PROLOGUE
VALENTINA MUNIZ
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
A woman never forgets the day she gets married.
The white dress flowed over my body like liquid silk, every seam and adjustment made just for me, molding perfectly to my curves. It looked as though it had been pulled straight from my dreams—just one more reason why this was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
The veil was light and delicate, lace so fine it felt like a jewel resting on my skin. Everything was exactly the way I had always imagined it would be. I took a deep breath, my heart pounding violently in my chest as I walked slowly down the grand aisle of the Cathedral of Sé.
My fingers tightened around the bouquet hard enough to leave marks. Every step brought me closer to him. And nothing else mattered.
Enrico Ferrara.
The man I had fallen hopelessly in love with—so intensely it felt almost absurd. Twenty years older than me, Enrico had entered my life without asking permission, turned my world upside down, and made me believe that fairy tales really did exist, even for ordinary girls like me.
Three hundred guests watched me from the pews. Curious women. Serious, appraising men. Members of an elite that would never fully accept me. But none of that mattered, because at the altar, waiting for me, stood Enrico.
And one look from him had always been enough to make me forget every judgment.
One restrained smile from that powerful, arrogant man—and I would forget who I was, sinking willingly into the sweet illusion that was our story.
I was certain Enrico would smile when he saw me.
How could he not? He had told me so many times that I was the greatest gift of his life.
The wedding march echoed in my ears, mingling with the violent beat of my heart. My body trembled beneath the delicate fabric of my dress. I was nervous, of course. What bride wouldn’t be?
But the moment I looked ahead and saw Enrico waiting for me—impeccable in a suit that looked tailored onto his perfect body—the rest of the world fell silent. His posture was proud and rigid, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that almost burned.
That was how he had always looked at me.
As if I were the only source of light in a dark universe.
But in that moment, it was I who was blinded—by love, by emotion, by the certainty that I finally belonged to him completely.
My father placed my hand in Enrico’s, smiling as he kissed my forehead before stepping away. I reached for Enrico’s arm, searching for the comfort of his warmth, his solidity.
He stepped back.
Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to believe it was only the tension of the moment. After all, this was Enrico. The man who said he loved me. The only man with whom I could imagine my entire life.
I inhaled deeply and smiled at him, searching his eyes, trying to say with that look everything I felt, everything I dreamed.
Enrico didn’t smile.
There was no softness in the face I knew so well.
“Enrico?” I whispered, confused—almost pleading.
He remained impassive, ignoring me completely. The priest began the ceremony, but I barely heard him. All I could see was the rigid, almost aggressive posture of the man I loved.
Something was terribly wrong.
Cold waves of fear swept through my body, every instinct screaming a warning.
