I met Sonny in college.

At the time, my parents had died in an accident, and a group of thugs started harassing me in a bar. He rushed in and saved me.

I had lost my family and had few friends, so for three years, I trailed him like a lost puppy.

Everyone knew I loved him, including him.

But he never responded.

On graduation day, he suddenly pinned me against a wall, his voice a low murmur. “Sharon, be my girl.”

I hugged him without a second thought.

As he kissed me, he said, “We’ll get married tomorrow. From now on, I’ll be your family.”

I naively believed him.

That promise trapped me for two years.

Until I overheard him boasting to his soldati.

“The woman my uncle Marco has dreamed of is now groveling at my feet. Every time I see her desperately trying to win my affection, I just want to laugh. If I hadn't known Uncle Marco had his eye on her, I never would have married such a poor, ordinary woman.”

His men roared with laughter.

“Damn, Sonny. You really know how to get under your uncle’s skin.”

Sonny sneered, “I’ll take everything he’s ever wanted. Anything he covets, I’d rather destroy than let him have it.”

I can’t recall the details of what happened after that day.

I only know that I didn’t cry.

My heart had been stabbed countless times over the past two years. The last of my love had long since bled from the wounds, leaving only an echoing emptiness.

A video call from Marco pulled me from my thoughts.

He was only four years older than Sonny, leaning against the door of his private lounge.

From this angle, I could see a flash of pink lace—a bra—peeking out from under his pillow.

It looked particularly intimate against his black silk sheets.

It was the color Sonny despised, and it was the bra I had worn to climb into Marco's bed.

I asked, “Why do you still have my lingerie?”

Marco's hair was impeccably styled, his broad shoulders filling out his suit. A few strands fell across his brow, and his voice was a low, devastating murmur.

“I always keep it with me. It’s how I console myself on business trips.”

His words were direct and raw.

Even after six months of this affair, I couldn't help but blush.

Only after sleeping with him did I discover he was no iceberg.

He was all man, all fire.

“I want to kiss you. I need to see you right now,” he said.

“Weren’t you asking about my garters? I’m wearing them now. Just for you.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine.

He could always unravel me so easily.

I went to Marco's company, a penthouse in the city center with floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass.

There was a faint scent of gardenias in the air—I had casually mentioned I liked the smell the last time I saw him.

As the thought crossed my mind, a hot body pressed against me from behind.

Marco buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.

“If I don’t message you, you won’t come find me on your own, will you, principessa?”

I placed my hand on Marco’s. “We should probably lay low for a while.”

He froze, then nuzzled my neck, more carefully this time.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

Who would have thought the infamous Marco Moretti, a man known for his ruthlessness, could sound so docile?

I grabbed his tie, pulled him closer, and whispered in his ear, my breath a tease against his skin. “Didn’t you hear? My husband is back.”

He snorted.

“So what? Divorce him. Be with me. I’ll handle everything. No one will dare to touch you.”

It was a familiar promise.

But I didn’t need it anymore.

A lifetime is too long, and a man’s heart is a fickle thing.

I could enjoy Marco's sincerity, but I couldn't trust it to last.

I pried his hands from my waist and tapped the toe of my stiletto on his expensive leather shoe.

“Uncle Marco, you’re crossing a line.”

He stared at me, his expression unreadable.

“He treats you like garbage. Why won’t you leave him? Do you still love him?”

This was the first time he had used that tone with me. Cold, domineering, forceful.

But I just wanted to laugh. He was so cute when he was jealous.

“Does he deserve it? A simple divorce is letting him off too easy. I can’t just walk away until I’ve seen him utterly destroyed.”

The tension in Marco's shoulders seemed to melt away.

“Just tell me what you need from me.”

I draped my arms over his shoulders.

“I need your help right now.”

His breathing grew heavy.

Then, he swept me into his arms and carried me into his private lounge.

The air in the small room grew thick and heavy.

When I got home, I found Sonny sitting on the sofa, a sour scowl on his face.

I ignored him and turned to go upstairs.

“Stop,” he commanded, his eyes tracking me.

I turned, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“What is it?”

He eyed me with suspicion.

“You went to Marco’s company?”

I feigned surprise. How could he know?

“One of my clients wanted to discuss a deal but was worried about paparazzi, so we met there. Just work, you know.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice turning to ice.

“I told you to quit that job. You think I can’t support you?”

The irony was suffocating.

Tired, I just tried to placate him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

I turned to leave, but he shot up and grabbed my wrist.

“I heard a woman from the Falcone family was found dead in the river last week. Cheated on her husband.”

Oh, what a fascinating story.

Sonny’s voice dropped even lower.

“Sharon, you’ll quit your job tomorrow. And you're not to leave this house until I say so.”