Three days later, all of Verona was talking about one thing: Dante Moretti had personally flown to Chicago and brought Clara back.

I stood at my window and watched a luxury sedan glide past on the street below. Through the tinted glass, I could just make out Clara’s profile. She wore expensive pearls and a custom silk dress, as if the gaunt woman in the photos had never existed.

"Miss, your father will see you now," the maid said softly from the doorway.

I turned and walked toward my father's study. The family portraits lining the hall seemed to judge me with their silent eyes. Isabella Rossi, the daughter who brought disaster to the family.

"Sit," my father, Lorenzo, said without looking up from his papers.

I sat obediently, bracing for the lecture.

"The Morettis have pulled out of all our joint projects," he finally said, his sharp gaze pinning me to my seat. "They're reopening bids for the port contracts. The construction deals are terminated. Yesterday, their men blocked our land acquisition in the South District."

Every word was a hammer blow.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Sorry?" Lorenzo sneered. "Do you know what this means, Isabella? This war between our families is a sign of weakness. The other players will see an opportunity. They'll start testing us."

"I know," I whispered.

"And that Dante boy is treating Clara like a damn queen." Lorenzo got up and paced to the window. "He took her to Bulgari yesterday and ordered a half-million-dollar jewelry set. Today they're in Milan, getting her fitted for a wedding dress."

A wedding dress.

The words stabbed me in the heart.

"The whole city is talking. Clara Benedetti is about to become the next Mrs. Moretti," Lorenzo turned to face me. "And my daughter has become the laughingstock of Verona."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting back tears.

"The question now," Lorenzo said, sitting back down, "is how we handle this."

"Father, if you think this is my fault—"

"Of course it's your fault!" he slammed his hand on the desk. "If you had just married Dante, our families would be an unstoppable force! But you—"

"Father," Luca's voice came from the doorway. "We have a guest."

"What guest?"

"Julian Torrino."

My father and I both froze. The Torrino family, along with the Rossis and Morettis, had long been the three pillars of power in Verona. But Julian Torrino was known for his cool, calculated approach; he rarely involved himself in the affairs of other families.

"Send him in," Lorenzo said, straightening his collar.

When Julian walked in, I had to admit he was striking. At twenty-nine, he had the classic handsome features of an Italian man, but it was the aura of calm, elegant power that was most impressive.

"Lorenzo," Julian nodded, then his eyes found mine. "Isabella."

"Julian," my father said, gesturing for him to sit. "What an unexpected surprise."

"I think you know," Julian said with a slight smile. "All of Verona knows about the… disagreement between the Rossi and Moretti families."

"Disagreement?" Lorenzo gave a bitter laugh. "This is a declaration of war."

"Indeed," Julian agreed. "Which is why I'm here to offer a solution."

He turned to me, his gaze warm and direct. "Isabella, I'm asking for your hand in marriage."

I almost jumped out of my chair. "What?!"

"I know this is sudden," Julian said, rising and coming to stand before me, "but hear me out. The Torrino family is prepared to form an alliance with the Rossis. My power, combined with yours, will be more than enough to stabilize your family's position during this… transition."

"Julian," my father frowned, "this is not a game."

"I never play games with marriage," Julian said, his voice serious. "In fact, I've had my eye on Isabella for a long time."

"On me?" I asked, confused.

"Five years ago. That street race," a flicker of a memory warmed his eyes. "I saw a fiery, beautiful girl in a red Ferrari, driving without a trace of fear. You made an impression on me then."

I tried to remember that night, but everything was a blur of Clara's taunts and Dante's cold shoulder.

"I've watched you from afar all these years," Julian continued. "Your intelligence, your courage, your beauty… I find myself completely captivated. I was waiting for the right moment to approach you, but the current situation has forced my hand."

"Julian," I stood up, "I appreciate the sentiment, but—"

"Isabella, let him finish," my father said, a new urgency in his voice.

Julian gently took my hand. "I know your heart is in turmoil right now. But I want you to know my feelings are genuine. This isn't just about an alliance. It's about me wanting to protect you. To take care of you."

His hand was warm, his gaze sincere. This didn't feel like an act.

"Do you think… I'm worthy of you?" I asked with a bitter smile. "The whole city thinks I'm…"

"In my eyes, you are perfect," Julian said without hesitation. "As for the gossip, time will reveal the truth."

I looked at him, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of warmth. After the war with Dante began, the whole world had felt hostile. But Julian's gaze was so steady, so sure, it made me want to believe that someone, somewhere, could actually trust me.

"Isabella," my father said, "this is an excellent opportunity."

I knew he wasn't just talking about my happiness. He was talking about the survival of our family. An alliance with the Torrinos would be our salvation.

"I… I need time to think."

"Of course." Julian released my hand. "But I want you to know, whatever you decide, I will respect it. And if you give me a chance, I will spend my life proving my sincerity."

He turned to my father. "Lorenzo, if Isabella agrees, we can begin preparations at once. Given the circumstances, I suggest we hold the wedding within the month."

One month.

The same deadline Dante had asked for.

"I'll do it."

Julian and my father both looked at me in surprise.

"I'll do it," I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt, looking at Julian. "I'll marry you. For the good of my family... and for a new beginning for myself."

A brilliant smile lit up Julian's face. "Isabella, you won't regret this."

"I hope not," I managed a weak smile.

An hour later, Julian left, looking pleased. My father immediately got on the phone, preparing to announce the news.

I sat in my room, staring at the engagement ring Julian had left on my finger—a three-carat pink diamond, exquisite and beautiful.

Maybe this was a new beginning.

Maybe I could forget Dante Moretti, forget all the pain, and start a new life with a man who seemed to truly care.

Meanwhile, across town, Dante was with Clara at Verona's most exclusive boutique.

Clara emerged from the dressing room in her fifth outfit, a pale blue silk gown. She twirled in front of the mirror. "Dante, what do you think of this one?"

"It's beautiful," Dante replied, his eyes scanning the street outside.

"What are you looking at?" Clara asked, noticing his distraction.

"Nothing." He pulled his gaze back to her. "If you like it, we'll take it."

Just then, Dante's phone rang. It was his right-hand man.

"Boss, did you hear?" the voice on the other end was frantic.

"Hear what?"

"Isabella Rossi… she's engaged."

Dante felt his heart stop. "What?"

"They just announced it. She's marrying Julian Torrino. The wedding is in one month."

The phone slipped from Dante's hand and shattered on the marble floor.

"Dante?" Clara looked at him, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Dante just stood there, a roaring in his ears.

Isabella is getting married.

To Julian Torrino.

"It's not possible," he mumbled to himself. "It's a trick… she's just trying to get to me…"

But deep down, he knew.

Isabella Rossi didn't play cheap games.

She was really going to marry someone else.

She was really going to be gone. Forever.

"Dante!" Clara was shaking his shoulders. "What is wrong with you?!"

Dante looked at his reflection in the mirror—a pale, hollow-eyed man who looked nothing like the cool, composed Moretti heir.

And in that moment, he understood.

He had made a terrible, irreversible mistake.

One month later.

Today was my wedding to Julian.

Sunlight poured through the windows of the Rossi estate, glinting off the white Vera Wang gown, the champagne-colored roses, and the Swarovski crystal decorations.

Unlike the disaster a month ago, there would be no surprises today.

I stood before the mirror, the pearlescent silk of the gown fitting me like a second skin.

"Ma'am, the guests have arrived," my maid, Maria, whispered. "Mr. Julian is waiting for you downstairs."

I nodded, but as I turned to go, a commotion erupted outside the estate gates.

Through the window, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

Clara. On her knees in front of the iron gates, dressed in a simple black dress, her hair a mess, her face pale and drawn.

Worse, a crowd of reporters and onlookers had gathered, cameras flashing, microphones extended.

"Dammit." I gathered my skirts and hurried downstairs.

Julian was in the living room, talking with some business associates. He saw my face and was by my side in an instant.

"What is it?" he asked in a low voice.

"It's Clara," I took a deep breath. "She's kneeling at the gates. With a pack of reporters."

Julian's blue eyes turned sharp as ice. "What is she playing at?"

I didn't answer. I just walked outside.