I ignored the desperate plea in Nico's eyes.

"Papa," I said, turning to my father, "please make the arrangements. I won't have this family be a laughingstock."

Back in my room, portraits lined the walls. These were the suitors my father had handpicked for a potential alliance. Heirs to fortunes, business tycoons, rising political stars. My gaze was drawn straight to the most unassuming one, tucked away in the corner.

Caspian Thorne. New York's most notorious playboy—the young Don of a rival family, known for his decadent lifestyle.

My father had likely hung his portrait there as a last resort, a backup not even worth considering.

"Dante," I called. Our family's Consigliere, Dante Ricci, entered, the shock of the recent scene still etched on his face.

"Contact the Thorne family. Tell them I accept the proposal," I ordered.

Dante's eyes widened, but he offered no questions, just a sharp nod before he departed.

Before nightfall, I heard footsteps in the garden. I knew it was Nico. I remained in the pavilion, my fingers curled around a teacup, and waited.

He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot and raw.

"Why?" Nico’s voice was a ragged whisper.

I set down my teacup, my gaze level. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" His voice trembled. "Aurora, I know you're angry, but—"

"But what?" I cut in. "You brought a pregnant woman to my home, knelt before my father, and begged to marry her. Was I supposed to smile graciously and give you my blessing?"

Nico’s face was pale. "It's not like that. Please, let me explain—"

He fumbled in his jacket and pulled something out. A St. Christopher's medallion, worn so smooth I knew he'd kept it close to his heart.

"You gave this to me. For three years, I never took it off. I never forgot you, Aurora," Nico said.

I reached out, took the medallion, and weighed it in my palm. Then I flicked open a lighter and held the silver disc over the flame.

The metal began to warp, then melt, molten droplets sizzling as they hit the stone table.

"I don't want tainted things. Or tainted people," I said flatly. The color drained from Nico's face, his body swaying as if struck.

Just then, Sierra appeared, rushing to steady Nico's arm. She looked at me with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes.

When she spoke, her voice was a sickeningly sweet confection, laced with a triumph she couldn't quite hide. "Aurora, Nico truly missed you. Every night, he'd stare at your picture and whisper your name."

Sierra then produced an old, cracked phone. The screen showed my chat history with Nico—a stream of encrypted messages I’d sent over three years. All unread.

"Nico's phone was broken, so he never got any of them. Such a shame," she added, victory glinting in her eyes.

I smiled. "Since when does an outsider have the right to speak on Valachi family matters?"

I nodded to the guards behind me. "Get them out of my sight."

The guards stepped forward at once.

Nico looked like he wanted to fight, but his gaze met my cold, unyielding stare. He deflated, allowing himself and Sierra to be escorted away.

...

The next day, a commotion erupted from beyond the garden wall. A guard hurried in, breathless. "Miss, someone's just come over the back wall."

My pen hovered over the ledger. Unbelievable. Who would dare break into the Valachi estate in this day and age? I set my pen down and rose slowly.

In the backyard, a man was sprawled on a deck chair as if he owned the place. He wore a lurid purple suit, a cigar dangling from his lips, legs crossed with unnerving ease.

It was Caspian Thorne. The infamous playboy Don had decided to pay a personal visit.

Without looking up, Caspian spoke, his voice a lazy drawl. "Miss Valachi, what would you like for an engagement gift? How about the Thorne family's control over the Brooklyn docks?"

I stopped a few feet from him, studying the man. He was, I had to admit, more handsome than his portrait suggested, but also more arrogant, more flippant.

"I'll take the Thorne family's Brooklyn docks," I said.

The moment the words left my mouth, Caspian sat bolt upright. The frivolous smile vanished, and his gaze sharpened, becoming hard and analytical.

He stared at me for a long moment, then a slow, wide grin spread across his face.

"Deal," Caspian said.

He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his suit. "But I should warn you. That old flame of yours isn't the type to give up. He might just crash our engagement party."

Caspian, it seemed, had Nico's number. Just then, the sound of a frantic argument drifted from the nearby pavilion.

"Nico, just tell her the truth!" Sierra was crying, her voice pitching into hysteria. "You only made me pretend to be your woman to protect her!"

My heart seized. I hadn't wanted an explanation. I had no interest. But Sierra’s words were a needle-sharp sting.

Nico’s voice was tight with pain. "I told you, it's over! There's no future for us!"

I was the one who ended it, so why did it still feel like a blade in my chest to hear him say it? I took a deep, steadying breath.

Caspian watched me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Hear that? A classic melodrama. A shame you don't seem to be buying it."

I ignored him and walked toward the pavilion. At the edge, my eyes landed on Sierra’s belly. An act? If what she said was true… But her belly was round, at least seven or eight months along. What kind of act was this?

My voice was so calm it was chilling. "Quite the performance. You've even roped a child into it. You always did give your all to the job, didn't you, Nico?"

Nico's face went white. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Sierra dissolved into fresh sobs, a pathetic sound that turned my stomach. She fumbled with her phone, pulling up a few pictures.

Then her hand conveniently slipped, and the phone clattered to the ground. The screen glowed with screenshots from her social media.

Last Valentine's Day: a photo of Nico kissing her passionately in a penthouse suite. Another post flaunted a ten-million-dollar diamond ring.

At that exact time, I had cut myself off from my family, broke, and was living in a rat-infested apartment, barely scraping by. When acute appendicitis landed me in the hospital, I was utterly alone in a cold, sterile room.

My expression hardened. All my suffering, my waiting… it was all a fucking joke.

I turned to Caspian, who had followed me, and forced my voice to sound casual. "Do you know something I don't?"

Caspian paused, his gaze turning serious. "I only know that the man who sent Nico to Chicago was a mole my own father had planted in their organization."

A cold dread washed over me.

"And the woman he brought back," Caspian continued, his voice low, "her entire file is a fabrication. She's not the informant from his official report."

His words hit me like a physical blow, but I held myself perfectly still.