Cesaro arches a brow, but I don’t wait for the judgment or the commentary. I leave the room before he can say anything else and make my way upstairs.
Elizabeth is awake, curled in bed, the glow of her phone screen lighting her face. She’s scrolling, her expression soft, content. For a moment, I just watch her.
“I was looking for a movie for us to watch,” she says with a smile that tightens something in my chest. “How do you feel aboutThe Lord of the Rings?”
Her comment earlier about popcorn, wine, and a movie crosses my mind. How does that already feel like a lifetime ago?
I sit on the edge of the bed. “I have to go out tonight. To the gala.”
Her smile falters. Just a flicker, but it guts me all the same.
“Oh.”
“It’s not what you think,” I say quickly, reaching for her hand. Her skin is warm in mine. “I’m going to end things with Fran. Tonight. For good. It’s not fair to you. Or to her.”
She doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me, her expression unreadable as a thousand thoughts seem to flicker through her mind.
“Are you sure?” she finally asks, voice quiet.
I curl my fingers around hers, anchoring her to me. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
Her breath catches, but she nods. And in that moment, I know no matter what tonight brings, this is the woman I want to fight for.
“Okay.” She smiles. “We can always start the movie when you get home.”
I lean forward, kissing her. “It’s a date. Rest now.”
I return to my suite and begin dressing for the gala, the familiar ritual dull and lifeless. Black suit, cufflinks, tie. The same uniform I’ve worn for a hundred power plays.
Only tonight, the endgame is different.
I run the plan over in my mind again and again. Fran won’t be happy. Federico even less so. But I’m the one with the leverage.I’mthe one with the empire. I’ll offer Federico something better than a marriage alliance: a permanent seat at my table. Access. Power. Safety. A future without war.
Fran will throw a fit, maybe even a scene, but I’ve already made arrangements. I know men in New York, in Dubai, in Madrid—wealthy, connected, in need of a pretty political wife. She’ll land on her feet. She always does.
I walk into the night with steel in my veins.
By the time I reach Fran’s penthouse, I’ve forced myself into something resembling calm. I’m centered and prepared which is the armor I need for tonight.
She opens the door before I can knock.
She’s immaculate, dressed in bold, punishing red, every line of her gown sharp enough to cut. Her hair is slicked back into a severe twist, her makeup sculpted to perfection. She looks every inch the Donna she wants the world to believe she already is.
But her eyes…her eyes betray her.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“I don’t know if we should go tonight,” she says softly.
I raise a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
She steps aside, letting me into the penthouse. Her perfume hangs in the air. I used to love the scent. Now it curdles my stomach.
“I’ve been feeling sick.” She hesitates. “I’m late.”
As I cross the threshold, Elizabeth’s warmth still clings to my skin like a secret fingerprint, and I know before Fran even continues that tonight is going to demand a performance I no longer want to give.
I pause. “Late?”
