"My father is trying to force me into an arranged marriage," I finally blurted out. "With Samantha Hastings."
Tristan's eyebrows shot up. "The cocaine heiress? Shit, Rafe. She's practically a child."
"Yes," I agreed. "And she's definitely... problematic. My father doesn’t care, though. The Hastings account is more important than any moral objections I might have."
Liam's expression had shifted from fury to something more calculating. "And Cece? How does she fit into this?"
I chose my words carefully, skirting the truth without quite lying. "She needed help with something. I needed a wife. It was... mutually beneficial."
"Mutually beneficial," Liam repeated, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "That's why she looked like she wanted to disembowel you?"
"She was nervous," I said, the lie coming easily. Too easily. "We hadn't planned to announce it that way."
"You hadn't planned?" Tristan laughed, leaning forward in his chair. "You practically shouted it from the rooftops before dragging her out like you were afraid she'd change her mind."
He wasn't wrong, and the knowledge burned. I had been afraid—afraid she'd crack under the pressure, tell them the truth about Santiago and the debt and how I'd leveraged it all to get what I wanted.
"It wasn't my finest moment," I admitted. "But what's done is done. We're married."
"And what happens when Everlee asks her sister about this arrangement?" Liam's asked, eyes narrowed.
"Cecelia doesn't want Everlee to know the details," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "She's... protective of her pride. She doesn't want anyone to know she needed help."
"You expect me to lie to my wife?" Liam’s tone quiet but deadly.
"I expect you to respect Cecelia's wishes," I countered. "This isn't about you or Evie. It's about giving Cecelia the dignity of her choice."
Even as I said it, I knew how hollow the words were. What choice had I really given her?
"Her choice," Liam scoffed. "Was it really her choice, Rafe? Or did you back her into a corner somehow?"
The accusation hit too close to the truth. I fought to keep my expression neutral, but something must have shown in my eyes because Liam's face hardened.
"You bastard," he said softly. "What did you do?"
"It's not like that," I started, but before I could finish, my office door swung open again.
I looked up. My father stood in the doorway, impeccable as always in his tailored suit, and his silver hair combed back fromhis face. His dark eyes swept the room with cold precision before landing on me.
"Liam. Tristan." He nodded to my friends, his tone clipped and professional. "If you'll excuse us, I need to speak with my son. Privately."
In an instant, the tension in the room grew thick enough to choke on. Liam and Tristan exchanged a glance before turning to me. I gave them a subtle nod.
"We were just leaving," Tristan said smoothly, rising from his chair. "Rafe, we'll continue this... discussion... later."
"Absolutely," I replied, my eyes fixed on my father's face. "Liam, tell Everlee I'll have Cecelia call her soon."
Liam's jaw clenched, but he nodded once before following Tristan to the door. As they passed my father, he stepped aside to let them through.
"Rafael." The door clicked shut and my father moved further into the room. "Care to explain this?"
He tossed a newspaper onto my desk, the glossy pages sliding across the polished surface until they stopped directly in front of me. The headline jumped out immediately:
MEDIA HEIR RAFAEL DE LUCA WEDS IN SECRET VEGAS CEREMONY.
Beneath it, a photo of Cecelia and me leaving the Vegas chapel. Her face was turned away from the camera, but mine was clearlyvisible, smiling down at her with a possessiveness that looked surprisingly genuine.
A dark satisfaction curled in my gut. The story had broken exactly as I'd planned when I'd called in that favor to the reporter who owed me.
