“Hmm,” I murmured, as if seeing it for the first time. “They got my good side at least.”
My father's face darkened. "This ends now. Whatever game you're playing stops immediately. You will annul this... farce... and you will marry Samantha Hastings as planned."
"I already told you I wouldn't marry her." I met his gaze. "That hasn't changed."
"And I told you the consequences of defying me." He placed both hands on my desk, leaning forward until our faces were inches apart. "You think this little stunt changes anything? The Hastings deal is too important."
"The deal can proceed without the marriage," I replied evenly. "Unless Brandon's interest was less in our company's services and more in selling his daughter to the highest bidder."
My father's nostrils flared. "You insolent little—" He cut himself off with a deep drag of air and straightened. “You think this changes anything? You think I won't cut you off? Remove you from your position? Strip away every privilege you've enjoyed your entire ungrateful life?”
“I think you'll do exactly what you always do,” I replied, rising to my full height, matching him inch for inch. “Calculate the cost versus the benefit. And right now, disowning me publicly would cost Orologio more in bad press than you're willing to pay.”
His eyes narrowed. “You leaked the story.”
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. “Of course I did. Did you really think I wouldn't use every tool at my disposal? You taught me well, after all.”
For a moment, I thought he might strike me. His hand twitched at his side, and something dark and violent flashed in his eyes. But Vittorio de Luca prided himself on his control above all else.
"You'll regret this," he said, turning toward the door. "When she bleeds you dry and leaves you with nothing, remember this moment."
The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of my office. I sank back into my chair, adrenaline draining from my body, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My gaze fell on the newspaper, on the image of Cecelia and me captured in that moment of false intimacy.
Regret. My father had no idea how familiar I was with that particular emotion. I'd been collecting regrets since the day my brother died, adding to the tally with each passing year. What was one more?
I traced Cecelia's blurred figure in the photo with my fingertip, wondering if she was still locked in our bedroom, still hating me with every fiber of her being. Wondering if this latest regret would be the one that finally broke me.
Chapter 7
Cece
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting me from the half-sleep I'd finally fallen into after crying myself dry. I ignored it at first, burrowing deeper into the silk sheets that still smelled faintly of Rafe's cologne despite him sleeping elsewhere. The second buzz was more insistent, like the device itself knew I was avoiding reality. I reached for it with heavy limbs, squinting at the bright screen through puffy eyes. Rafe's name glared back at me, and my stomach twisted in that familiar way it always did—part anger, part something else I refused to name.
Rafe:I fucked up. I told Liam and Tristan the truth.
My heart lurched into my throat. I sat up straight, sleep evaporating instantly as my fingers hovered over the screen. What did he mean by “the truth”? About Vice and Virtue? About the blackmail? About how he'd forced me into this sham of a marriage with the emotional equivalent of a gun to my head?
I typed back quickly.
Me:What do you mean the truth?
The three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. I clutched the phone so tightly my knuckles hurt, waiting for the response that would determine whether my life was about to implode entirely or just continue its current controlled demolition.
Instead of a text, the phone rang, Rafe's name flashing across the screen like a warning. I almost didn't answer. Almost.
“What did you tell them?” I asked without preamble, my voice scratchy from sleep and tears.
“Good morning to you too, wife.” His voice was low and tired, lacking the usual edge of arrogance.
“Cut the shit, Rafe. What did you tell them?”
He exhaled slowly. “Liam and Tristan stormed my office this morning. Liam was... not happy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold hardwood. “What exactly did you say to them?”
“I told them that my parents were trying to force me into an arranged marriage with Samantha Hastings, and that I refused.” His voice tightened. “Liam was furious. Said Everlee was up all night, crying and worried about you.”
The knot in my stomach twisted painfully. Everlee. I hadn't even thought about how she'd react to all this. I was too damn wrapped up in my own disaster to consider that my sister, my pregnant sister, would be sick with worry. Some sister I was.
