My parents called with the news: a welcome dinner for my childhood sweetheart's new fiancée. An arranged marriage. The punchline? Dylan, my so-called sweetheart, was sound asleep in my bed.

"Dylan," I whispered, thinking it was a sick joke. "I heard the family arranged a marriage for you."

He just hummed, pulling me tighter into his arms. "Sera, you can help me pick out an outfit later. A tie, too."

I froze. He opened his eyes, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

"What's wrong? We're just sleeping together. You didn't actually think this meant I'd marry you, did you?"

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1

For a moment, my mind went blank. I couldn't comprehend what Dylan Marcone had just said. The only instinct I had was to scramble away from him.

I didn't dare look at him. I shoved him away, snatched my silk chemise from the floor, and frantically pulled it on.

"Sera, look at me," he said, propping himself up on an elbow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "You didn't really think this was something more, did you?"

The words "just sleeping together" echoed in my head. My hands trembled so violently I couldn't fasten my bra.

Dylan tossed the covers aside, his lean, chiseled abs on full display as he knelt on the bed. Then, with practiced ease, he reached around and fastened the clasp for me.

I lowered my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"Who is she? Don't tell me Don Lorenzo just plucked some random woman off the street for you."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My skin was a canvas of dark hickeys, my legs aching with a familiar soreness.

Wearing only his briefs, Dylan came up behind me, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"It's Genevieve Valenti."

He lifted his captivating, commanding eyes. "To be honest, I'm a little excited about an alliance with the Valenti family."

My hand, holding a tube of lipstick, froze mid-swipe.

Of course, I knew Genevieve. She was the principessa of another powerful crime family. This marriage alliance had been a rumor for years.

And he'd had a crush on her. But before he could make a move, she'd left for France.

I had assumed it was just a rumor.

Dylan watched me, his lips pursed.

"Sera, don't overthink it. We grew up together, remember? Sure, you're alluring, but I see you as my best friend."

He grinned. "You're my favorite person to eat with, drive with, and sleep with..."

His words were a punch to the gut. A chill shot through me. I forced a smile that felt like my face was cracking.

He went on. "I can predict your every move, guess what you're going to do or say next. To be honest, it gets pretty boring sometimes."

"Some nights, I wake up and see you next to me, and it actually startles me. It makes me think—what if my father's old joke came true and we actually got together? My life would be over before it even began. I know you too well. If we got married, life would be so damn dull."

He seemed to shiver, as if the very thought was exhausting.

I dug my nails into my palms, willing myself not to cry.

"I have things to do," I said flatly, pulling on my coat and fleeing his penthouse.

I had once believed Dylan and I were building a future together.

We did everything a couple would. We managed businesses, attended family meetings, went on dates, slept together…

Every time a storm rolled through Chicago, he would drive across town just to pick me up. At family dinners, he would find my hand under the table, his fingertips tracing patterns on my palm.

I never realized that for me, it was years of devotion and love. For him, it was just a game.

"Sera?" My mother, Elena Rossi, knocked on the car window, peering in with concern.

I snapped back to reality. Seeing my tear-streaked face in the rearview mirror, I hastily wiped my cheeks, got out of the car, and plastered on a smile.

"Mamma!" I threw my arms around her before she could get a good look at my face. "I missed you."

Clutching a designer leather handbag, she took my arm, her relief palpable. "You scared me to death, just sitting in the car like that. Are you alright?"

I nodded, and my mother deftly changed the subject.

"By the way, Sera, Dylan's fiancée is coming over later. The Don and Donna are serious this time. I heard Dylan has been preparing for this alliance for weeks."

"He said Genevieve might feel a bit constrained, so if you're there, as a peer, she might feel more at ease. Donna Isabella and I are like sisters. You..."

She trailed off, her expression uneasy.

"Don't worry, Mamma," I said, forcing a smile. "I get it. I'll be on my best behavior and won't say a word out of line."

My mother looked at me with a quiet, sympathetic gaze.

She had seen the photos of Dylan and me in my room, the Browning he gave me—his name engraved on the side—that I treasured in my safe, and the plans for our future we had scribbled down on paper.

How could she not understand?

We walked home in silence. As I opened the door, I said suddenly, "After this all blows over, let's request a transfer to Miami."

My mother froze. I smiled and linked my arm with hers, feigning a playful tone. "Haven't you been talking for years about wanting to expand the business there? I'm not that ambitious anyway. Managing our branch there and being with you and Dad would be perfect for me."

This time, sitting in the living room of the Marcone estate with my parents felt utterly alien.

Every time I'd come here before, Dylan and I would sneak away for a secret rendezvous.

The last time, we even used the excuse of discussing a deal to hide in his study, only to end up tangled together on his desk.

But this time...

"Oh, Elena, you have no idea what that boy has sacrificed to make this alliance happen," Dylan's mother, Isabella, said in a low voice. "He didn't have to make so many concessions, but he insisted on welcoming the Valentis with the utmost respect. Don Lorenzo even had to call in a favor he’d sworn he’d never use, just to secure this meeting."

I glanced around the meticulously decorated estate, filled with white irises to symbolize the alliance.

There were cigars, top-shelf whiskey, and refreshments on every table.

Even Dylan's Doberman, which he kept as a guard dog, was wearing a silver scarf.

Dylan stood before a floor-length mirror, adjusting his tie again and again, ensuring he looked impeccable.

The irony was that just last night, we were tangled in his bed, his lips lingering possessively on the scar on my waist. The very cufflinks he was wearing were a pair I had picked out for him.

"It's such a shame," Isabella said, shaking her head and taking my mother's hand. "When we were young, we dreamed of our families being joined. We even joked about betrothing them as children!"

She glanced at me, her tone gentle. "I've always been so fond of Sera. Such a wonderful child. Strong, loyal, decisive..."

I lowered my head, not daring to make a sound. I was afraid that if my focus slipped for even a second, the tears would start to fall.

Dylan's brow furrowed in clear annoyance. "Mamma! You said it yourself—those were your ideas, not mine. Since you and Elena are so close, why don't you two get married? What does that have to do with me? What era are we in? Stop bringing up those outdated arrangements."

He spoke with no regard for his elders.

"Seraphina," he said, his tone sharp and cold, as if our mothers' conversation was my fault. "Where is that ring my mother gave you?"

I didn't answer.

He strode over, grabbed my hand, and held it up for all to see. "This signet ring. The one that symbolizes the future matriarch of the Marcone family. I just don't want Genevieve to see it and get the wrong idea."

The moment he finished speaking, my father, Marco Rossi, and Don Lorenzo both froze mid-sip of their whiskey. Even my mother, who had been trimming flowers for Donna Isabella, stopped dead.

The air in the room grew thick with tension.

My mother glanced at me, then slammed the vase and gold shears onto the table with a loud clang. She shot up from her seat, but Isabella grabbed her arm first.

Then, Isabella turned, stepped between Dylan and me, and gave him a hard shove. "Dylan! What are you doing?"

"Your marriage alliance with Genevieve hasn't even been formally announced. Besides, have you forgotten? When you were twenty, you knelt on the ground, crying and begging Sera to wear that ring!"

A flicker of recognition crossed Dylan's face, as if he was suddenly yanked back to the present. He remembered that year, when the heir of another family had made a move on me.

In a drunken panic, he had stolen the family signet ring in the middle of the night and run to my house. He knelt on the floor, his eyes red, and begged me to wear the heirloom as a promise of his loyalty.

Now, he tugged at his tie, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. "I overreacted. I... I don't take back things I've given. You can keep it."

"It's fine. I'll give it back. I'm taking it off now," I said calmly. "It'll be quick, so it won't delay your alliance."

Before anyone could react, I twisted the ring off my finger and prepared to hand it to him.

As I walked toward him, the door swung open, and a gust of cold wind swept through the room.

"Welcome—" Dylan began, then froze when he saw the ring in my palm. "What are you doing?"

The disbelief on his face was plain as day. He clearly never expected me to call his bluff, much less at this exact moment.

As I held out the ring, he finally took it, leaning in close to hiss a warning, "Seraphina, we've always been best friends. Don't you dare ruin this for me today. Genevieve is sensitive. Don't do anything that might upset her."

I didn't bother to answer. So, Genevieve was the sensitive fiancée, and I was just a disposable pawn?

I stared at the man I had once loved, the chill in my chest threatening to turn to ice.

Ten minutes later, Genevieve and her family arrived at the Marcone estate.

The elders quickly fell into a dance of superficial pleasantries, the atmosphere exceptionally "harmonious." Amidst the polite chatter, they skillfully showcased the Marcone family's power and sincerity to the Valentis.

Meanwhile, Dylan sat beside Genevieve, doting on her every move. He was almost thirty, yet he acted like a nervous teenager.

I felt completely out of place and began looking for a way to slip out quietly.

But then Genevieve turned to me, smiling gently. "So, you're Seraphina. I've heard so much about you. You're the star of your generation in the family, aren't you?"

Caught off guard, I waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you, but I think they're just being generous."

I thought the topic would end there, but she pressed on. "Oh, don't say that. I remember your performance at the last shooting competition. The next day, the young men from every family wanting to send you gifts nearly broke down the Rossi family's door!"

Before I could respond, she playfully tugged on Dylan's arm. "You two grew up together, right? I always thought you'd end up together. Everyone did."

All eyes turned to me.

Despite her gentle tone, her words carried a sharp edge that made my skin crawl.

"Her?" Dylan chuckled softly, handing Genevieve a glass of champagne. "To you, maybe she's a lady. To me? She's one of the guys."

He shrugged. "She's just my friend."

He chuckled again, as if recalling a fond, funny memory. "You should have seen her as a kid. Crying with snot and tears everywhere. If I hadn't wiped her face, it would've dripped into her mouth."

"And when she was fifteen, on her first mission, she almost got shot and started talking nonsense. She was waving her knife around like a lunatic—"

"I should go," I said sharply, cutting him off before he could strip away the last of my dignity.

I turned to the heads of the families, forcing a fragile smile. "Don Lorenzo, Donna Isabella, everyone... please enjoy the rest of your evening."

Genevieve glanced at Dylan awkwardly and asked softly, "Did I say something wrong? I hope I didn't upset her."

Dylan glared at me, as if I was the one disrupting the harmony.

Before he could speak, I said flatly, "I have a date tonight. I don't want to be late."