent.

I smiled. "Because it's Seraphina."

First loves cut clean. One stroke, straight to the bone.

I took out my phone. Clean screen. No calls. No messages.

By now, I figured, that little cut of hers had already closed.

Just as I'd called it, Sinclair didn't come home all night.

I sat up in the living room and watched the city go from midnight to seven, quiet the whole way through.

My time had come. I knew it.

When the hour hand hit eight, I was dressed, the shadows under my eyes buried under a heavy coat of foundation, in the back of the car right on time.

What I didn't plan on was finding Seraphina at the office.

She sat in the outer room off Sinclair's office in a brand-new work suit. She saw me pass and popped straight up, smiling, bright as a new coin.

"Morning, Ms. Whitmore."

That smug little curl at the corner of her mouth, set against that soft, harmless face, was hard to look at.

I let my face go cold, called the HR manager over on the spot, and asked him, loud enough for the whole floor, since when we let any stray cat or dog wander into the building.

Seraphina looked like she wanted to sink through the floor. Her face went red, her eyes brimmed, and under the drumbeat of my questions she couldn't get a single word out.

I was angry, and no one alive dares poke me when I'm angry.

I said a few cutting things. Then, out of nowhere, the whole thing tasted like nothing. I waved a hand at the HR manager.

"Let her go. Whatever severance she's owed, pay Ms. Vaughn every cent of it."

The girl who'd kept her eyes meekly down snapped her head up. The tears came loose like a string of pearls cut at the knot.

"Ms. Whitmore, please. I really need this job. Please, don't fire me."

"Your world sits so high above the rest of us. People like me only get to live on what you throw down. Are you going to take even that little from me too?"

The same watered-down poison. I knew the taste.

I lifted my eyes, past her thin shoulder, to the door behind her.

Right on cue, it opened. Sinclair stood in the frame, his face like frost.

"Aurelia. You were born well. That doesn't buy you a license to lean on people."

"This is my assistant. Not yours."

One sentence, and every person in that room knew exactly who ranked where.

He crossed the floor, took Seraphina's hand, swept the room with a look, and said it low and flat.

"As of today, Ms. Vaughn is my executive assistant. Whatever she says, whatever she does, I answer for all of it."

So this was what favorite and exception looked like.

I didn't say a word. I stepped back, twice, turned, and went into my own office.

Near the end of the day, my assistant reminded me: I had a gala with Sinclair that night. Whether the deal I'd chased for half a year closed at all came down to the next few hours.

Chapter 4

I breathed in, and again, and a third time, and talked myself all the way up to steady. I changed into a gown, redid my face, and went to find Sinclair.

I raised my hand to knock. The door opened from the inside.

Seraphina came out in an evening gown, her arm looped through his, the two of them laughing about something.

I went still where I stood.

Early autumn now. A draft came through the window and slid over my bare shoulder. Cold.

Sinclair stopped and gave me one flat, indifferent look.

"Assistant Vaughn can handle events like this with me from now on."

"No need to trouble yourself, Ms. Whitmore."

They stepped around me and walked toward the elevators.

"Sinclair. This is the deal I've worked half a year for."

His voice was already trailing off.

"As of today, it's Assistant Vaughn's."

He did it himself. Signed the deal over to her in person.

The project hadn't even launched before the commission slip in Seraphina's name landed on my desk. I didn't sign it. I sent it back exactly as it came.

She never touched that commission, and it still didn't stop her from becoming the name the whole Group was saying overnight.

Word of her even reached our partners.

That was when Chairman Langford called.

"Ria. What's been keeping you? It's been an age since you came by to see your Uncle Langford."

I smiled. "Uncle Langford, you're the busy one. How'd you find a minute for me?"

He weighed it a long moment before he said it.

"Sinclair took a house off me. A standalone place. The owner on the paperwork is one Seraphina Vaughn." A pause. "She's likely moved in by now."

The teacup in my hand tipped. Tea spread across the desk.

Counting from the first night he didn't come home, Sinclair hadn't been back in twenty-nine days.

The plan had settled. I slept through the nights now.

I carry two family empires on my back. A love story was never going to be the main thread of my life.

Wes and the rest of them came to me more than once, wanting to go to war on my behalf. I held every one of them back.

It was all in hand. I didn't feel wronged, not for one second.

Those kids don't understand yet. Evenly matched is how you last a lifetime, and it's also how you tear each other to pieces. Let time undo the knot that time tied.

Soon it was the Fenwick matriarch's birthday.

I pulled a lot of strings and got hold of something the old woman had wanted for years, a rare piece out of a collection she treasured. I had it wrapped with care, the inscription reading Sinclair and Aurelia Fenwick, husband and wife.

Whatever was rotting underneath, the dignity between old houses stays intact.

I sat in my office a long while before I placed the first call I'd made to Sinclair in a month.

It rang until I'd nearly hung up on myself. Then someone answered.

Seraphina's voice came through, all delicate, with a thread of swagger running under it.

"Ms. Whitmore, just go on your own. Sin already said he's taking me to meet the family elders."

I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the screen. I hadn't misdialed. It was Sinclair's number.

"Put Sinclair on."

She giggled, light and pleased with herself.

"Sorry, Ms. Whitmore. We only just got up. Sin's in the kitchen making my lunch."

I hung up. A message slid onto the screen.

Wes: [Sis. Plan A.]

I looked at it a long time. Then I told my assistant to book me a stylist.

One person. I had a banquet to walk into too.

Chapter 5

Six o'clock sharp, I walked into the Fenwick estate. The elders were all there, and every one of them asked why I'd come home alone.

I brushed it off. Then I turned, saw the Fenwick matriarch, and my eyes went hot.

She'd watched me grow up. Watched me marry into this house. Watched me carve out my own ground here, inch by inch.

I'd lost battles. I had never once let anyone see me flinch.

She'd run boardrooms for forty years. She understood. Not asking was the dignity she left me.

I handed her the gift with both hands. Her eyes dropped to the inscription, to my name set beside Sinclair's, and she let out a slow breath.

Then a stir went through the front hall.

I turned. Sinclair was walking Seraphina in by the hand, shielding her with a care I hadn't seen him spend on anything in years, one careful step at a time.

The faces around the room shifted. The matriarch's went to stone.

The two of them crossed the floor and stopped in front of her.

"Grandmother. This is Seraphina. I brought her to wish you a happy birthday."

The old woman didn't spare her so much as a flick of her eyes. She called, low and cold, for the butler to see the guest out.

Bramwell came over, courteous and remote, and asked Seraphina to leave.

Tears stood in Seraphina's eyes. She looked to Sinclair.

"Sin. I'm sorry. I tried, I really did. But I'll never be able to reach your world." Her voice broke right on cue. "You and Ms. Whitmore should build a good life together. Forget me."

Then she turned and ran for the door, sobbing.

I couldn't help the eye-roll.

The little grifter was really committing to the role now.

Sinclair, though, came apart. He went after her in three quick strides, caught her, and dropped his voice to soothe her.

The matriarch rose.

"You." Her voice cracked across the hall like a whip. "Disgrace."

The room went dead silent.

She crossed to him with her cane and brought it down across his back. Once. Hard.

Sinclair straightened his spine and took it without a sound.

Nobody breathed. Nobody dared.

But someone in that room had no sense at all.

Seraphina threw herself over his back, wrapped her arms around him, and screamed up at the matriarch through her tears.

"What's so wrong with wanting real love? He's your own grandson! One day this whole family is his! What could possibly matter more than him?"

The old woman gave a cold laugh and raised the cane again.

Sinclair threw an arm back, pulled Seraphina in behind the shield of it, and the words tore out of him.

"Grandmother! Seraphina's pregnant!"

Every searching eye in the room swung to my face.

I didn't give them a thing.

Sinclair, though, looked almost relieved. He got to his feet and came to stand in front of me.

"Ria. Let's get a divorce." His voice was reasonable, and gentle, and obscene. "I owe Seraphina. She deserves a name. I have to do right by her."

My father let out a cold snort.

My father-in-law, Chairman Fenwick, came striding over, his hand already lifting to strike his own son.

"Dad."

I stopped him.

I walked to Sinclair, slow, looked him dead in the eyes, and said it one word at a time.

"Sinclair. Say that again."

"I said. We're getting a divorce."

I nodded. And before a single person in that hall could move, my hand was already up.

Crack.

The slap landed across Sinclair's face with everything I had in it.

Chapter 6

"Sinclair. Hear me clearly. The moment we divorce, every asset under the Fenwick and Whitmore names decouples. Immediately."

I turned to my father.

He nodded. "The Whitmore side is yours to run. All of it."

I smiled.

"So, Sinclair. Are you sure you want that divorce?"

Sinclair came apart at the seams, the lock-solid certainty in his eyes gone in a blink. He looked to my father.

"Dad, we can't decouple. The second we do, both houses bleed."

"Every cent I ever made was so Ria could live well. My girl's unhappy? Then the profit can go to hell."

I asked him one more time.

"Are you sure you want the divorce?"

Sinclair looked at Chairman Fenwick, looked at my father, looked at me, and stood there not daring to say a word.

My father snorted, crossed over, and took my hand.

"Fenwick. My child comes home with me."

Then he walked me out, firm, his arm around me. Behind us Chairman Fenwick called after him, over and over. My father didn't turn his head.

We reached the door, and the matriarch's voice carried across the hall.

"Chairman Whitmore. A moment."

"My blood has proven unworthy. Let me give Ria what she is owed."

"The Fenwicks will never recognize the child in that woman's belly."

"Five percent of the shares under my name, I give to Ria. No conditions. Whether she stays in this family or divorces him, it stands."

A dull thud. Seraphina dropped to the floor.

Sinclair didn't reach out to catch her.

She'd burned her whole life down for him. He didn't even look down.

In the back of the car, my father held me, his eyes rimmed red with the hurt of it

Pregnant with His Heir, Broke by His Love

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:45:13 +0800

The day I reached six months carrying the Vitale heir, my father was diagnosed with kidney failure.

The doctor said if we wanted to keep him breathing, we needed three hundred thousand dollars first.

I stood in the corridor clutching the payment slip, and I hesitated a long while before I finally dialed Lorenzo Vitale's number.

"Lorenzo, could you front me three hundred thousand for now?"

"My father's sick. The doctor says every day we wait, it gets more dangerous."

There was impatience in Lorenzo's voice, the kind a man uses on a debtor who's already borrowed too deep.

"Francesca Rizzo, that family of yours is a bottomless pit."

"Marrying into the Vitale name was the luckiest thing that ever happened to any of you."

"Don't think that because you're carrying my blood, you can put your hand out for whatever you please."

I gripped the slip tighter, my voice trembling.

"I'll pay it back someday"

Lorenzo let out a cold laugh.

"You're a wife who sits in my house growing a baby. What exactly are you going to pay me back with?"

"You married up so you could skim tribute off my name and prop up your father's house. Life doesn't settle its debts that neatly."

Then a girl's sugary voice came through from his end of the line.

"Lorenzo, thank you for the collar you bought Lucky. Four hundred grand? That's far too extravagant!"

Lorenzo's tone went soft in an instant. "As long as it pleases you."

I stood frozen where I was, a bitter ache spreading through my chest.

At the door of the hospital room, my mother grabbed my arm, her eyes red, her fingers already worrying the worn hem of her sleeve. "Francesca, let it go. Lorenzo works hard for what he has too."

My father's voice was hoarse. His hand rose to straighten the collar of his hospital gown, as though even here, even dying, he refused to let the sickness show in how he held himself.

"I won't take the treatment. Don't bow your head in that family for my sake."

I looked at the gray creeping into their hair, and all at once I felt how horribly wrong I'd been.

They hadn't raised me so I could stand here with a swollen belly, begging tribute from the men who owned me.

And certainly not so they'd be disgraced right along with me, under the eyes of witnesses.

I took the payment slip back and steadied them both.

"Pap, Mamma, this illness, we're treating it."

"From this day, we don't beg anyone for anything."

When I pushed open the study door with the dissolution papers I'd drawn up, Lorenzo was seated at the desk with headphones on.

What was on the screen wasn't the ledgers of the Family.

It was a horror movie.

In the little window in the bottom corner, a girl sat curled on a couch hugging a throw pillow, her eyes rimmed red.

The moment the door swung open, a scream came from his end of the call.

"Lorenzo!"

He tore off the headphones at once, and the tenderness on his face vanished completely the instant he saw me.

He frowned, his voice turning cold.

"Francesca, are you never going to let this go?"

"You followed me all the way to the study, interrupted my work, over three hundred thousand?"

I stood in the doorway, my fingers curling tighter and tighter.

So this was his work.

He'd told me the Family was busy, deals piling up, that he didn't want to disturb my rest, which was why he slept in the study so often.

I'd believed every word.

I was so afraid of wearing him thin that I didn't dare wake him even when my legs cramped in the dark.

Afraid of annoying him, I'd brace myself against the wall and make it to the bathroom alone, even when the sickness left my stomach burning with acid.

But it turned out, all those nights I thought he was awake handling the business of the bloodline,

he was watching movies with another woman, soothing her little fears, listening to her coo.

Something seemed to lodge in my throat, and it was a long moment before I held out the document in my hand.

"Take a look."

Lorenzo didn't even lift his head.

"Just give the reimbursement slip to Carmela Greco."

"She'll transfer this month's household allowance to you."

Watching him take it all for granted, the way a Don takes the loyalty of men who fear him, I suddenly found it absurd.

I slammed the papers down on the desk with all the strength I had and said:

"This is a dissolution of the union."

"Lorenzo, we're finished."

"I paid the down payment on this house. I want my share of that money back."

For a moment, Lorenzo's face went blank.

But he quickly lowered his head and cracked one knuckle of his right hand, slow, deliberate, and said:

"Fine. You can go now."

I bit my lip, still wanting to say something, but he clicked his tongue, impatient. The signet ring on his hand caught the low light as he waved me off.

"If you've got anything else, say it all now."

I shook my head in silence and turned to go.

The instant the heavy door closed behind me, I heard a girl's bright voice come through his phone.

"Your wife's asking for a dissolution! Aren't you going to go smooth things over?"

Lorenzo answered flatly.

"I wouldn't lend her the tribute, so she's sulking. That's all."

"She won't actually walk away from the Vitale name."

I stood outside the door, and a cold settled over my chest.

From the day I got pregnant, Lorenzo had made me leave my place in the Family's legal apparatus.

It was only because the doctors said his blood ran thin for children that we'd managed to have this baby at all, and nothing could be allowed to go wrong.

He said he brought in the cash to provide for me and the baby, so I could rest and carry the pregnancy in peace.

I gave it all up, going from the sharpest negotiator the Family had, trained to sit across from consiglieri twice my age and not blink,

to Signora Vitale, who waited inside the walls of the estate every day for her husband to come home.

But I soon learned that "never short on money" never once meant I was allowed to spend it.

When I bought prenatal vitamins, I had to send the receipt to Carmela.

When I ordered a single nightgown, I had to ask Carmela first whether it was appropriate.

When I went to the doctor for checkups, I had to keep even the car fare and wait for it all to be reimbursed against the household ledger at the end of the month.

Once, I only wanted to buy my mother a scarf, and Carmela folded her hands at her waist, lowered her eyes, and reported it straight to Lorenzo.

That night, he sat across the long dining table, the silver set down too deliberately, his tone as flat as if he were correcting a child who didn't know any better.

"Francesca, I pulled you out of the work so you could rest and carry the blood of this bloodline, not so you could learn from those small-minded women who marry into a name and then scheme every way they can to claw cash out of my hands."

I rushed to explain.

"I didn't. That day was my mother's sixtieth birthday. You'd sworn you'd come back with me to sit at her table, but something came up in the district, so I bought a scarf in your place"

Lorenzo's face went cold. He cracked one knuckle of his right hand, slow.

"In my place?"

"Francesca, don't go using my name to buy favor with your old family."

"Today it's a scarf. Tomorrow will you have me buying them a house, a car?"

"Since you carry the Vitale name now, you keep your distance from the blood you came from. Better to cut it clean while you can, before they drag you down into the gutter, and me with you."

That was the first time the thought of dissolution stirred in me.

But the next evening, when Lorenzo came home, he carried an elegant gift box, the kind that passed through the front's finest shops.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice low and rough.

"Francesca, I'm sorry."

"I spoke too harshly last night."

"It's just that I've watched too many women throw themselves at me for what my name can buy."

"Adriana swore on everything that she loved me too, back then, and in the end she left me for a richer protector."

"She made me feel like there's hardly a soul in this world who loves the man and not the money he sits on. So the moment you say the word, I lose my head."

He buried his face against my shoulder, as though he really were worn down to the bone.

The hurt in my heart suddenly turned into aching tenderness for him.

After that, I lived carefully by his rules, trying to prove that what I loved was him, not the fortune the Family sat on.

But later, sorting his coats for the wash, I found a shop's receipt tucked in a breast pocket.

It listed the date Adriana was returning to the country.

It also listed the diamond bracelet he'd given her, worth seven figures of Family tribute.

And under the gift box he'd handed me, pressed beneath the velvet, was a thin promotional card.

Free with any qualifying purchase.

I stood in the laundry room a long time, holding that flimsy little card, my hands going still.

That sincerity I'd been killing myself to prove, in his eyes, had been worth nothing from start to finish.

The second time I thought about dissolution came in that very moment.

That night, my emotions had churned too hard, and in the middle of the night a pain gripped my belly, cold sweat breaking out layer after layer.

Lorenzo tore into the bedroom with the color drained from his face, scooped me up, and ran for the hospital.

The doctor said my condition was dangerous, that the pregnancy needed to be stabilized at once.

Lorenzo stood outside the operating room and, for the first time, lost every shred of the composure that made men lower their eyes when he entered.

"I don't want you to save the baby! Save the mother! Did you hear me?! I said save the mother!!"

When I woke, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes bloodshot, his forearm still wrapped in bandages.

Carmela folded her hands at her waist and lowered her voice to tell me that on the way to the hospital, the car had nearly gone under a delivery truck.

It was Lorenzo who had thrown himself over me to shield me, his arm laid open by the shattered glass. More than a dozen stitches.

And he hadn't waited for the anesthetic to take hold before coming back to the room to watch over me.

I shrank away from the arm reaching for me and asked softly,

"Lorenzo, what exactly do you mean by all of this?"

Lorenzo looked at me with reddened eyes.

"All because of one gift, you're going to put us through all of this. Is that it?"

"Adriana just got back into the country. That gift was nothing more than common courtesy."

"You only saw a seven-figure necklace. You didn't see that every single thing under this roof, all of it, I bought for you and the baby."

"You couldn't sleep, so I had the mattress made to order for you."

"You couldn't stand the smell of oil in the kitchen, so I came home the moment business let me go, to make you soup with my own hands."

"I painted the nursery myself. I built the furniture for our child with these hands."

"I've worked to be a good husband, a good father. I never imagined that in your eyes, none of it could weigh against a single necklace."

He pressed a hand over the wound, looking at me with disappointment.

"Francesca, I can give you so much love. I'd lay down my life for you and the baby without a second's thought."

"But I can't give you money. I won't have money mixed into what we have."

After that, he started a cold war with me.

Whatever I said, he behaved as though the words had never reached him.

Every night he claimed the Family's business kept him late, and he slept behind a separate door.

He even went out of his way to needle me, saying I loved him with my mouth while my heart only counted his money,

just waiting for me to back down, to explain, to apologize.

But with Adriana he grew closer and closer, sitting down to dinners with her, taking her to gallery openings, throwing tribute at her feet to keep her smiling.

Carmela tried to reason with me. She folded her hands and lowered her gaze first, the way she always did before relaying the will of the house.

"Ma'am, the young master is only sulking. He loves you so. The money may never touch your hands, but is a single dollar of it not spent on you and the baby?"

"If I were you, I'd hurry and apologize. Promise never to quarrel with him over money again."

I opened my mouth, but my chest was knotted tight with misery.

I asked myself,

"Francesca, is that necklace truly so important?"

I looked at the floor scattered with the toys he'd carved by hand, at the nursery he'd painted himself,

and for one moment, I truly wavered.

But it was right then that my father was diagnosed with kidney failure.

I set my pride aside and went to Lorenzo, and didn't even dare to call it anything but a loan, a debt I would repay.

Yet all he gave me back was disgust and disappointment.

"Francesca, how can you still be like this?"

In that moment, I finally understood.

What I cared about had never been that one necklace.

It was that Lorenzo's love was an exam I could never pass.

I poured out everything I had to prove my heart was true, and still he found me wanting;

yet Adriana had only to exist, and he'd already marked her perfect.

Now this was the third time I wanted out of the union.

This time, I was going through with it.

I waited for Lorenzo on the living room sofa the whole night.

From dark until first light, the study door stayed shut.

Through that one door, Adriana's laughter drifted out now and then, and Lorenzo's voice, deliberately lowered, coaxing, soothing.

I sat on the sofa, gripping the dissolution papers in my hand, and what had begun as fury slowly drained away, until in the end there was nothing left but numbness. My thumb found the thin gold band on my finger and turned it, once.

Just before dawn, I couldn't hold out any longer and drifted off against the couch in the sitting room, half-conscious under the low tick of the mantel clock.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, someone gently laid a blanket over me.

My eyes snapped open and I grabbed his wrist.

Lorenzo froze mid-motion.

He looked down at me, and for a single instant something panicked flickered in his eyes before his face hardened again into the mask the Vitale name required.

Clutching at his sleeve, I asked hoarsely,

"The dissolution papers. Did you read them?"

Lorenzo's expression went cold in an instant.

"Francesca, are you done making a scene?"

He pulled his hand back, like he'd been holding it in all night and finally couldn't anymore.

"You want to end this union over three hundred thousand dollars?"

I looked at him, and suddenly the whole thing felt so absurd I almost laughed.

"Lorenzo, that money is what's keeping my father alive."

"You're willing to drape a four-hundred-thousand-dollar collar on Adriana's dog, but you won't lend me three hundred thousand to save my father's life?"

Lorenzo's fists clenched, his face dark. His right hand rose, and one by one he cracked the knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"The money is mine. How I spend it is my business. It's none of yours."

I stared at him, numb.

"But don't forget."

"For this marriage, for our child, I gave up my place at the family's table on my own."

"Every year of tribute I earned, my savings from before the wedding, every cent I handed to you."

"You were so afraid I'd married in for the bloodline's claim that you wouldn't even let me live in the house your family kept ready. You insisted we buy our own."

"This home, I bought it myself. I paid the down payment myself."

My voice was cracking, little by little.

"Lorenzo, all I asked was to borrow three hundred thousand."

"After everything I've given you over the years, isn't that more than three hundred thousand already?"

Lorenzo's face was ugly.

But what rose in his eyes wasn't guilt. It was disappointment.

"Francesca, you're tallying up money with me now?"

He looked at me like it pained him to the core.

"I love you so much I'd give up my own life for you and the baby, and now you're counting dollars with me?"

He stepped back half a pace, as if he were finally seeing me clearly.

"Adriana was right after all."

"You married me for the money."

"You never brought it up before because the time wasn't right."

"The second something happens to your father, you start figuring out how to pull cash out of my hands."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped me.

"Think whatever you want."

I pushed the dissolution papers across to him. The paper slid over the polished wood and stopped against his hand.

"I want out. I won't take a single cent of your money. All I want is to sell the house and take back the down payment I paid."

Lorenzo's face turned to ice.

"No. I won't dissolve anything."

"This house is our marital home. You don't get to sell it. My name is on the deed too, and as long as I don't sign, you can't move it. Don't even dream about getting a cent."

I looked at him, and suddenly I didn't even have the strength left to argue.

"Lorenzo, you say you love me."

"And yet you'd stand there and watch my father die."

I said softly,

"Your love. It's terrifying."

Lorenzo pressed his lips into a thin line, as if my words had stung him.

But in the end he only turned and walked toward the study.

"Think it over carefully."

"Kidney failure is a bottomless pit. It'll bleed you dry for the rest of his life."

"You can choose the blood you came from, the ones who'll need you pouring money into them forever, or you can choose me and the baby."

"Francesca, it's your decision."

The study door closed again, and the lock turned with a small, final sound in the quiet house.

Lorenzo seemed to have forgotten that before I became the caged wife of a Don's heir, I had been the sharpest mind in a family's legal apparatus.

And what I was best at was severing unions like this one.

I'd left one last shred of dignity for our marriage, but now he'd torn it away.

Lorenzo's threats meant nothing to me anymore.

I wouldn't choose him.

I dialed the shylock's number.

"Yes. I want the money."

"My house as collateral."

"I don't care what the vig is. I need it today."

The moment the debt cleared, I went straight to the hospital.

I didn't just cover the three hundred thousand.

I paid for every treatment to follow, switched him to the finest medications, hired a private nurse, booked the best single room the ward had.

When they wheeled my father into the room, my mother sat beside the bed, looking like she could finally breathe.

Watching them, worn out and uneasy, I felt a sharp ache in my chest.

If I hadn't married into the Vitale blood.

All of this, I could have done with ease.

It was love that had stripped me down to nothing, one step at a time.

The door flew open with a kick.

Lorenzo stormed in, eyes bloodshot, Adriana Bellini trailing behind him like a shadow that knew exactly where the knife was.

He took in the private room, then the receipt on the table, and his face darkened in an instant.

"Francesca! Adriana told me you were here throwing tribute around, buying up a VIP room, and I didn't believe her."

"I never thought you'd actually have the nerve."

He crossed the room in a few strides, his voice frighteningly cold.

"Where did this money come from?"

My mother shot to her feet in fright, the hem of her sleeve already twisting between her fingers.

"Lorenzo, please, don't be angry."

"We won't stay here. We'll move back to a regular room right away."

"It's our fault for being a burden on Francesca. Please, don't let us come between the two of you."

My father braced himself against the bed, straightening the collar of his gown with trembling fingers, trying to sit up.

"Francesca, I won't take the treatment."

"Don't tear your life apart for my sake."

My eyes burned at their words, and I stepped right in front of them.

"Get out."

Lorenzo's expression shifted.

"Francesca, who do you think you're talking to?"

I stared him down.

"I told you to get out. Don't disturb my parents' rest."

Adriana tugged gently at Lorenzo's sleeve, her fingers drifting to the bracelet at her wrist, turning it once.

"Francesca, you suddenly come up with this kind of money. Of course Lorenzo's going to wonder."

"You're still carrying his blood. Don't do anything to betray the Family."

My father shook with rage and climbed straight off the bed.

"You apologize to her!"

"My daughter is decent and honest. You've no right to drag her name through the mud!"

Adriana instantly shrank into Lorenzo's arms, eyes red, and cried out:

"Lorenzo, he's going to hit me!"

Lorenzo's face changed in a flash, and he shoved my father aside.

"Who said you could touch her!"

My father slammed hard into the nightstand, the corner of his forehead splitting open at once, blood streaming down his face.

He collapsed to the floor, lips white, without even the strength to cry out in pain.

My mother screamed and threw herself toward him.

"Matteo!"

My mind went blank with a roar, and I rushed out shouting:

"Doctor! Somebody, help!"

Lorenzo froze where he stood, staring at his own hands, the fury on his face finally giving way to panic.

"I didn't mean to. I just didn't want him hurting Adriana."

I stood up and slapped him hard across the face.

"And Adriana spreading filthy lies about me, that's fine?"

Lorenzo's head snapped to the side from the blow, and Adriana rushed to steady him, all tenderness.

"Lorenzo, don't blame Francesca. She's just too worked up right now."

Lorenzo looked at me, eyes red.

"Francesca, I'll ask you one last time. Where did the money come from?"

I went very still. My thumb found the thin gold band on my finger, and I turned it once, slow, before I let out a cold laugh and held the phone up to his face.

The shylock's ledger was right there, clear as day.

"See it?"

"A debt. My house against the vig."

"High interest. Cleared today."

Lorenzo's pupils contracted sharply.

Are you insane?

Who gave you leave to put our home up against a shylock's ledger?

Adriana frowned right along with him, her fingers drifting to the bracelet at her wrist, turning it slow.

Francesca, how could you be so unreasonable?

Lorenzo lavishes tribute on you, and here you are, bleeding him dry for cash.

How is that any different from every gold-digger who ever crawled to a made man's door?

I looked at her and smiled.

Shut your mouth.

Her face went white.

I turned to Lorenzo.

I told you long ago I wanted the union dissolved.

Sell the house. All I'll take back is the one million I put down on it.

Weren't you the one so afraid I was after your money?

Dissolve this union now, and I'll see to it the debt never touches your name.

Lorenzo stared at me, hard.

There will be no dissolution.

Whatever you borrowed, I'll settle it. Every dollar.

My smile turned colder.

You settle it, and I'll borrow more.

Once the house is mortgaged to the last brick, I'll borrow on the strength of being a Vitale wife.

Tell me, Lorenzo. If I truly turned into a deadbeat with a shylock's mark on my back, would you and the whole Family go down into the gutter with me?

Lorenzo finally froze, as if he were seeing me for the first time.

Francesca, you're insane.

I can get a lot more insane.

Right there in front of him, I dialed the Donna.

I want the union with Lorenzo dissolved. I won't take a cent beyond the down payment on my house.

Within ten minutes, I want one million in my account, and I want his signature on the papers.

Otherwise, I go to the worst shylock in the district right now, and I borrow in the name of a Vitale wife.

Every minute you're late, another million. As long as Lorenzo and I are husband and wife, even for one minute, that debt lands on the honor of your blood. I'll drag the Vitales, I'll drag Lorenzo, I'll drag every last one of you straight down to hell with me.

The Donna's voice came back at once, sharp as a wire.

Francesca, are you insane?

I said calmly,

The clock starts now.

Ten minutes later, Donna Vitale walked into the hospital with the Family's consiglieri and two enforcers a half-step behind her.

A soldier took Lorenzo by the shoulder and forced him down before the papers.

Lorenzo wrenched against the grip and looked at me, eyes bloodshot.

Francesca, do you really have to do this?!

Do you really have to bring it to this between us, over money?!

All I said was, Sign.

The light in his eyes died, bit by bit. He stared at me in despair, his voice going hoarse.

I can pay the debt back. I can pay for your father's treatment too.

Stop this, please?

We can't dissolve it.

We have a child.

I looked coldly at the Donna. She lifted her reading glasses from her face, folded them once along the hinge with slow, deliberate fingers, and gave the enforcers the smallest nod.

A soldier pressed the pen into his hand. The consigliere flipped the pages to the line waiting for his name.

He gripped the pen so hard the veins stood out on the back of his hand. Somewhere down the corridor, a monitor beeped and beeped, and no one in the room moved.

Francesca.

Say something.

Say you were wrong, say you won't borrow the money. Tell them to stop.

I stood right where I was, not even a flicker in my eyes.

Lorenzo's eyes were terrifyingly red.

Held down under the soldier's grip on his shoulder, his fingers trembled so badly he could barely hold the pen.

When the tip touched down, it gouged deep lines into the paper, but he signed his name all the same.

Crashing into the Billionaire Brother

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:43:03 +0800

The man who rear-ended my forty-dollar scooter was worth more than the entire zip code.

I didn't know that yet. I didn't know most things.

I didn't know the ice-cold billionaire whose spare room I was about to move into had once been a voice on a dead physics forum. The stranger who talked me off the ledge six years ago, back when I was nineteen and sure I'd never be any good at the one thing I loved.

I didn't know he'd figure out who I was long before I suspected a single thing about him.

I didn't know he'd been waiting. Quietly. For six years.

Here's what I did know, because it's my whole field. Pluto and its one big moon are locked face-to-face forever, each one always showing the other the same side, neither ever allowed to look away.

It's called tidal locking.

I'm the astrophysicist. He's the one who ran the math on us first.

I just didn't feel the pull until it was way, way too late.

Chapter 1

Two weeks before graduation, my roommate got dumped, got obliterated on cheap wine, and called me at midnight to come scrape her off a bar floor.

So there I was, ferrying a hundred and ten pounds of heartbreak home on a scooter I'd bought with three months of skipped lunches.

"You know what I am to him?" Remy slurred into my shoulder. "I'm a rose. He watered me. And now he's gone, and how am I even supposed to live."

"Okay, Rose. You keep grieving. I'll keep us alive."

Except she was supposed to be navigating, and the scenery was getting suspiciously nice. Manicured hedges. Gated driveways. The kind of neighborhood where my scooter counted as a crime.

"Remy. Remy. This is a mansion district. Did you send us the wrong way?"

Dead weight. No answer. Great.

I pulled to the curb to pull up a map, and something hit us.

Not hard. Almost polite. A nudge, from a car so black it looked like a hole cut out of the street. My phone flew out of my hand and hit the pavement in three pieces.

There went next month's rent.

I whipped around, ready to go to war. And that was when Remy came back to life.

She lifted her head, squinted at the license plate, went very still, and then, with the solemn focus of the extremely drunk, asked, "Hey. You broke right now?"

"I'm always broke," I said. Honest astrophysics majors don't exactly print money.

She nodded like I'd just confirmed her hypothesis. "Cool. Watch this. Gonna make you rich."

And she slid off the back of the scooter and lay down flat on the asphalt beside that black car, like a woman staging her own crime scene.

"Making you rich," she announced to the sky. "You're welcome."

I have never scrambled so fast in my life. "Get up. Get up, we don't do this" Because I'd finally clocked the plate too, and the horror arrived all at once. She wasn't shaking down a stranger. She knew exactly whose car this was. She was ambushing someone.

I just didn't know who yet.

Then the car door opened.

A pair of long legs planted themselves on the pavement, unhurried. A man rose out of the car in a suit that cost more than my degree, and the temperature of the whole street dropped a degree and stayed there.

Sharp jaw. Sharper eyes. Nothing on his face at all. No irritation, no curiosity, just a flat cold that made my spine want to apologize.

I crouched there shaking my roommate like a maraca. Get up, I begged her silently. Get up, you lunatic. Of all the cars in the world you picked this one to fake-die next to.

A shadow fell over me. I looked up, straight into eyes that were already looking down at me, weighing me, filing me somewhere cold.

"Get up." A beat. "Don't make me say it twice."

Low. Even. Not a request. The kind of voice that had never once had to be repeated.

Rich car. Ruthless face. A voice like a closing vault.

And my roommate, playing dead at his feet.

Worst night of my life, easily.

I had no idea I'd just met the most important person in it.

Chapter 2

Here's the thing. He'd hit us. Technically, legally, he was the one in the wrong.

But my roommate face-down on the asphalt trying to squeeze cash out of him? That part we did not have a leg to stand on.

She showed no sign of getting up. So I did the only thing left. I looked the terrifyingly expensive man in the eye and told the truth.

"Look, sir. We're not shaking you down, I swear. She's just really, really drunk."

He frowned. Then he crouched, leaned in, and sniffed once, near her hair. Something crossed his face that was almost a laugh, if his face did that sort of thing.

"Well," he said. "Look at you, Remy. Drinking now."

I froze. "Wait. You know her?"

He straightened, turned to me, and became, abruptly, painfully polite. "Apologies. My driver clipped your scooter. I'm Remy's brother."

A pause.

"Everett."

Same arctic voice. Zero warmth.

It took my brain a full three seconds to reboot.

This man. This walking cold front in a five-figure suit. Was my roommate's brother.

Which meant my roommate, the girl who split ramen packets with me, who'd cried on my scooter about a boy twenty minutes ago.

I looked down at Rose, passed out cold next to the wreckage of my phone, and felt one single tear of pure betrayal slide down my face.

You're loaded? And you never said?

I pulled it together. "It's fine. It's fine. She just asked me to get her home safe."

Everett gave a small nod and bent to lift her. And my darling secret-heiress friend chose that exact second to resurrect. She grabbed my wrist and would not let go, wailing.

"You don't want me anymore. You're throwing me out the second I'm drunk. I bought you that car"

That wasn't me. That was her ex. I did not buy her a car. I bought my scooter with three months of skipped lunches, and I would die before I let anyone call it a gift.

But I didn't know if Remy had ever told her brother she was even seeing someone. So I just stood there, mouth open, saying nothing, choking on it.

For one long second, all three of us hung there.

Everett holding her.

Her holding me.

Me, holding a shattered phone and the strong urge to lie down on the asphalt myself.

Out of the corner of my eye: Everett, watching me. Not the drunk girl. Me. Reading something off my face I hadn't meant to put there.

I wanted to die.

To his credit, the man had clearly survived worse. He thought for a moment, then loaded all of us into the car. Me, Remy, my mangled scooter, my dead phone. And took us home.

Home turned out to be a mansion so obscenely nice it nearly blinded my broke, exhausted eyes.

So this was how rich people lived. Wow.

And yet. For all the marble and glass, the place felt strangely hollow. I snuck a look around while he settled Remy, and clocked what the place was missing. People. No housekeeper. No staff. Nobody. Just a lot of expensive silence.

He laid my roommate on her bed, straightened her blanket with a care I wasn't expecting, and held out a hand to me.

"What should I call you?"

I blinked, then shook it. A brief, firm grip. "Wren. I'm her roommate."

He nodded. He was tall to begin with, and this close all I could really see was the clean hard line of his jaw.

"It's late. Miss Ashby stays here tonight." His eyes dropped to the ruined phone still in my hand. Flat. Unreadable. "The scooter and the phone. I'll have them handled."

I nodded.

He turned to go. He'd just cleared the doorway when a small, cracked little sound came from the bed behind us.

"Mom"

Remy, mumbling it into her pillow, lost somewhere deep in a drunk dream.

Everett stopped.

He didn't turn around. He just stood there in the doorway with the living-room light behind him, saying nothing, and the glow stretched his shadow long and thin across the floor.

Big man. Broad shoulders. And something in the set of them, right then, looked so alone it put an ache in my chest I couldn't explain.

Why did he look like that?

Chapter 3

He stood there a while longer. Then, without a backward glance, Everett walked out with those long, unhurried strides, and it was just me and a comatose Remy.

Why did he look sad?

Too tired to chase it, I got Remy cleaned up and dropped into bed, still half-convinced I was hallucinating. My ramen-splitting roommate was secretly loaded. She'd tried to fake-injure herself off her own brother's car. None of it made sense, and somewhere in the not-making-sense of it, I passed out.

I woke up to shrieking.

"Oh my GOD. Wren. Why am I HOME?"

I pulled the blanket over my head. My brain was not open for business. "Your brother brought you back," I mumbled.

A wail of pure despair. "My BROTHER. So that's why the plate looked familiar."

So she'd known. She'd clocked her own brother's plate and decided to shake him down. And here I'd thought she was just a menace to society.

She clawed at her hair. "Please tell me I didn't say anything humiliating."

And there it was again, sharp and immediate. Everett alone in that doorway, shadow stretched thin across the floor. I sat straight up, wide awake.

"Depends," I said, fighting a grin. "Humiliating like what?"

She buried her face in the pillow. "Like crying about a boy. Wanting to die over him. That."

Oh, Rose. You did so much more than a little of that.

When I didn't answer, she started shaking me. I threw up my hands. "Nothing, nothing. I had my hand over your mouth the whole time."

She pressed her palms together like a tiny grateful monk. "Bless you. Bless your quick reflexes."

Then I yanked her out from under the blanket. "Okay, gremlin. You told me your brother went off to work after high school."

She nodded, completely earnest. "Yeah. He started a company after high school." A beat, mumbled. "Doing pretty okay now."

Pretty okay. She called this pretty okay. I gave her a slow, reverent thumbs-up. There were no words.

My roommate had split instant ramen with me for two years. Her brother could have bought the company that made it.

"Anyway. You're alive. I'm heading home."

She grabbed me instantly. "Wait. Weren't you totally stuck for summer housing? Just live here. With me."

I stared at her. My beautiful disaster of a roommate. We'd landed on the exact same idea.

Truthfully, I'd been about to ask if she wanted to split a cheap place near our internships. But this? A mansion, with the ice-cold brother in residence? That felt like an excellent way to be uncomfortable for three straight months.

She read my hesitation instantly. "Relax. He's basically never home. And if you don't come, I'm rattling around this giant place all by myself. It's depressing."

I genuinely could not believe this woman was flexing a mansion at me like it was a hardship.

She switched to full pity mode. "You know how it is. I get scared. It's just me here."

I thought about it, then asked, careful, "There's really nobody else? A housekeeper, staff, anyone?"

Because how does a place this size stay this empty.

Remy blinked at me, genuinely puzzled. "Nope. When I'm at the dorms, it's just my brother. He doesn't like having people around."

The shadow surfaced in my head again. Lonelier, this time.

I shook it off. "Fine. I'm in. But you actually have to run it by your brother first"

I never got to finish the sentence.

Chapter 4

Because she hauled me off the bed and down the stairs.

"Then we move fast. He's about to leave for the office."

I stumbled after her and practically fell into the dining room, where Everett was already seated at the table. No telling how long he'd been waiting.

Remy pushed me into a chair. His cool gaze slid over, and his voice came out low, a little rough with sleep.

"Explain. Since when do you drink?"

Remy laughed, strained. "It's, you know. Graduation season. All the bittersweet goodbyes"

"You're graduating this year?" Flat. Not buying a word of it.

Remy shot me a look of pure SOS and started blinking like a distress beacon.

Does this woman ever rehearse.

I cleared my throat and lied with a perfectly straight face. "Yeah. Some seniors in our lab graduated. We're close, so we went out. Had a couple drinks."

Everett's dark eyes settled on me, unhurried, like he was reading fine print printed behind my skull. I smiled back, calm as anything. Inside I was a grease fire.

He was scarier than the meanest dean I ever had.

I braced for the follow-up. It never came. He just picked up his fork. "Eat."

Like he hadn't spent the last thirty seconds running me like a background check. I breathed out. Under the table, Remy snuck me a thumbs-up.

Two bites in, before I'd even finished relaxing, she went for it around a mouthful of food. "Hey. Wren's got nowhere to stay this summer. Can she live here?"

His gaze dropped to me. He weighed it for a second. "She can."

He kept eating, unhurried. "I won't be coming back for a while, then. Anything comes up, call me."

Remy flashed me a shameless peace sign, then launched into a full proud broadcast about me. "Did you know Wren's a genius? The only real brain in our whole suite. Obsessed with astrophysics since she was a kid. Actually loves it." A dramatic pause. "That's PHYSICS."

Different majors, that was all. Our suite was mixed, and everyone was good at their own thing.

Everett looked, oddly, interested. "Always loved it?"

I thought about it and answered honestly. "Not always. For a while it was pretty miserable."

Remy nodded like a sage. "See, Wren decides if it's hard she'll just keep going till she likes it. Me, I keep going till I fail out."

Her face was so tragic I laughed. She held an invisible mic up to my mouth, interview-style. "Tell us. How did you overcome the darkness and fall for astrophysics?"

Nothing dramatic. I picked my words and kept it short. "It's kind of a cheesy story. Back then I met this whiz online. He taught me a ton. And I slowly fell back in love with it."

Everett gave a small nod. "And now?"

"It's the whole plan." I meant it all the way down. "The rest of my life."

Remy nodded, delighted, and held up my keychain like Exhibit A. "She's SO into it. Look, even her keychain's a tiny model of Pluto."

The second the keychain caught the light, Everett went still.

Not paused. Still. His eyes locked onto that cheap little planet in my roommate's hand, and something crossed his face that I couldn't read at all. Something complicated. His brows drew faintly together.

I glanced at Remy, confused. She explained it away without missing a beat. His latest project touched on this stuff, she said. He always perked up around it.

Oh. That was why he'd gone almost talkative the second astrophysics came up.

That explained it.

Didn't it?

Chapter 5

"That keychain. It's from the whiz you mentioned?"

Everett said it out of nowhere, and his voice wasn't quite steady. Almost, underneath the cold, excited.

"Wait, how'd you know that?" It was out before I could stop it.

Freshman year, I'd spent a lot of nights doom-spiraling on an obscure little physics forum. The whiz had sketched Pluto for me once, to cheer me up, and after I drifted off the forum I'd printed it and turned it into a keychain. A keepsake.

Remy lit up, because of course she did, and poked me. "Oh, she treasures that thing. It's very precious to her."

Ever since I'd told her the story, she'd never let it go. She called that keychain my celestial first love.

Heat crawled up my face. I glanced up and accidentally caught Everett's eyes, that complicated look still sitting in them. His face was flat, cold as ever. And yet I'd have sworn the frost in his eyes was thawing, slow, from the inside out.

The next second confirmed it, because Remy tilted her head. "Ev? Why are you suddenly in such a good mood?"

He dropped his gaze, pulled a napkin over, and wiped his hands, unhurried, giving nothing away. "It's nothing. I just guessed right."

There was warmth in it.

He meant guessing the whiz had given me the keychain, I figured. But how did he know in one look? Was it really that obvious?

Remy frowned. "Okay, but how'd you guess?"

Bless her. My own personal comment section.

Everett thought about it, then looked up and explained, with total gravity, "Context."

What a plain little answer. What close, careful attention.

Remy rolled her eyes, muttered whatever, and leaned in to stage-whisper, "My brother loves being mysterious. Total closet softie."

He'd finished eating. He stood, headed for the door, and at the entryway he stopped, like something had just occurred to him, and turned back.

"By the way. I'll be staying home this summer too."

What?

He'd literally just said he wasn't coming back. What happened to that.

Remy said it for me. "Why? You said you weren't coming back."

He stood angled away, so I couldn't see his face, only the slow curve pulling at the corner of his mouth. He took a long moment.

"Because," he said. "Something important came up."

For all his talk of staying, the house stayed mostly me and Remy. I think he was trying to spare me the awkwardness. Aside from the occasional delivery of good food he'd have sent over, Everett barely surfaced.

Until the day I ate it off a rental bike on my way home from my internship and wrecked my leg badly enough to need a few days flat on my back.

Remy still had to intern. So there I was, alone in that enormous house, finally getting the full taste of the depressing she'd promised.

I was face-down in a show, bored out of my skull, when I heard someone moving around outside my door. Not coming in. Hesitating. I lay there on the couch and read the hesitation for exactly what I assumed it was.

Obviously my gremlin roommate, home early to scare me. She did it constantly.

So I hobbled off the couch, crept toward the door in full ambush mode, and threw it open to scare her right back.

I came face to face with Everett.

His hand was still raised to knock. For one rare second his face went blank, caught off guard, which paired with my crouched little goblin lunge to make the whole thing roughly ten times more unhinged.

Oh no.

It was Everett. Why was it Everett.

Chapter 6

How was I supposed to explain this. He was going to think I was clinically unwell.

The silence between us was deafening.

I got myself upright using all four limbs, ran a hundred openers through my head, and produced, finally, "G good afternoon."

Everett blinked. Something like a laugh surfaced in his eyes, and his voice came down from over my head, low, like he was holding one in. Not even cold. "Mm. Good afternoon."

I had mentally excavated a small studio apartment out of sheer embarrassment.

He rescued the moment. "Remy said you were hurt. I came back to bring medicine."

Oh.

Now that he'd said it, I noticed the bag in his hand. Medicine, it looked like. He looked fresh out of a meeting, every inch of him immaculate, and somehow still travel-worn.

He held the bag out. I lunged for it, thank-you-thank-you-ing.

Which was when the day's excitement caught up with me, and I forgot, mid-step, that I was currently half-crippled. My foot came down, my whole body tipped, and over I went.

Two humiliations in one day. Truly. I was so gifted.

One more and I'd be leaving this beautiful world for good.

I shut my eyes and braced for the intimate reunion with the floor, for the spectacular face-plant.

A low grunt sounded by my ear. The impact came wrong. Not floor. I opened my eyes to those forever-unbothered eyes and the faint crease between his brows.

And this time, in those still, level eyes, there was something else in them. Feeling.

Oh my god.

Oh my GOD. How was I in this man's arms.

"You okay?" Everett said, low.

I apologized and scrambled to peel myself off him, except half-crippled, palm throbbing where I'd caught my fall, nerves completely shot, I couldn't get any strength into it, and after a heroic effort I'd relocated approximately one inch.

I could have cried at my own uselessness.

I was gearing up to try again when a soft sigh came from over my head. "Sorry," he said.

And before I'd processed the word he'd swept me up sideways off the floor and was crossing to the living-room couch in long, easy strides.

Effortless. Like he was carrying a head of cabbage. I was tucked against his chest and he wasn't even breathing hard.

I didn't know where to put my hands. I pointed vaguely at a cushion. "You you can just put me down here."

He made a low sound of assent and said nothing else. I snuck a glance up.

His ear was red.

Barely. But on a man who radiated cold like a walk-in freezer, one red ear felt like a glitch in the laws of physics.

And the maddening part was, I still couldn't read him. This exact man had gone to stone over a three-dollar Pluto keychain. Had rearranged his entire summer and wouldn't say why. Was holding something back right now, behind all that calm, and I had no idea what.

"Oh my god"

A voice that was not ours. I startled so hard I nearly dropped, and the arms holding me felt it and drew me in closer.

Then he turned, with me still in his arms, and together we looked toward the source.

And there it was. The whole scene.

A tall man holding a mortified, frozen woman. A second woman in the doorway, grocery basket dangling from one hand, just as frozen. Three faces. Zero functioning brain cells between them.

Oh my god. Why was Remy home RIGHT NOW.

Three

Fake Dating the A-Lister

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:36:21 +0800

My account got hacked.

The scammer worked through my contacts one by one, begging everyone I knew for money.

One of them was my celebrity crush. The message went out under the name I'd saved him as.

Hubby. You up?

He was live on camera when it landed.

Ten years of pretending I didn't love him, gone in a single line.

Chapter 1

I got my account back four minutes too late.

By the time I forced the password reset and logged into an app I hadn't opened since high school, the scammer had already worked down my whole friends list, one loan request at a time. Some people had already paid.

I sat there with an actual pen, writing down the numbers. Who got hit, for how much. That's what I do when my life catches fire. I run the numbers. I was halfway through calculating whether a police report could claw any of it back when a name in the thread stopped my pen cold.

Hubby.

That account had been dead for years and I still knew exactly who it was.

Adrian Vale.

The Adrian Vale. A-list, box office in the hundreds of millions, a Best Actor statue on his shelf that was maybe six weeks old. The kind of famous where you don't bother with the last name.

I swallowed. Took a breath. Opened the thread like it might go off in my hands.

One message. Sent from my account. To his.

Me: [Hubby. You up?]

I have never wanted to throw a phone into the sea so badly in my life.

Of all the contacts on that list. Of all the people a scammer could land on. It went to him.

So I did the thing you do when you're talking yourself off a ledge. He added me back in tenth grade, I told myself. He has no idea who I am. Stars scrub their old accounts the second they blow up, so this one's been a ghost for years. And even if it wasn't, he's Adrian Vale. The man barely sleeps. He is not sitting around reading a decade-old message from a nobody.

I had almost sold myself on it when my best friend called back.

"Babe. The trending page. Now."

Number one was a hashtag with my entire life folded inside it.

AdrianValeSecretlyMarried

There was a little flame icon riding next to it. The kind that means it isn't slowing down, it's picking up speed.

The floor dropped out of my stomach.

I tapped in, and there it was, blown up across every post, four words tall: Hubby. You up?

Because when that message sent, Adrian Vale was live.

The clip was already everywhere. Some talk-show bit. They'd dared him to log into an old account and message someone he'd lost touch with, and his assistant had dug up a profile he hadn't opened in years. The second his screen mirrored to the wall behind him, it slid up over everything.

Hubby. You up?

And that is how I learned what he'd saved me as.

Not my name. A number.

143.

I looked at it. Nothing clicked. Some sorting thing, probably. He'd filed the nobody from high school under a code, quick and clean, the way you label a contact you are never going to call.

The clip caught before his assistant could kill the feed. Fans ripped it, reposted it, ran it into the ground. By the time I refreshed, "Adrian Vale is married" had stopped being a rumor and started being a fact people were fighting about in the replies.

I put my head down on my arms.

I had a master's degree, a rented apartment, and a checking account the scammer had already helped himself to. I did not own a single tool for a day like this.

I'd walked into a stranger's life and set a match to it, on camera, in front of the entire internet. And all I could do was sit there and watch it burn.

Chapter 2

Losing the money was nothing. Torching Adrian Vale's reputation was the part that could end a career.

I don't work in his world and even I could run that math. One fake marriage rumor, one viral clip, and a decade of work goes up in smoke. He didn't know me. He'd been married off to a stranger in front of millions. He had every reason to hate me.

I was still spiraling when the dead app chimed.

I looked down. Top of the thread, that name again.

Hubby: [Can we talk?]

The person typing was Adrian Vale's manager.

She wanted to handle it in person. I gave her my address before I could talk myself out of it, and an hour later my doorbell rang.

I opened the door and couldn't lift my head. I just started apologizing to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault, I got hacked, someone used my account to beg my friends for money and I never thought it would I'm so sorry."

By the end my eyes were burning, because of course I was going to cry about it too.

"It's okay."

The voice was gentle. A warm hand landed on my hair and tipped my chin up until I was looking at a calm, lovely face.

And at the tall figure behind her. Mask, sunglasses, and still the most handsome man I had ever stood three feet from.

I went still. "Are you is that Adrian Vale?"

He gave the smallest nod.

My heart took off without asking me and would not sit back down.

Five of them had come. My one-person living room shrank to the size of a shoebox. I sat on the edge of my own couch like I was a guest in it.

"That account, I really haven't used it in years," I said, tripping over the words. "It was a security hole. That's how the scammer got in."

I made myself look up. "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it. I'll make it right. I mean it."

The manager smiled. "Relax. We didn't come to collect. We came to ask you a favor."

She said it the way you'd offer someone a coffee.

"How would you feel about being Adrian's girlfriend? For a while. On paper."

I stared at her. My ears had clearly quit on me.

"You did save him as 'Hubby,'" she said, the corner of her mouth going up. "So there's obviously a little something there. Don't you want to know what it's like? A boyfriend. On the house."

Talking about this with him standing right there made me want to go straight through the floorboards. "That was that was a long time ago."

I stole a glance at Adrian, who still had not said one word. "And I swear I haven't opened that account in years, or I'd have changed it."

"It's fine." She waved it off. "We'll pay you for your time. The one condition is that you never tell a living soul it isn't real."

The room went to static. Little sparks crawled in at the edges of my vision.

So let me get the numbers straight. This morning I detonated a movie star's career. Tonight his people were in my living room, offering to pay me to date the one man I'd spent ten years being too scared to say hello to.

"The contract's already drawn up. If you're in, we can sign tonight."

A look from her, and the girl at her side slid two copies out of a bag.

I swallowed.

And then, for a reason I still can't give you, I looked at Adrian Vale, who had stood silent through every second of this, and I asked him.

"Do you want to?"

The mask was still on. Hair loose across his forehead, only those eyes showing.

Those unfair, unforgettable eyes.

And right now, they were on me.

Chapter 3

My heart was pounding again and I couldn't do a thing about it.

He said the first words I'd heard from him in ten years, and his voice was exactly as good as I remembered.

"I'm in."

I signed my name on the contract without hesitating.

There was genuinely no reason not to. Date the man I'd been in love with for ten years, and get paid for it. Where in the world do you find a deal like that?

The assistant took down my number and bank details while his manager, Camille, pulled out her phone. "Let's trade contacts. We're partners now."

I added everyone in the room. Adrian too.

I was still stuck on the number thing, so when he typed in what he was saving me as, I snuck a look.

A single capital A.

What a strange filing system. Numbers on the old app, a letter on this one. Was this just how it went for a nobody in a star's phone? I honestly couldn't work it out.

With him watching, I typed in what I was saving him as. Adrian Vale. Every letter in its place.

"Oh," Camille added, "do you want us to handle the hacking situation? That's our lawyer. Any questions, go to him."

I shook my head fast. "I've got it."

"The transfer's done," the assistant said, half a question.

"Good." Camille stood. "Then we'll get out of your hair. Check your account. That first deposit's a retainer, the rest comes monthly."

"Pleasure working with you." She held out her hand.

I grabbed it. "Pleasure, pleasure, yes."

I shook hands with all five of them and walked them to the door.

Adrian went last. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. "Wren."

"Yeah?" Something in my chest rippled.

"Pleasure working with you," he said.

That voice again.

Maybe he'd scrambled something loose in my head, because I didn't give the polite line back. What came out was just true. "Yeah. It really will be."

His eyes curved. Then he turned and left.

I shut the door with my heart still going.

It took me a while to come down. When I finally did, I went back to the coffee table to deal with the mess, picked up my phone, and looked at the balance.

A hundred grand. Sitting in my account.

I blinked. Checked it three times. Still a hundred grand.

Hit after hit, all day, until I could barely think. Was this a winning lottery ticket? Since when did every good thing in the world land on one person, and that person was me?

Once I'd settled enough to finish the tally: seven friends had sent money, people I'd drifted from, out of touch enough to buy the story. About ten thousand, all told. I paid back every one. Some refused it. Some wanted the scoop on Adrian Vale. I answered neither.

I lay back on the couch and let out a breath. Handled, I thought. Finally.

I'd just closed my eyes when my best friend called for the third time that day.

"Babe. You two went official!"

I opened his profile.

Adrian Vale's page was nothing but ad campaigns and movie promos, same as always. Except now, pinned to the top, one new post.

Adrian Vale, verified: She's my girlfriend. Please stop speculating.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Chapter 4

I was the whole reason this was happening, and somehow it was like watching it from another zip code.

I opened the comments, morbidly curious.

Commenters:

[hubby?? no. NO. I have called you hubby in your DMs a hundred times and you never once claimed me like that]

[something's off here. didn't he say that account was ancient? and it just happens to ping mid-livestream? this reeks of a promo stunt for the new movie. wait for the twist]

[143. you guys. 143. one letter, four letters, three letters. he saved her as I LOVE YOU and I am deceased]

[why confirm THIS one so fast? man's been linked to half the industry and never said a single word]

I tapped that last one to read the replies.

[because this time it's real]

[every other time some woman forced the story. my theory? he got jealous and went on live to plant his flag]

[my ship. him and Ivy. it's sinking and I'm going down with it]

I closed the app and marveled, quietly, at how much these people could build out of nothing.

My best friend didn't get it either. "Wasn't this a hack? How are you two dating now? Have you been secretly seeing Adrian Vale behind my back?"

"I signed a contract," I said. "Saying anything now is a breach."

She got there in one jump. "Fake dating. Look at you, playing in the big leagues."

"What do you mean, big leagues?"

"Adrian. Obviously. Did you see how he saved you? Babe. He's clearly into you too."

"Absolutely not," I said. "That's a reach and you know it."

I've loved Adrian Vale since I was fifteen. I watched him go from the boy every girl at school stared at to a face the whole country knows. If the boy at school was already out of reach, the movie star was a star in the literal sense, the kind you point at in the sky and never touch. So I kept it where I keep everything. Down. Quiet. Unsaid. Saying it out loud would've been the punchline to a joke about a girl who didn't know her place.

"Just wait," she said, dead certain.

I blinked at her, unconvinced.

Then she pivoted. "What are you doing about the hack?"

"Paid everyone back. Not filing a report. If they catch the scammer, the whole thing comes apart."

"Mm." She circled straight back. "So. How does it feel to be Adrian Vale's girlfriend?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," I said, on reflex.

"Babe. What are you defending? You are, right now, his girlfriend."

She leaned in, deadly serious. "The universe just dropped this man in your lap. Fate walked him to your door and bolted him to you. If you don't grab this with both hands, I am going to genuinely lose respect for you."

"But I"

"You're incredible. You deserve him. Trust me. You're the best girl I know."

I pulled in a breath. And for the first time in ten years, the thing I decided wasn't I can't.

"Okay," I said. "I will."

The first job as Adrian Vale's fake girlfriend was making eyes at him in the parking garage under his building.

After the announcement, the internet had opinions. Whole accounts had spun up just to dissect Adrian Vale's first-ever public relationship frame by frame. To shut it down, Camille decided to answer with evidence. She'd already tipped off the paparazzi. All Adrian and I had to do was play a couple in the honeymoon phase and let them catch a few close, cozy shots.

That day, he came to pick me up himself.

All I had to do was act like I was in love with him.

I'd had ten years of practice.

Chapter 5

Black cap, plain white tee, faded jeans. On anyone else it would have been nothing. On him it looked like money, the kind of simple that isn't simple at all.

I tugged at the hem of my T-shirt dress. "Is this okay?"

Camille had told me to keep it ordinary. Nothing done up.

His eyes moved over me for a second. "You look beautiful."

I bit back a smile and got in the car.

We drove toward his building. I was tense the whole way, and the second we pulled into the garage it peaked so hard I almost couldn't make myself open the door.

His hand, warm and dry, tapped the back of mine where it sat on my knee.

"You're just visiting a friend's place," he said. "Don't think about anything else."

I nodded hard.

Outside the car, I leaned against the door and waited while he pulled a couple of grocery bags from the trunk. Props, prepped in advance, so the photos would look lived-in.

He came around with a bag in one hand, looked at me for a beat, and sighed. "You didn't even bring a mask?"

Then he took the cap off his own head and fit it onto mine. His knuckle grazed the edge of my jaw on the way down. There, then gone.

For a second the whole world was the inside of that cap. His warmth still in it. His smell. My head went light in slow waves.

He took my hand. "I already wore the mask," he said, low. "You're not getting that one."

He walked me forward and my brain stayed somewhere back by the car.

Was this it. Was this the part where we started.

He was fast. Ten years of trophies and he'd earned every one, because how did the actresses across from him not lose it on the spot? Two minutes in and I was about to spontaneously combust.

I forgot, completely, that I was supposed to be acting too. I just let him lead me, dizzy the whole way.

Then he stopped. Set the bag down on the concrete. And crouched in front of me.

I looked down, alarmed, and there he was on one knee, head bent, tying the lace that had come loose on my shoe. His fingers brushed my ankle as he looped it, and for a beat I forgot how breathing worked.

The garage was dead quiet. I could have sworn I heard shutters going off somewhere, fast.

Convenient time for a lace to come undone, I thought.

He finished, stood without letting his eyes drift anywhere they shouldn't, and smiled with them instead. "You're like a little kid. Good thing you didn't fall."

I pressed a hand over my sprinting heart.

We finally made it through the gauntlet, and I followed him inside.

Turns out visiting really did mean visiting. He carried the groceries to the kitchen and said he'd feed me before he drove me home.

Padding the timeline, I figured. Walk in and walk right back out and it looks staged. Which, fine, it was. But that's exactly how you get caught.

He cooked. All of it, start to finish, while I did nothing but sit there and watch him move around the kitchen.

Adrian Vale cooking was its own separate problem. I looked at this man and thought, I am never getting out of this. Not in this life.

So I did the brave thing, the thing my best friend told me to do. I went on the offensive.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," he said.

Then, "But there's someone I like."

The little flame I'd just felt catch dropped by half.

I ate the rest of the meal in a strange split down the middle, half happy, half not.

Partway through, he took a call, then turned to me with news that was neither good nor bad.

"There's another outlet camped downstairs," he said. "You might have to stay the night."

I understood him instantly.

Chapter 6

If I left after a little while and another outlet ran it, this already-shaky romance would get dragged straight back into the fire.

Couples in the honeymoon phase don't sleep in separate places. Everyone knows that.

"If you don't want to," he said, "you don't have to stay."