The doctor told me my voice might return in seven days.

He was not one of Elias’s doctors.

He was the first doctor I had secretly visited in three years.

After reading my old records, Dr. Marlowe looked at me and said, “Your vocal cords were damaged, but they were not beyond repair. Your recovery should have started long ago.”

My hand froze around the pen.

For three years, Elias’s doctors had told me I would never speak again.

Now this doctor was telling me someone had stopped me from healing.

“If treatment continues,” he said, “you may be able to speak within a week.”

A week.

In one week, I might have my voice back.

In one week, I was supposed to marry Elias Falcone.

The thought should have made me happy. Once, it would have. Elias was the man who had pulled me out of the wreckage after the crash that killed my father and left my mother bound to a hospital bed. He had paid for my surgeries, learned sign language for me, and brought me into the Falcone estate when the Moretti family collapsed.

Everyone said he loved me.

I believed them because I wanted to.

When I left the clinic, rain had begun to fall. The driver was waiting outside, but I told him to take me to the Falcone chapel instead of the estate.

The wedding planner had messaged me that morning about a rehearsal. Elias said he was busy with family business, but I thought I could at least look at the chapel alone.

I wanted to stand there once before the ceremony.

I wanted to imagine walking toward him.

That was my first mistake.

Adriana Hale was Elias’s stepsister, though no one in the Falcone estate treated her like an ordinary sister.

She was the family’s precious songbird, the girl Elias protected in public and indulged in private. She had a soft voice, a harmless smile, and the kind of fragile beauty that made men lower their guard before they realized she had already taken what she wanted.

For three years, I had written songs for her.

At first, I did it willingly. Elias said Adriana needed a chance, and I believed that giving her my music was another way of repaying him for saving my mother and me. Since I could no longer sing, I told myself it was enough that my songs still lived somewhere.

But I never gave her everything.

I never gave her Nocturne.

And I never gave her the song I had written as my private wedding vow.

That was why I froze when I heard her voice inside the chapel.

She was singing my vow.

The chapel doors were half open. Music drifted out, soft and haunting. Adriana stood at the altar in a white satin rehearsal dress, singing words I knew better than my own heartbeat.

Elias sat in the first row, watching her.

His expression was gentle in a way that made my chest ache.

Beside him, Julian Falcone leaned against the pew with his arms crossed. Elias’s twin brother had the same face, but his eyes were darker, his smile slower, his presence more dangerous. Julian was the underboss, the man Elias sent when negotiation failed.

Adriana finished the last note and turned to Elias.

“Was it good?” she asked.

Elias stood and walked toward her. “Perfect.”

She smiled. “Then I’ll sing it at the ceremony?”

“At the ceremony,” Elias said. “And at your debut as Nocturne.”

My fingers went cold.

Nocturne.

That name was mine.

Before the crash, I had composed under that name in London’s underground music scene. Nocturne was anonymous, but the songs had gone everywhere — clubs, private auctions, masked galas, even Mafia-owned lounges that paid too much money for music no one could trace.

After I lost my voice, Elias persuaded me to let Adriana sing some of my songs. He said it was temporary. He said Adriana needed a chance. He said I could still create, even if I could no longer perform.

I agreed because I loved him.

But I had never agreed to give Adriana my name.

Adriana looked down at the wedding program in her hand. “Will the old families accept it? Me standing beside you?”

Elias took the program from her and smoothed the paper. “They’ll accept what I tell them to accept.”

The planner hurried forward with a box of printed cards. One slipped from the top and landed near the doorway.

I bent down and picked it up.

At the center, in black engraved letters, was the title:

Falcone-Moretti Alliance Ceremony

Below it were two names.

Elias Falcone

Adriana Hale

My own name appeared at the bottom in smaller print.

Lydia Moretti, legal representative of the Moretti estate.

Not bride.

Representative.

A legal signature.

A key.

My throat tightened until the scar there burned.

Inside the chapel, an older man spoke. I recognized him as Father Bellini, one of the priests trusted by the Falcone family.

“And Miss Moretti?” he asked carefully.

Elias’s voice turned flat. “Lydia signs the transfer papers before the vows. Once Moretti territory legally passes under Falcone protection, she no longer matters.”

Adriana’s voice softened. “She’ll be hurt.”

“She’ll live,” Elias said. “She always does.”

That was when my phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

Do not go to the clinic. Your mother has been moved. New guards. Falcone orders.

For a moment, the chapel blurred.

My mother.

The only family I had left.

Elias had moved her without telling me.

I looked at the program in my hand, then at Adriana standing at my altar, holding my song, wearing white.

The doctor had said my voice might return in seven days.

Elias had seven days left to enjoy my silence.

I folded the program, slipped it into my coat, and walked away before anyone saw me.

Elias came home before midnight with rain on his coat and blood on his cuff.

He always looked most like himself after violence — calm, elegant, untouchable. A Falcone don could order a man buried before dinner and still ask whether I had eaten.

When he entered my room, I was sitting by the window with a blanket around my shoulders. The wedding program was hidden beneath the cushion beside me.

He paused at the door. “You’re awake.”

I lifted my tablet and wrote, I couldn’t sleep.

His gaze softened. He came to me, touched the side of my face, and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone. “Nervous about the wedding?”

I looked at him.

He was so good at pretending.

For three years, he had looked at me like that. As if I were precious. As if I were the only soft thing in his violent world.

I wrote, Can we visit my mother tomorrow?

His hand stilled.

Only for a second, but I saw it.

“The capital clinic is better for her,” he said. “The doctors don’t want visitors until her condition stabilizes.”

You moved her without telling me.

“I was going to tell you.” His voice remained gentle. “The harbor roads were flooding. It was safer.”

Then let me call her doctor.

His expression cooled. “Lydia, don’t make this difficult.”

There it was.

The man beneath the tenderness.

The door opened before I could answer. Adriana walked in without knocking, wearing a cream silk robe and my mother’s black pearl veil draped over her hair.

My mother’s veil.

The one piece of my family Elias had returned to me after the crash.

Adriana touched the pearls with false shyness. “I hope you don’t mind. Elias said I could wear it for the performance rehearsal. He thinks it suits my voice.”

My fingers curled around the tablet.

Elias glanced at me. “It’s only for the ceremony. Don’t be petty.”

Petty.

My mother’s veil was on another woman’s head, and I was petty.

Adriana stepped closer and smiled. “Lydia, you’ve always been generous with me. Your songs, your time, even your name. I’m sure you won’t mind one little veil.”

My name.

She said it softly, but she knew exactly where to press.

Elias turned to her. “Go downstairs. I’ll be there soon.”

Adriana looked disappointed. “You promised to review the Nocturne contract with me.”

The room fell silent.

Elias’s eyes sharpened.

I lowered my gaze before he could read my expression.

Adriana realized she had said too much. She gave a quick laugh. “I mean the performance contract. I’m so nervous lately. I keep saying things wrong.”

She left.

Elias watched the door close, then turned back to me. “Rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

After he left, I waited ten minutes before slipping out of bed.

Elias’s study was on the second floor behind a locked walnut door. I had known the passcode for years because he once trusted me enough to let me bring him files.

Or maybe he had simply believed a mute woman with no allies would never dare use it against him.

The lock clicked open.

I found the contract in the second drawer of his desk.

It was not a performance agreement.

It was an intellectual property transfer.

Every composition registered under Nocturne, past and future, would legally belong to Adriana Hale’s entertainment company after the Falcone-Moretti alliance ceremony. My signature line was already prepared. So was my mother’s medical authorization form, attached as “security collateral.”

If I signed, Adriana would own my music.

If I refused, my mother’s treatment could be terminated.

I took photos of every page.

Then I heard Elias’s voice in the hallway.

I barely had time to hide behind the bookcase before the study door opened.

Elias entered with Julian.

Julian sounded annoyed. “You’re pushing too fast. Lydia isn’t stupid.”

“She’s loyal,” Elias said. “There’s a difference.”

“She’ll notice the Nocturne transfer.”

“She’ll sign if her mother’s life depends on it.”

Julian was quiet for a moment. “And after the wedding?”

“Adriana becomes Nocturne publicly. Lydia stays out of sight until the Moretti assets are settled.”

Julian’s voice dropped. “And if Lydia refuses to stay?”

Elias answered without emotion.

“Then she disappears.”

My hand tightened around my phone.

This time, it was recording.

After they left, I returned to my room and opened the unknown number again.

Before I could type, another message arrived.

If you want your mother alive, stop trusting the man who calls you his bride.

I replied, Who are you?

The answer came a minute later.

Dante Vitale.

My breath caught.

Dante Vitale was the head of the Vitale family, Falcone’s greatest rival. He owned half the city’s ports, three private security companies, and a music empire that no one could prove was used for money laundering.

I typed, Why are you watching me?

His reply was short.

Because I know who Nocturne is, Miss Moretti. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.

I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.

For three years, Elias had hidden me behind Adriana.

But Dante Vitale had known where to look all along.

Julian came to my room the next morning with coffee and a box of pastries from the bakery I liked.

He did not knock.

He never did.

Elias entered rooms like an owner. Julian entered like a man who already knew what waited inside.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” he said, placing the tray on my desk.

I wrote, Elias told you?

“No.” Julian looked at the untouched water glass beside my bed. “You always drink half a glass before sleeping. Last night, it was full.”

My fingers paused.

It was such a small detail. Too small for Elias to notice.

But Julian noticed.

Julian noticed the way I slept, the way I moved, the way I curled my fingers when thunder came. He knew which side of the bed I preferred and how I liked my tea when my throat hurt.

I used to think it was because the twins shared everything.

Now, suspicion crawled coldly up my spine.

Julian sat across from me, his gaze fixed on my face. “You’ve been strange since yesterday.”

I wrote, I’m getting married in six days. Brides are allowed to be strange.

His mouth curved, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Are you?”

I looked at him.

He leaned forward. “Are you getting married, Lydia?”

The question hit too close.

Before I could answer, sunlight caught the ring on his right hand — a black onyx signet set in silver.

My chest tightened.

I remembered that ring.

Not from boardrooms. Not from family dinners.

From the lake house.

Three years ago, after a Falcone banquet, I had been feverish and half-drugged from the medication the doctor gave me. I remembered a man holding me through the night, his hand covering mine, that ring cold against my skin.

I had believed it was Elias.

But Elias wore gold.

Julian wore black onyx.

Julian followed my gaze to the ring and closed his hand.

Too late.

The door opened again.

Adriana swept in wearing pale pink and a smile sharp enough to cut. “Am I interrupting?”

Julian stood. “Yes.”

She ignored him and looked at me. “Elias asked me to take you to the bridal fitting. We can’t have you looking plain at the ceremony, can we?”

I picked up my tablet.

Isn’t the bride supposed to choose her own dress?

Adriana laughed softly. “You can keep the title if it comforts you, Lydia. I already have what matters.”

Her gaze moved from me to Julian, then toward the hallway where Elias’s guards waited.

“Both brothers know where they belong.”

Julian’s face hardened. “Adriana.”

“What?” she said innocently. “I only mean the Falcone family is close.”

She grabbed my wrist before I could move away. “Come on. Elias is waiting.”

The bridal boutique had been emptied for us. Falcone soldiers stood at the entrance while attendants brought out gowns worth more than most people’s homes.

Adriana tried on the first dress.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Each time, she stepped out and asked Elias, “Do I look like a bride?”

Each time, Elias looked at her before glancing at me.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I sat on the sofa in my black dress, hands folded in my lap, and watched another woman rehearse being me.

An attendant finally approached me. “Miss Moretti, would you like to try one?”

Before I could refuse, Adriana turned with bright eyes.

“Of course she should. She’s still important.”

Still.

The word slid between us like a needle.

She came close under the excuse of helping me stand. Her nails dug into my wrist.

“After the wedding,” she whispered, “you’ll go back to writing quietly like a good little ghost. That’s what you’re best at.”

I pulled my hand free.

Adriana stumbled backward on purpose.

Her shoulder hit the mirror. It cracked.

She cried out.

Elias was across the room in seconds. “Adriana!”

Julian came after him, but his eyes went first to my wrist, where red nail marks had risen on my skin.

Adriana clutched Elias’s sleeve, tears spilling instantly. “I’m fine. Lydia didn’t mean to push me. She’s just upset.”

Elias turned to me.

His face was cold.

“Apologize.”

I stared at him.

My hands moved.

She hurt herself.

Adriana sobbed harder. “Please don’t blame her. I shouldn’t have tried on the dresses. I forgot how much this wedding means to her.”

Elias stepped closer. “I said apologize.”

The attendants lowered their heads. The guards looked away. Everyone in the room understood what was happening, and no one dared say a word.

Julian suddenly caught Elias’s arm. “Enough. Look at Lydia’s wrist.”

Elias did not look.

Adriana leaned against him, fragile and victorious.

That was when Julian said sharply, “Little nightingale, stop staring at him like that.”

The room went still.

My blood turned cold.

Little nightingale.

The man at the lake house had called me that.

Not Elias.

Julian.

His face changed the moment he realized what he had said.

I looked at his black onyx ring, then at his face.

The last piece clicked into place.

The man who had slept beside me for three years was not Elias.

It was Julian.

My stomach twisted violently.

A phone call saved me from collapsing.

It was Dr. Marlowe.

I answered and held the phone to my ear.

“Miss Moretti,” he said carefully, “your blood test from yesterday came back. I need you to come in for confirmation, but the preliminary result is clear.”

I gripped the phone.

“You’re pregnant.”

The boutique blurred.

Elias could not be the father.

The man in my bed had been Julian all along.

And now I was carrying a child born from a lie.