My body went rigid. Slowly, I turned.

William Salvatore stood at the edge of our private booth.

He was dressed in a flawlessly tailored black suit, his posture ramrod straight. His austere, controlled presence was a violent contrast to the chaotic sensuality of the club—a stark monolith in a riot of color. The very air around him seemed to still and chill.

Chloe choked on her drink, sobering instantly. She shot me a wide-eyed you’re-on-your-own look, snatched her purse, and vanished into the crowd.

Suddenly, it was just him and me.

And my offending hand, still resting against the companion’s face.

William’s eyes tracked to my hand. His gaze darkened, turning into something lethal.

He stepped forward in one fluid motion, his fingers closing like a steel manacle around my wrist. His icy stare shifted to the young man. “Out.”

That single word, delivered with the quiet weight of absolute authority, sent the companion and his friends scrambling. They disappeared like ghosts.

I yanked my wrist free, rubbing the red marks. “William! What the hell is your problem?”

“That is my question.” His voice was like ice shards. “Explain this.”

“I felt like being here. So I came.” My tone was deliberately careless, a challenge. “It’s none of your business.”

He studied me—my defiant posture, my smudged makeup, the reckless glint in my eyes. His jaw tightened.

Before I could react, he bent, grabbed me around the waist, and hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“William! Put me down! You bastard!”

I shrieked, pounding my fists against his back, my legs kicking uselessly. He didn’t even flinch. He carried me, ignoring the stunned stares, straight out of The Crucible and dumped me unceremoniously into the back of a waiting black armored Mercedes.

“Drive.”

“Yes, Don Salvatore.”

The car pulled away. I lunged for the door handle.

“Isabella.” His hand shot out, grabbing my arm and dragging me back into the leather seat. “Enough.”

He turned to face me, his expression carved from stone. “You are to be my wife. You were given the Family protocols. One states that a Salvatore woman is to remain at the compound after nightfall. Another expressly forbids unapproved venues like this. Were you not paying attention?”

“From now on, you do not set foot in such places. For tonight’s disobedience, you will submit a ten-thousand-word account of your actions and their consequences. A lesson in accountability.”

An account? Protocols?

I almost laughed, a hot, bitter surge rising in my chest. In my past life, those damn protocols had strangled me. I’d lived like a puppet.

Never again.

“I’m not writing your stupid account!” I shouted, the words tearing from my throat. “Your rules mean nothing to me! I’m not marrying you!”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, suffocating silence filled the car.

William turned his head slowly. His deep-set eyes locked onto me, churning with disbelief and something else, something complicated and dark.

He stared for a long, tense moment. “…Explain.”

Looking at him, my initial urge to blurt out the truth cooled. He hated this version of me—the wild, inconvenient fiancée. If I told him now that he was getting the perfect, obedient Seraphina instead, it would be letting him off too easy.

After the lifetime of repression I remembered, he deserved to suffer a little.

I took a breath, forced the storm of emotions down, and looked out the tinted window. “…Nothing. I’m just angry.”

William watched me for another few seconds. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction, but his voice held no compromise. “Sit properly.”

I looked at him, sitting with military precision, not a hair out of place. The symbol of everything that had crushed me. A fresh wave of resentment hit.

I wouldn’t.

I deliberately slumped against the seat, kicked off my heels, and pressed my bare feet into the plush carpet. I hit the window control, letting the night air rush in and tangle my hair.

I would be messy. I would be real.

This was me.

William watched my deliberate rebellion, his brow furrowing. But he said nothing.

The car stopped at the Caruso family gates.

I pushed the door open.

“Isabella.” His voice stopped me. Cold. Final. “The account. On my desk tomorrow.”

The car pulled away before I could reply.

I watched the taillights disappear into the night, and kicked a loose piece of cobblestone so hard it clattered into the darkness.

I walked into the mansion. In the grand living room, my father Victor, his mistress-turned-wife Giselle, and my half-sister Seraphina were waiting, a perfect little tribunal.

Victor took in my disheveled state, the smell of smoke and alcohol. His face darkened. “Where have you been? Look at you! This is how a Caruso behaves?”

I walked toward the staircase. “I’m not marrying into the Salvatores. Where I go and what I do is my business now.”

Seraphina rose gracefully. She approached me, a faint, hopeful smile on her lips. “Isabella… Father said you’ve decided to… relinquish the engagement to me. Is it true?”

Her hypocrisy made my skin crawl. “Yes. It’s yours. You always did like taking cast-offs.”

“Isabella, watch your mouth!” Victor roared. “A match with William Salvatore is a gift from God! I’ve already spoken to the Salvatore Family. They find Seraphina far more suitable! Don’t come crying to me later with regrets!”

I let out a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t have regrets.”

From the sofa, Giselle sighed theatrically. “Isabella, dear, I only say this because I care. You’re so… untamed. Without the Salvatore alliance, what respectable Family will consider you?”

My eyes snapped to her. They were cold. “You are not my mother. You are the woman who slept with my father while his wife was dying. Worry about your own daughter. Stolen things have a way of slipping through your fingers.”

Giselle’s face blotched with fury. Victor sputtered.

I was already walking up the stairs to my room.

The next morning, William arrived before I was fully awake.

He stood in the foyer, impeccable and severe. His first words were, “The account.”

I leaned against my doorframe, my silk robe slipping off one shoulder. I yawned. “Didn’t write it. Not going to.”

His expression hardened. “Isabella. When will you learn to obey?”

“I was born this way.” I met his gaze head-on, all defiance. “Obey? Not in this lifetime. I don’t like being leashed.”

“You—”

The tense standoff was broken by Seraphina’s timely arrival.

She wore a modest, pale blue dress, every movement measured. She offered William a gentle smile.

“William, please don’t be angry with Isabella.” Her voice was soft as silk. She held out several neatly written pages. “She was just upset last night. I took the liberty of drafting the account for her. Will this suffice?”

William took the papers. He scanned them, then looked back at me. The disappointment in his eyes was a physical weight.

“Look at your sister. Look at you. Raised in the same house. Can you not learn even a fraction of her discipline?”

“Consider last night addressed. Go change. You’re accompanying me to a business gathering.”

I didn’t hesitate. “No. Take Seraphina. She’s more your style.”

His brow furrowed. “Isabella! You are my intended.”

The words were a needle, jabbing straight into an old wound.

See? He was marrying me because a deal was a deal. The Salvatore name couldn’t bear the stain of reneging.

It had nothing to do with choice. With desire.

Given the choice, he’d pick Seraphina in a heartbeat.

This time, I’d give him what he wanted.

Seraphina smoothly interjected. “William, Isabella might find such formal events overwhelming. Perhaps… I could accompany her? I could help guide her, if needed.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She took my arm, her grip deceptively strong, and steered me upstairs. “Come, Isabella. Let’s find you something appropriate.”

The moment my bedroom door closed, I shook off her hand. “The audience is gone. Drop the act.”

The gentle mask slipped, but her tone remained even. “You misunderstand. I want us to be close.”

“Close? That will never happen. Unless you’re dead. No, even then, I’d dance on your grave. You and your whore mother both.”

Seraphina’s composure cracked. A flash of real anger showed. “Isabella! You push too far! You think I enjoy this? Once William knows I’m the bride, he’ll be relieved! A wild thing like you could never be what he needs!”

“Oh?” I took a step closer, my voice a mocking whisper. “Then why didn’t you tell him just now? Afraid he’d call the whole thing off if he knew it was you?”

“That’s not true!” she hissed, her voice sharp. “He’d be glad it’s me! I’m not telling him yet because I want it to be a revelation! So keep your mouth shut!”

“Don’t worry. Your little marital games don’t interest me.”

This life was for me.

Somehow, I still ended up at the gathering—a high-stakes meet of syndicate associates and legitimate business fronts at a historic, guarded manor.

I wore a blood-red gown that plunged in the back, a statement of fire against Seraphina’s virginal white chiffon.

When the time came for the opening formalities, a traditional dance, William’s eyes passed over me and settled on Seraphina. He extended his hand to her.

A low murmur rippled through the crowd.

“The Caruso heiress is Isabella, no? Why the sister?”

“The message is clear. The Don prefers the… manageable one.”

“Naturally. Seraphina Caruso understands decorum. The older one… beautiful, but volatile. A liability for a man in his position.”

William ignored the whispers. He glanced at me, his explanation flat. “You don’t know the steps. Observe and learn from your sister this time.”

Then he led Seraphina to the center of the marble floor. They moved together with polished grace, a picture of controlled harmony under the crystal chandeliers.

Watching them spin, I felt no jealousy. Just a profound, draining sense of disgust.

I slipped away. I found a deserted stone balcony overlooking the manicured grounds, letting the cold air clear my head.

The peace didn’t last.

Seraphina found me. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing, her eyes bright with triumph.

“Sister, hiding out here? Couldn’t bear to watch?” She stepped close, her voice a venomous purr. “I told you. Between us, any man, even William, will choose the civilized option.”

She paused, leaning in. “But it must be in your blood. Your mother couldn’t keep my mother from taking her place. And you can’t keep me from taking yours. A legacy of failure.”

General insults I could dismiss.

But she brought my mother into this.

The cold clarity in my mind crystallized into something razor-sharp. I turned. My hand moved without thought.

The crack of my palm against her cheek was startlingly loud in the quiet night.

Seraphina’s head snapped to the side. A vivid red handprint bloomed on her pale skin.

She touched her face, stunned. “You… you hit me?”

“That’s just the start,” I said, my voice low and deadly. I advanced.

She stepped back, her confidence wavering. “Isabella, don’t you dare—”

I closed the distance, my fingers tangling in the delicate fabric of her gown at the neckline. “Who gave you the courage to taunt me alone? Have you forgotten, Sera? I spent my teenage years in combat training. Breaking a fragile thing like you would be easy.”

I yanked her toward the balcony’s stone railing. The drop to the dark gardens below was significant.

She gasped, real fear entering her eyes as she peered over. “Isabella! Stop it!”

“Let’s see if I dare.”

I didn’t shove her. I released her gown and gave her a hard, open-handed push against her shoulder—a controlled, forceful blow meant to shock, not to kill.

She stumbled back with a cry, her heel catching on an uneven flagstone. Her arms flailed, she hit the low, decorative section of the railing—and it gave way with a sickening crack of old wood.

Her scream was cut short as she vanished over the edge.