"Isolde, this is the contract for your death. Two weeks from now, during the Vittorio family's engagement ceremony, you will die."

"You will perish in a staged car accident, your car plunging into the Hudson. It will be ruled an accident."

When my fiancé, Lorenzo, ditched me once again for so-called "urgent family business," I found the underworld broker known as the "Ghost." Without a moment's hesitation, I signed the agreement.

The entire New York underworld believed that Lorenzo, the heir to the Vittorio family, was madly in love with me.

He certainly played the part, never forgetting the tender kiss he’d press to my forehead each time he left.

But I was the only one who knew that after the thirty-ninth time he kissed me goodbye, he spent the night with that stripper, Roxy, lost in a haze of drugs and alcohol.

But none of that matters now. I'm done with him. A man so tainted is no longer mine to claim.

At the engagement ceremony he cherishes so much, I will give him the perfect corpse he deserves.

————————

1

The thirty-ninth time my fiancé, the man I grew up with, abandoned me for "urgent family business" was the day I signed the contract to fake my own death.

While Lorenzo was off with a stripper, he had no idea that in two weeks, at his own engagement party, he’d be greeting the perfect corpse of his fiancée.

"Isolde, please confirm the details."

"The target is you. Sign here."

I nodded, signing my name on the document. Before the ink could dry, the man they called the "Ghost" snatched it from my hand.

Stepping out of the dark alley, I was swallowed by the bustling crowds of Times Square.

A colossal electronic billboard hung suspended over the street, replaying the moment Lorenzo proposed to me.

The entire New York underworld called it the "proposal of the century."

In the video, the formidable heir to the Vittorio family was down on one knee. This man, usually so cold and decisive, was holding a pigeon's blood ruby ring, his hand trembling.

The moment I whispered "I do," his eyes welled with tears, as if he’d just been handed the world.

A few young girls nearby clutched each other's arms, their voices dripping with envy. "Oh my God, he loves her so much!"

"Seriously! They're a total power couple, blessed by God. I heard he knew she was the one at seventeen and turned down every other girl his family threw at him."

"And didn't he take over three blocks from the Irish just for her? He bought her that mansion on the Palisades with the profits, declaring she would be its mistress forever."

"How can any man be that devoted?"

I tuned them out, looking down to hide the bitter smile twisting my lips.

Everyone envied me. They all said Lorenzo and I were a perfect match.

I used to think so, too.

Until the encrypted files on my phone ripped open the bloody truth and laid it bare.

No one could imagine that a man like him, a future Don, would keep a stripper as his secret lover for three years.

Every time I watched the anonymously sent videos of him tangled up with Roxy on nights he claimed to be "handling family business," it felt like a bullet tearing through my heart.

From that moment on, a rot began to set in, the stench of drugs and sordid affairs clinging to him.

I was born with an intuition for the darkness in people.

I had tried to love him back from the brink, only to be met with impatience, my own hope eroding with each attempt.

I confronted Lorenzo, but he brushed me off, telling me I was being hysterical.

As I stared at the provocative photos she sent, I was suddenly reminded of the night of my fifteenth birthday. My parents had abandoned me, and I was curled up in a dilapidated apartment, waiting for death in the pouring rain. Then Lorenzo kicked open the door, pulled me into his arms, and declared, "They don't want you, but I do."

He used to remember every little thing about me. Now, he whispered my private pet name—"my morning star"—to Roxy in bed while playing the devoted fiancé to the world.

Even as he placed the ring on my finger, he had pleaded, his eyes wet with tears, "Isolde, you are my life. Don't you ever leave me, or I'll go mad."

He was the one who said he couldn't live without me, yet he was the first to break his vow.

I wiped the moisture from the corner of my eye. Just as I was about to turn away, a black armored sedan roared to a halt in front of me.

The door swung open, and a tall figure emerged, his presence so powerful it was almost suffocating.

"Isolde, I thought we agreed you'd wait for me at home. I was going to pick you up to try on engagement gowns after I handled the mess at the docks. What are you doing out here alone?"

Lorenzo seized my hand, his touch searing.

That familiar heat, which once offered comfort, now felt like a brand on my skin.

He shrugged off his coat, the scent of expensive cologne wafting from it, and draped it over my shoulders. His tone was a mixture of anxiety and reprimand. "Your hands are freezing. Are you trying to worry me sick?"

I didn't speak. I just watched him, my gaze quiet.

The concern in his eyes seemed so genuine. That’s why I could never understand it. How could he claim to love me so deeply while being hopelessly addicted to the sordid touch of that stripper?

"It's Lorenzo and Principessa Isolde!"

The girls on the sidewalk recognized us and shrieked with excitement, crowding around.

"Lorenzo! We're your biggest fans! Can we get a picture?"

Their faces were flushed, their eyes shining with a desperate longing for a love like ours.

Lorenzo usually detested scenes like this, but today he tightened his arm around me, pulling me flush against his side and offering the camera an indulgent smile.

After the photo, the girls were still chattering. "May you two have a long and happy life together! You must be the happiest couple in all of New York!"

I looked up at Lorenzo. The moment our eyes met, his lips curled into an indulgent smile, his gaze softening as if I were his entire world.

As if he agreed with every word.

Only I knew we would never grow old together.

I had just stepped out of the car in front of the Vera Wang bridal shop when the waiting designer scurried over, her voice practically singing with envy.

"Miss Isolde, the future Donna, the twelve custom gowns Mr. Vittorio ordered are all ready. Every last one is hand-stitched with real diamonds."

I didn't move. I just looked at the man beside me.

Lorenzo wasn't looking at the gowns.

He was staring at his phone.

The screen’s pale light cast his face in shadow, and that murky, irrepressible desire flickered in his eyes again.

A sharp pain lanced through my heart.

I knew that look. It was the same one he wore in every disgusting, private video with Roxy.

He noticed my stare and quickly pocketed his phone. The lust in his eyes vanished, replaced in a heartbeat by an apologetic smile.

The transition was seamless.

"I'm sorry, Isolde." He caressed my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. "The family just called an urgent meeting. Someone’s making trouble on our turf, and I have to handle it personally."

"Then go," I said, my voice flat.

He let out a quiet, relieved sigh and pressed a hot kiss to my forehead. "Be a good girl and try on the gowns. Pick whichever one you love. I'll have the driver take you home when you're done."

With that, he turned and climbed back into the car.

The engine roared to life. He sped off as if fleeing a fire, rushing to his "urgent meeting."

Or rather, rushing to Roxy's bed.

The designer stepped forward, asking cautiously, "Miss Isolde, shall we begin the fitting?"

I pulled my gaze back, looking at the rows of impossibly decadent gowns, each one a testament to the Vittorio family's power.

I shook my head.

"No. We're not."

"I don't want any of them."

It didn't matter. For the grand engagement ceremony, all he would have was a dead fiancée.

I had just settled into the car for the ride home. Before the driver could start the engine, my phone buzzed.

The image on the screen seared itself into my mind.

It was a video, sent through an encrypted channel. The scene was dark and intimate, filled with nauseating gasps and moans.

Roxy was draped over Lorenzo's lap like a wildcat in heat, wearing my own wine-red silk nightgown—stolen from my closet and torn.

Her eyes were glazed over, staring defiantly into the camera, as if taunting me.

[If your man can get here in twenty minutes, I'll let him try the new product I just got my hands on.]

Immediately, Lorenzo's profile picture—a snarling black hound—lit up. His reply was two short, urgent words:

[Wait for me.]

I clicked off the video and closed my eyes, fighting the bile that rose in my throat.

I thought I'd gone numb to it all.

But the thrill I could feel radiating from him, all for another woman, was like a dull knife sawing back and forth across my soul.

That night, I curled up at the foot of my bed, my eyes raw and burning.

The encrypted phone on my nightstand vibrated all night long.

Roxy was a demon who wouldn't let me breathe.

From dusk till dawn, she sent a new photo every hour.

My private study was a disaster.

Shredded documents littered the floor, the expensive mahogany desk was smeared with a sticky residue, and the air was thick with the cloying, sweet scent of drugs and sex.

[He couldn't get enough of me. The future Don's stamina is incredible… Is he like this with you? Or does that prim, dead-fish act of yours make it impossible for him to even get hard?]

I stared at the images.

My pride screamed, a wounded animal in the depths of my soul, but it was too weak to even hold my head high, drowned out by his endless betrayal.

Lorenzo didn't stumble home until the first hint of dawn.

He pushed open the door to find me lying in bed, tear tracks staining my face, my knuckles white from gripping the phone.

The delicate thread between us instantly alerted him to my despair.

He rushed over and pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. "Isolde, why are you crying? Who hurt you?"

I slowly lifted my head and touched my cheek. It was cold and damp.

After a long moment, I forced a broken smile that was uglier than a sob.

"It's nothing. I had a nightmare. I dreamed my fiancé was taken out by a rival family."

Lorenzo's body tensed. Then he gently kissed away my tears, his voice laced with an intoxicating affection. "Silly girl, who could possibly touch me? Don't cry, my love. It breaks my heart."

I was about to speak when the butler knocked respectfully on the door. "Sir, the gowns have been delivered. The Metropolitan Charity Gala is tonight."

Lorenzo acknowledged him, then turned back to kiss the corner of my mouth, his eyes full of guilt.

"Isolde, I was wrong to leave you at the bridal shop yesterday. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to the Met Gala tonight. You're going to be my Donna, and I want the whole city to know it."

I didn't refuse.

Thinking I had forgiven him, he excitedly swept me into the dressing room and began personally selecting jewelry for me, handling me as if I were his most precious treasure.

The Metropolitan Charity Gala was the pinnacle of opulence.

Beneath colossal crystal chandeliers, socialites clinked glasses, the air thick with the scent of money and power.

To appease me, Lorenzo went out of his way to put me on a pedestal.

He publicly announced a major alliance between the Vittorio family and a Chicago outfit, attributing the successful negotiation to my advice.

The Capos of several other families gathered around to tease him.

"Lorenzo, you spoil the Principessa rotten."

"I heard you gave her the family's ancestral estate in Sicily just to see your future Donna smile."

"A future Don this devoted puts the rest of us to shame."

Lorenzo snaked an arm around my waist, his possessive, amber eyes sweeping over the crowd as he spoke in a low, affectionate growl. "Of course. My Isolde deserves the best in the world."

A wave of envious sighs rippled through the room.

Lorenzo bent down, thoughtfully retrieving a glass of champagne for me. He looked at me, his gaze hazy. "Have a little. This fruity one is your favorite."

I took the glass but didn't drink.

Because as he leaned in, I caught a sharp, aggressive whiff of cheap perfume beneath his expensive cologne.

It was Roxy's scent.

The silent slap of it stung my face.

"I've lost my appetite," I said, turning my head away.

Just then, the grand ballroom doors were flung open.

The same scent I’d just detected now flooded the entire room.

Beside me, Lorenzo's body went rigid. The hand on my waist began to tremble.

It was a primal reaction, a war between lust and restraint.

I followed his gaze.

At the entrance, Roxy strode in on stiletto heels, wearing a plunging, deep-V red dress that left nothing to the imagination.

As if she were the star of the evening.

She ignored the shocked stares, her bewitching eyes fixed solely on my fiancé.

Roxy walked straight to the main table, ignoring the high-ranking family members and politicians seated there. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were locked on Lorenzo as she swayed her hips, stopping right at his side.

She didn't need an invitation.

A wave of gasps spread through the hall. People began to whisper, trying to place her.

"Isn't that the dancer from his club? What gives her the nerve to sit next to the future Don?"

"Isn't she afraid Lorenzo will have her tossed in the Hudson for this?"

"Shh, keep your voice down! I heard she's backed by some serious drug money. You see the jewels she flashes on her livestreams?"

Just as I averted my gaze, I saw Roxy brazenly take Lorenzo's hand and press it against her chest, right in the cleavage of her dress.

Lorenzo's hand froze. He tried to pull it back, but Roxy just smiled, holding it fast as her body swayed.

My heart stopped.

I stared at Lorenzo.

Push her away, a voice screamed inside my head. For God's sake, push her away, now!

But after a moment, Lorenzo’s struggle ceased. He didn't pull his hand away.

I jerked my head to the side, my fingers clenching so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

A searing pain erupted from the core of my being, like a white-hot dagger plunging straight through me.

I was lost in a daze for the rest of the charity auction, until the final item was unveiled and gasps from the crowd snapped me back to reality.

I looked up to see a dazzling "Star of Sicily" blue diamond necklace resting on a velvet display.

The auctioneer was enthusiastically recounting its history.

Legend had it the necklace once belonged to a Sicilian queen, a symbol of eternal, unwavering loyalty.

Perhaps sensing my interest, Lorenzo raised his bidding paddle without a second thought.

"Ten million dollars!"

Then, a sultry female voice sounded from beside him.

"Thirty million dollars!"

He turned to see Roxy had also raised a paddle. She met his displeased glare with a seductive smile.

"So sorry, future Don. My patron is quite fond of me and insists on gifting me this necklace!"

Lorenzo's face darkened instantly. "Fifty million dollars!"

"One hundred million dollars!"

"One hundred and fifty million dollars!"

…

Finally, Lorenzo made a curt gesture.

The auctioneer slammed his gavel down with a flourish.

"My goodness! Mr. Vittorio is buying it outright!"

"Congratulations to the Vittorio family on winning the Star of Sicily!"

Amid thunderous applause, Lorenzo nonchalantly pulled his hand from Roxy's grasp and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Wait for me here, my love. I'll go handle the paperwork."

I watched him leave, and then I saw Roxy rise from her seat, giving me a look loaded with meaning as she followed him out.

It wasn't until everyone had left that I finally unclenched my fists. My nails had dug in so deep that my palm was bleeding.

But I felt no pain. I just stood up and walked out.

The screen of my phone was lit up with a single, unread, anonymous message.

"The private lounge on the top floor. Come and see who your man really belongs to, my dear future Donna."

After the guests had dispersed, the empty hallway echoed with my footsteps.

Bodyguards stood at a distance, quietly turning away anyone who tried to approach the lounge.

Before I even got close, I heard them.

The sound of fabric ripping, a dull thud against a wall.

I leaned against the cool marble, staring blankly at the scene before me.

The lounge door was ajar. Lorenzo had Roxy pinned against the wall.

The veins on his forehead bulged, his large hands clamped tightly around her slender neck. "Are you out of your mind, Roxy?!"

"What the hell was that, in front of the families, in front of Isolde?!"

Roxy showed no fear.

Her long legs, clad in red silk, wrapped around Lorenzo's lean waist.

She tilted her head back, her eyes glazed, and breathed hotly against his ear.

"My dear Lorenzo, your body is so honest. The moment you touched me… you were hard as a rock, weren't you?"

Lorenzo's body went rigid.

I could see the reason in his eyes crumbling, replaced by a murky, possessive desire.

"Shut up…" he gasped, but the hand on her neck loosened, sliding up to grip the back of her head instead.

"I want to kill you…"

"Then kill me."

Roxy moaned, offering her lips. "Right here, in your own way… kill me."

The next second, Lorenzo let out a feral growl.

He crushed his mouth to hers, his hands brutally tearing at the crimson fabric of her dress.

They were shamelessly entangled once more.

The piercing pain of betrayal made my legs give out, and tears streamed silently down my face.