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Tonight was supposed to be perfect—the ballroom, the music, the ring.

Instead, it had spiraled into a vicious fight and angry sex on the ballroom floor.

What a goddamn mess.

Fuck. My own father.

How could I have not seen that coming?

I was fully aware of his anger toward me. There was no love lost between us. The man had never viewed me as a son. He didn't view any of his children with affection. We were just assets. Pawns to be moved about his power board.

As I stared at the papers, I murmured, "My mother may not be innocent in this either."

"I know."

I looked at him sharply. "You know? What the fuck do you know?"

I'd only just learned that she may have been manipulating the situation to her own benefit after hearing about her visit to Sabrina this afternoon. I still didn't know what my mother said to her. Although knowing my mother, it wasn't anything good.

Benedict leaned against the bar table and crossed his arms. "I know the appearance of a photographer named Mark Hanson is not a coincidence."

He had my full attention now. "Talk."

"It's no surprise your mother has loyal employees at the House of Diamanti willing to spy for her. Apparently, Sabrina spoke of Hanson’s work in Paris a few times, and they passed that along to your mother. When you fired the photographer for her upcoming fashion campaign, your mother reached out to see if Sabrina had contacted Hanson. She had, but he hadn't responded."

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes for a moment as my hand closed into a fist.

After a moment, I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Let me guess, my mother persuaded him to come to Italy."

He nodded. "That woman takes the word manipulation to a whole new level. He was paid a hefty amount to come to Italy and gain Sabrina's trust. Let's just say your mother didn't just happen to stumble upon Mark’s meeting with Sabrina today. It was all planned. I have every reason to believe she's just waiting for the right moment to claim Sabrina betrayed you with him.”

I hurled another ball at a window, the crash of the glass panel doing nothing to appease my rage.

Not at my mother.

At myself, and the shame.

A few hours earlier, my mother might have succeeded.

I’d stood in front of Sabrina, my beautiful, sweet, fragile bird, and thought ugly, twisted thoughts of betrayal and lies.

I’d almost convinced myself that I was the fucking victim of her manipulations.

I really was a fucking monster.

My mother may have set it up, but I was the one who almost handed Sabrina to her on a platter.

I practically forced my girl into the arms of another man.

Of course she would run to the protection Mark offered after everything I’d put her through.

After what I’d done tonight…

Fuck.

I lunged across the courtyard and stepped through the French doors that led to the ballroom, Benedict following close behind.

Picking up my discarded tuxedo jacket, I fished out my phone. After opening the screen, I checked Sabrina's text messages. Thank God I'd had the foresight to replace her phone with one I controlled.