Beg for forgiveness

1. Valentina

CHAPTER 1
"I can't believe he's here. He never shows up to these things unless it's thrown by a friend..." 

"Did you see that he knocked Arno Reinhart down a spot on the Forbes Billionaires list? Poor Arnie almost had a meltdown in the middle of Jean-Georges when he found out..."

Whispers filled the air, slowly growing in intensity as the Frederick Wildlife Trust's annual fundraiser for endangered animals unfolded. Despite the event's focus on the small, sand-colored piping plover, the gala's two hundred guests were captivated by a different topic, abandoning discussions about the bird's welfare in favor of more intriguing gossip.

"I heard his family's villa in Lake Como is undergoing a renovation worth one hundred million dollars. The place has been standing for centuries, so I suppose it's about time..."

Each whisper was accompanied by furtive glances and dreamy sighs, gripping the members of Manhattan high society who were usually composed and unbothered. But I paid no mind to their excitement, my attention fixated on a certain department store heiress teetering towards the swag table in sky-high heels. She swiftly scanned her surroundings before snatching one of the personalized gift bags and discreetly stashing it in her purse.

As soon as she disappeared from sight, I discreetly spoke into my earpiece. "Emery, Code Pink at the swag table. Find out whose bag she took and replace it."

My assistant groaned on the other end. "Diana Coleman again? Doesn't she have enough money to buy everything on that table and still have millions left over?"

"Yes, but it's not about the money for her. It's the thrill," I replied. "Go. I'll make sure to order bread pudding from Magnolia Bakery tomorrow as a thank you. And please, find out where Penelope is. She was supposed to be manning the gift station."

"Haha," Emery chuckled, picking up on my sarcasm. "Alright, I'll handle the gift bags and Penelope, but I expect a large tub of bread pudding in return."

I laughed softly as the call ended, grateful for Emery's efficiency. While she took care of the swag bag situation, I navigated the room, keeping a vigilant eye for any potential issues that needed my attention.

When I first started this business, it felt strange to be working at events I would have otherwise attended as a guest. But over the years, I grew accustomed to it, appreciating the financial independence it provided me, separate from my trust fund or inheritance. As a luxury event planner in Manhattan, I relished the challenge of crafting exquisite experiences for the wealthy, who had a taste for beauty. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

As I double-checked the sound setup for the upcoming keynote speech, Emery rushed towards me, a mix of excitement and urgency on her face. "Valentina! You didn't tell me he was here!"

"Who?" I inquired.

"Bryan Davis."

All thoughts of swag bags and sound checks vanished from my mind.

My gaze snapped to Emery's, taking in her bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Bryan Davis?" My heart pounded inexplicably. "But he didn't RSVP."

"Well, the rules of RSVPs don't apply to him," she practically squealed with delight. "I can't believe he actually came. People will be talking about this for weeks."

Suddenly, the earlier whispers made perfect sense.

Bryan Davis, the enigmatic CEO of the Davis Group, a luxury goods conglomerate, rarely made public appearances unless it was an event he hosted, attended by close friends, or significant business associates. The Frederick Wildlife Trust fell into none of those categories.

He was not only one of the wealthiest men in New York but also one of the most scrutinized.

Emery was right. His presence would undoubtedly stir conversation for weeks, if not months.

"Good," I managed to say, attempting to steady my racing heartbeat. "Perhaps it will bring more attention to the piping plover issue."

She rolled her eyes playfully."Valentina, no one cares," she said, her voice lowered as she glanced around the room. "No one actually cares about the piping plovers. I mean, I'm sad they're endangered, but let's be honest. The people are here for the scene only."

Once again, her words struck a chord. It was true that the guests at this event were more interested in the glamour and the spectacle than the cause itself. But regardless of their motives, their presence and donations were crucial to keeping my business afloat.

Emery chimed in, trying to shift the focus. "The real topic of the night is how good Bryan looks. I've never seen a man fill out a tuxedo so well."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "You have a boyfriend, Shan."

She shrugged, unapologetic. "So? We're allowed to appreciate other people's beauty."

I sighed, realizing I couldn't argue with that logic. "Yes, well, I think you've appreciated enough. We're here to work, not ogle the guests." I gently nudged her towards the dessert table. "Can you bring out more Viennese tartlets? We're running low."

She grumbled under her breath, but reluctantly obliged. As she walked away, I tried to refocus on the sound setup, but my gaze kept drifting towards the crowd by the entrance. I couldn't help but search for the surprise guest of the night, the one who had everyone's attention.

The crowd was so dense that I couldn't see beyond the outskirts, but I had a feeling Bryan was at the center of it all. And I couldn't deny the rush of awareness that coursed through me at the thought.

Bryan and I moved in different circles, never officially meeting despite our tangential connections. From what I'd heard, I was content with keeping it that way. But there was something undeniably magnetic about his presence, pulling me towards him from across the room.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed against my hip, snapping me back to reality. My heart sank when I saw who was calling. Ignoring a summons from Paul Hall was simply not an option.

I quickly checked for any emergencies that required my immediate attention before slipping into the nearest restroom to answer the call.

"Hello, Father," I greeted him formally, the words flowing effortlessly after years of practice.

He had insisted on being called Father ever since our rise in social status and the success of Hall Jewels. According to him, it sounded more sophisticated and upper class.

"Where are you?" His voice rumbled through the line. "Why is it so echoey?"

"I'm at work. I had to sneak into a bathroom to take your call," I explained, leaning against the counter. "It's a fundraiser for the endangered piping plover."

I could almost hear him sigh heavily on the other end. My father had little patience for the obscure causes people used as an excuse to party, but he attended these events nonetheless. It was expected of him.

"Every day, I learn about a new endangered animal," he grumbled. "Your mother is on a fundraising committee for some fish or other, as if we don't eat seafood every week."

My mother, once an aesthetician, had transformed into a professional socialite and dedicated charity committee member.

"Since you're at work, I'll keep this short," my father continued. "We'd like you to join us for dinner on Friday night. We have important news."

Despite the way he phrased it, it wasn't really a request.

My smile faded, replaced by a growing sense of unease. "This Friday night?" I repeated, realizing how little time I had to prepare. I lived in New York, while my parents resided in Boston.

It was a last-minute request, even by their standards.

"Yes," my father confirmed, offering no further explanation. "Dinner is at seven sharp. Don't be late."

And then he hung up.

I stood there, phone still pressed against my ear, for a moment longer than necessary before finally removing it. It felt cold and slippery against my clammy palm, almost slipping from my grasp as I hurriedly stuffed it back into my purse.

One sentence had sent me spiraling into anxiety. "We have important news."

What could it be? Had something happened with the company? Was someone sick or dying? Were my parents finally making good on their threats to sell their house and move to New York?

Endless questions and possibilities raced through my mind, but one thing was clear - an emergency summons to the Hall manor never boded well.

2. Valentina

CHAPTER 2
Chapter 2: Valentina

The living room of my parents' house could easily grace the pages of Architectural Digest. Everything was perfectly positioned - tufted settees angled towards intricately carved wood tables, porcelain tea sets mingling with priceless trinkets. The air itself felt sterile, as if it were infused with a generic, expensive fragrance.

While some people had homes that exuded warmth and comfort, my parents' house was merely a showpiece.

"Your skin appears lackluster," my mother scrutinized me with a critical eye. "Have you been diligent with your monthly facials?"

She sat across from me, her own skin radiating a pearlescent glow.

"Yes, Mother," I replied, forcing a smile that strained my cheeks.

I had only stepped foot into my childhood home ten minutes ago, and already I had endured critiques about my hair (too disheveled), my nails (too long), and now, my complexion.

Just another typical evening at the Hall manor.

"Good. Remember, you mustn't let yourself go," my mother continued. "After all, you're not yet married."

Suppressing a sigh, I braced myself for the familiar lecture.

Despite my thriving career in Manhattan, where the event planning landscape was as ruthless as a designer sample sale, my parents remained fixated on my lack of a boyfriend and, consequently, my lack of marital prospects.

They tolerated my work because it was no longer fashionable for heiresses to be idle, but what they truly yearned for was a son-in-law who could elevate their social standing among the old money elites.

We were undoubtedly wealthy, but we would never possess the lineage of old money. Not in this generation.

"I'm still young," I responded patiently. "I have ample time to meet someone."

At twenty-eight years old, my parents acted as if I would transform into the Crypt Keeper the moment I turned thirty.

"You're nearly thirty," my mother retorted. "You're not getting any younger, and you must start considering marriage and children. The longer you wait, the smaller the dating pool becomes."

"I am considering it," I assured her, though in truth, I was contemplating the year of freedom that remained before I would be coerced into marrying a banker with a numerical suffix attached to his last name. "As for growing younger, that's what Botox and plastic surgery are for."

Had my sister been present, she would have laughed. But since she wasn't, my attempt at humor fell as flat as a poorly baked soufflé.

My mother's lips tightened.

Beside her, my father's thick, gray-tipped eyebrows formed a stern V over the bridge of his nose.

At sixty years old, Paul Hall appeared every bit the self-made CEO. Over three decades, he had transformed Hall Jewels from a modest, family-run shop into a multinational powerhouse. A single, disapproving stare from him was enough to make me retreat against the softness of the couch cushions.

"Each time we broach the topic of marriage, you respond with a joke," his voice dripped with disapproval. "Marriage is no laughing matter, Valentina. It holds great significance for our family. Look at your sister. Thanks to her, we now have ties to the royal family of Eldorra."

I bit down on my tongue so hard that the taste of copper flooded my mouth.

My sister had married an Eldorran earl who happened to be a distant relative of the queen. Our "connection" to the royal family of the small European kingdom was tenuous at best, but to my father, an aristocratic title held immense value.

"I understand it's not a joke," I replied, reaching for my tea to occupy my hands. "But it's also not something I need to obsess over right now. I am dating and exploring my options. There are plenty of eligible bachelors in New York; I just need to find the right one."

I conveniently left out the fact that while there were indeed numerous single men in New York, the pool of suitable, straight, non-egotistical, non-flaky, non-disturbingly eccentric men was significantly smaller.

My last date had attempted to involve me in a séance to communicate with his deceased mother so she could "meet me and give her approval." Needless to say, I never saw him again.

But my parents didn't need to know that. In their eyes, I was mingling with attractive trust fund heirs left and right.

"We've given you ample time to find a suitable match over the past two years," my father stated, unimpressed by my explanation. "Since your last...relationship, you haven't had a serious boyfriend. It's evident that you don't share the same sense of urgency as we do, which is why I took matters into my own hands."

My tea froze halfway to my lips. "What do you mean?"

I had assumed the important news he alluded to pertained to my sister or the company. But what if...

A chill raced through my veins.

No.My father's words hit me like a tidal wave, shattering my composure and leaving me reeling. "I've secured a suitable match for you," he announced, the weight of his decision hanging heavy in the air. It was a common practice in our world, where marriages were alliances rather than matters of the heart. My sister had been married off for a title, and now it seemed that my turn had come.

The shock, dread, and horror washed over me, threatening to consume me whole. I could hardly focus as my mother scolded me for the clatter of my teacup. But for once, her disapproval was the least of my concerns.

"I'm sure you'll agree once you meet him at dinner," my father continued, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. The poison of his words seeped into my veins, paralyzing me with fear. Dinner? Tonight? Why hadn't they given me any warning?

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I was expected to meet my future fiancé, this stranger who held my fate in his hands, with no time to prepare or gather my thoughts. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, my stomach churning in protest.

Everything was happening too fast. The dinner summons, the news of my engagement, the impending meeting - it was all too much to process. And yet, my father seemed unfazed, as if this was just another item on his agenda.

"He didn't confirm until today due to scheduling complications," my father explained, his voice dripping with indifference. "You'll have to meet him eventually."

Actually, it does matter, I wanted to retort, but I knew better than to speak out of turn. In the Hall household, disobedience was met with sharp words and swift punishment. I had no choice but to go along with their plans.

"We want to move things along as quickly as possible," my mother interjected, her excitement palpable. "Your fiancé is quite particular about the wedding details."

I couldn't help but scoff at the irony. How could she call him my fiancé when I hadn't even met the man? But I pushed aside my doubts, forcing a smile to appear on my face.

My match was supposedly one of the world's most eligible bachelors, according to some magazine. Rich, handsome, powerful - my mother seemed thrilled by the prospect. But I couldn't help but wonder if he was just another pawn in their game, another man to secure their wealth and status.

As much as I wanted to let my anger and frustration consume me, I knew I had to keep it together for the evening. There was no room for a scene, no opportunity to say no. If I did, my parents would disown me without a second thought.

So, I took a deep breath and steadied myself. The stranger who held my future in his hands would be here any minute, and I couldn't afford to make a fool of myself. I wiped my sweaty palms against my thigh, fighting back the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me.

But just as I thought I had regained control, a deep voice spoke from behind me, shattering the fragile peace I had managed to find.The words hung in the air, a palpable presence that seeped into my very being. They caressed me like warm honey, leaving a trail of sensory pleasure with their faint Italian accent.

My father rose from his seat, a glint of triumph shining in his eyes. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said.

"How could I pass up the opportunity to meet your lovely daughter?" The word "lovely" dripped with a hint of mockery, instantly extinguishing any attraction I had felt towards the voice.

A wave of icy coldness washed over me, extinguishing the heat that had been building beneath my skin. So much for Mr. Perfect.

I had learned to trust my instincts when it came to people, and my gut was telling me that the owner of that voice was just as thrilled about this dinner as I was.

"Valentina, say hello to our guest," my mother gushed, her face beaming with delight.

I half-expected her to rest her cheek on her hand and sigh dreamily, like a schoolgirl with a crush. I pushed the unsettling image out of my mind and lifted my chin, stood up, and turned to face him.

And in that moment, the air rushed out of my lungs. Thick black hair, olive skin, a slightly crooked nose that added to his rugged charm. My future husband was devastatingly handsome in a way that defied conventional standards. His presence swallowed the room, leaving no oxygen for anyone else.

There were men who were generically good-looking, and then there was him.

And I knew that face. It was unmistakable.

My heart sank beneath the weight of my shock. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of sick joke.

"Valentina," my mother chided, using my name as a rebuke.

Right. Dinner. Fiancé. Meeting.

I snapped out of my stupor and mustered a strained smile. "Valentina Hall. It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

He hesitated for a moment before taking it. His warm strength enveloped my palm, sending a surge of electricity up my arm.

"So I gathered from the multiple times your mother said your name," he drawled lazily, his eyes hard. "Bryan Davis. The pleasure is all mine."

There it was again, that subtle but cutting mockery in his tone.

Bryan Davis.

CEO of the Davis Group, a Fortune 500 legend, and the man who had caused a stir at the Frederick Wildlife Trust gala just three nights ago. He wasn't just an eligible bachelor; he was the bachelor. The elusive billionaire that every woman desired but couldn't have.

He was thirty-six years old, married to his work, and had shown no inclination to settle down.

So why on earth would Bryan Davis agree to an arranged marriage?

"I would introduce myself by my net worth," he said with a hint of sarcasm, "but that would be impolite given the purpose of tonight's dinner."

His smile lacked any warmth.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, knowing that he had overheard my little joke. It hadn't been meant to be malicious, but discussing someone's wealth was considered uncouth, even though everyone secretly did it.

"That's very considerate of you," I replied coolly, masking my embarrassment. "Don't worry, Mr. Davis. If I wanted to know your net worth, I could Google it. I'm sure the information is as readily available as the tales of your legendary charm."

A glint of amusement sparked in his eyes, but he didn't take the bait.

Instead, our gazes locked in a charged moment before he withdrew his hand from mine and cast a clinical, detached gaze over my body.

Warmth lingered in my hand, but the rest of me felt cool, as if I were a mere mortal in the presence of an indifferent god.

I stiffened under his scrutiny, suddenly hyperaware of my carefully chosen outfit - a tweed skirt suit approved by my mother, paired with pearl studs and low-heeled pumps. I had even swapped out my favorite red lipstick for a more neutral shade, per her preference.

This was my standard uniform for visiting my parents, and judging by the way Bryan's lips thinned, it fell far short of impressing him.

A mix of unease and irritation twisted in my stomach as his unforgiving gaze met mine once again.

In just a few exchanged words, I knew two things with absolute certainty.

One, Bryan Davis was going to be my fiancé.

And two, we might very well drive each other to madness before we ever made it down the aisle.

3. Bryan

CHAPTER 3
Chapter 3: Bryan

"The wedding will be in six months," Paul announced with a smile that concealed his true intentions. "We should send out public announcements immediately to start the celebration planning."

We had relocated to the dining room as soon as I arrived, and the conversation quickly shifted towards the wedding preparations.

Disgust washed over me. Of course, Paul wanted everyone to know that his daughter was marrying into the prestigious Davis family as soon as possible.

Men like Paul would do anything to elevate their social status, even if it meant blackmailing me in my office just two weeks after my grandfather's passing.

Anger surged within me. If it were up to me, Paul wouldn't have left New York with his bones intact. Unfortunately, my hands were metaphorically tied, and until I found a way to untangle myself, I had to play along.

To an extent.

"No, that won't work," I replied, gripping the stem of my wineglass tightly, imagining it was Paul's neck. "No one will believe that I'm getting married on such short notice unless there's something wrong."

For example, if your daughter were pregnant, and this was a shotgun wedding. The insinuation unsettled everyone at the table, but I maintained a blank expression and a bored tone.

Restraint didn't come naturally to me. If I disliked someone, they knew it. But extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary measures.

Paul's smile faded. "Then what do you suggest?"

"A year seems more reasonable."

Never would have been better, but sadly, that wasn't an option. A year would suffice. It was short enough for Paul to agree, yet long enough for me to find and destroy the evidence of his blackmail. Hopefully.

"Announcements should be delayed too," I continued. "A month gives us time to come up with a suitable story, considering your daughter and I have never been seen together publicly before."

"We don't need a month to come up with a story," he snapped.

Although arranged marriages were common in high society, the real reasons behind them were always concealed. Admitting that two families were joining forces purely for status reasons was considered vulgar.

"Two weeks," he insisted. "We'll announce it on the weekend Valentina moves into your house."

My jaw clenched. Beside me, Valentina stiffened, clearly taken aback by the news that she would have to move in before the wedding.

It was one of Paul's conditions for keeping his mouth shut, and I dreaded it already. I despised having people invade my personal space.

"I'm sure your family would prefer the announcements to be made sooner rather than later as well," Paul added, emphasizing the word "family." "Wouldn't you agree?"

I held his gaze until he averted his eyes.

"Fine, two weeks it is."

The announcement date didn't matter. I simply wanted to make the planning process as inconvenient as possible for him.

What mattered was the wedding date.

One year.

One year to find and destroy the photographs and end this engagement. It would cause a massive scandal, but my reputation could handle it. The Halls' couldn't.

For the first time that night, I allowed a smile to grace my lips.

Paul shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Excellent. We'll work together to draft—"

"I'll handle the drafting. Next."

I ignored his glare and took another sip of merlot.

The conversation devolved into a mind-numbing discussion about guest invitations, flower arrangements, and countless other things that I couldn't care less about.

Restless anger simmered beneath my skin as I tuned out Paul and his wife.

Instead of working on the Santeri deal or enjoying my evening at the Valhalla Club, I was stuck dealing with their nonsense on a Friday night.

Beside me, Valentina ate in silence, lost in her own thoughts.

After several minutes of strained silence, she finally spoke. "How was your flight?"

"Fine."

"I appreciate you taking the time to fly here when we could have met in New York. I know you must be busy."

I cut a piece of veal and savored it slowly, deliberately.

Valentina's gaze burned into my cheek as I chewed.

"I also heard that the more zeroes one has in their bank account, the fewer words they speak," she said, her voice deceptively pleasant. "You're proving that rumor to be true."

"I thought a society heiress like yourself would know better than to discuss money in polite company."

"The keyword being 'polite'."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Under different circumstances, I might have found myself liking Valentina.She possessed a striking beauty and a surprisingly quick wit, her intelligent brown eyes captivating anyone who dared to meet her gaze. With a naturally refined bone structure that no amount of wealth could replicate, she exuded an air of elegance. However, her choice of attire, pearls, and Chanel tweed, made her appear like a carbon copy of her mother and every other uptight heiress fixated on their social status.

To make matters worse, she was Paul's daughter. It wasn't her fault that she was born to that despicable man, but I couldn't bring myself to care. No amount of beauty could erase the stain of her lineage.

"It's rather impolite to speak to a guest in such a manner," I mocked softly, a sly smile playing at the corners of my lips. I reached for the salt, accidentally brushing against her arm. The tension in her body was palpable. "I wonder what your parents would say about your behavior."

It didn't take long for me to realize Valentina's hang-ups. Perfectionism, an aversion to confrontation, and an insatiable need for her parents' approval.

How dreadfully dull.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice cool and composed. "They would say that guests should adhere to the same social niceties as the host, including engaging in polite conversation."

"Oh, really?" I retorted with a hint of sarcasm. "Do these social niceties also include dressing as if you've stepped out of a Fifth Avenue Stepford Wives factory?" My gaze swept over her suit and pearls, unable to hide my disdain.

I couldn't care less if people like Cecelia chose to dress that way, but Valentina looked utterly out of place in those dowdy clothes. It irritated me for reasons I couldn't quite grasp.

"No, they don't," she replied calmly. "But they certainly don't involve ruining a pleasant dinner with discourtesy." Valentina's voice dripped with a subtle arrogance. "Perhaps, Mr. Davis, you should invest in a nice set of manners to match your impeccable suit. As a luxury goods CEO, you must understand how one unsightly accessory can ruin an entire outfit."

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, her words catching me off guard.

Maybe she wasn't so boring after all.

But any flicker of amusement I felt was quickly extinguished when her mother interjected herself into our conversation.

"Bryan, is it true that all Daviss get married at the family estate in Lake Como? I heard the renovations will be completed by next summer, just in time for the wedding," Cecelia inquired eagerly.

My smile vanished, replaced by a tense expression as I turned away from Valentina to face Cecelia's expectant gaze.

"Yes," I replied curtly. "All Davis weddings have taken place at Villa Serafina since the eighteenth century."

The villa was built by my great-great-great-grandfather and named after his beloved wife. Our family had deep roots in Sicily before migrating to Venice and establishing a fortune through the luxury textile trade. When the trading boom ended, they wisely diversified and managed to hold onto their wealth, acquiring properties throughout Europe.

Now, centuries later, my modern-day relatives were scattered across the globe—New York, Rome, Switzerland, Paris—but Villa Serafina remained the most cherished of all our family estates. I would rather drown myself in the Mediterranean than tarnish its sacred grounds with the facade of a wedding.

My anger surged back to life.

"That's wonderful!" Cecelia beamed. "I'm absolutely thrilled that you'll soon be part of the family. You and Valentina make the perfect couple. Did you know she speaks six languages, plays both the piano and the violin, and—"

"Excuse me," I interjected abruptly, pushing my chair back with a harsh scrape against the floor. "I need to use the restroom."

Silence hung in the air, heavy with the weight of my shocking rudeness.

I didn't wait for anyone to respond as I swiftly exited the dining room, leaving behind a furious Paul, a flustered Cecelia, and a red-faced Valentina.

My anger simmered beneath the surface, but with each step away from them, it began to cool.

In the past, I had always sought immediate retribution against those who wronged me. Revenge was a dish best served hot, not cold. Strike fast, strike hard, and strike true—that had been my motto.

But rectifying the Hall situation required patience. A virtue I wasn't well-acquainted with, it clung to me like an ill-fitting suit.

The echo of my footsteps faded as the marble floors transformed into plush carpeting. Familiar with the layout of grand mansions, I navigated my way to the restroom. However, instead of entering, I bypassed it and headed towards the solid mahogany door at the end of the hallway.

A twist of the doorknob revealed Paul's office, designed to resemble an English library. Wood paneling adorned the walls, complemented by overstuffed leather furniture and hints of forest green.

This was Paul's inner sanctum.

At least it lacked the excessive gilding that plagued the rest of the house. My eyes were grateful for the respite from the visual assault.

Leaving the door ajar, I strolled towards the desk, my movements unhurried. If Paul had any objections to me snooping around his office, he was welcome to confront me.

He wasn't foolish enough to leave incriminating photos lying around behind an unlocked door when he knew I would be here tonight. Even if the photos did exist, he would have stashed backups elsewhere.I sank into his plush chair, withdrawing a Cuban cigar from the drawer and igniting it with a flick of my lighter. As the room came into focus, my anger morphed into a calculated demeanor.

The darkened computer screen beckoned, but I left the hacking to Christian, who was already on the trail of digital copies of the incriminating photos.

My attention shifted to a framed picture of Paul and his family in the Hamptons. They had a summer house in Bridgehampton, according to my research. It was almost certain that he stashed at least one set of evidence there.

I pondered other possibilities...

"What are you doing?"

Valentina's face was obscured by the smoke from my cigar, but her disapproval was unmistakable.

That was quicker than expected. I had anticipated at least five more minutes before her parents would send her after me.

"Just enjoying a smoke break," I replied, taking another leisurely drag.

I wasn't a cigarette person, but I indulged in the occasional Cohiba. At least Paul had good taste in tobacco.

"In my father's office?"

"Obviously." Dark satisfaction filled me when the smoke dissipated, revealing Valentina's frown.

Finally, some visible emotion.

I had started to believe I was stuck with an emotionless robot for the duration of our absurd engagement.

She crossed the room, plucked the cigar from my hand, and dropped it into a half-empty glass of water on the desk, all without breaking eye contact.

"I understand you're accustomed to doing as you please, but it's incredibly rude to sneak off during a dinner party and smoke in your host's office," she said, tension lining her elegant features. "Please rejoin us in the dining room. Your food is getting cold."

"That's my concern, not yours," I reclined in the chair. "Why don't you join me for a break? I promise it'll be more enjoyable than your mother fretting over floral arrangements."

"Based on our interactions thus far, I highly doubt that," she snapped.

Amused, I watched as she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to regain her composure.

"I don't understand why you're here," Valentina said in a calmer tone. "You clearly despise this arrangement, you don't need the money or connection with my family, and you can have any woman you desire."

"Can I?" I drawled. "What if I desire you?"

Her fists clenched. "You don't."

"You underestimate yourself," I stood and circled the desk until we were within close proximity. I could see the flutter of her pulse in her neck. How much faster would it race if I took hold of her hair, pulling her head back? If I kissed her until her lips bruised and hiked up her skirt until she begged me to take her?

Heat surged through me.

I had no intention of actually sleeping with her, but she was so prim and proper that she practically begged for corruption.

The silence hung heavily as I lifted my hand, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. Valentina's breathing grew shallow, yet she made no move to retreat.

She stared at me defiantly as I leisurely explored the soft curve of her mouth. It was tempting, compared to the rigid formality she exuded in every other aspect.

"You're a beautiful woman," I said lazily. "Perhaps I saw you at an event and was so captivated that I asked your father for your hand in marriage."

"Somehow, I doubt that's what happened," her breath caressed my skin. "What kind of deal did you strike with my father?"

The reminder of the deal extinguished the sensuality of the moment as quickly as it had ignited.

My thumb paused on the center of her bottom lip before I dropped my hand, cursing silently. The heat from the memory of her softness lingered on my skin.

I despised Paul for his blackmail, but I loathed Valentina for being his pawn. So what the hell was I doing, toying with her in his office?

"You should ask your dear father that question," my smile sliced across my face, cruel and devoid of humor as I regained my composure. "The details don't matter. Just know that if I had any other choice, I damn well wouldn't be getting married. But business is business, and you..." I shrugged. "You're simply part of the deal."

Valentina's eyes blazed with anger. "You're an asshole."

"Yes, I am," I agreed. "Better get used to it, mia cara, because I'm also your future husband. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I straightened my jacket deliberately. "I have to return to dinner. As you mentioned earlier, my food is getting cold."

I brushed past her, relishing the taste of her indignation.

One day, she would have her unspoken wish granted and wake up to a broken engagement.

Until then, I would bide my time and play along, because Paul's ultimatum had been crystal clear.

Marry Valentina, or my brother dies.

4. Bryan

CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4

Bryan

Paul and Cecelia never acknowledged my absence from the dinner table on Friday night. Valentina didn't bring up our conversation in the office either. I returned to New York feeling dissatisfied and on edge.

I could have easily set the Hall mansion ablaze with a single flick of my lighter.

But that would have only attracted unwanted attention from the authorities. Arson was bad for business, and though I hadn't hesitated to cross certain lines, murder was not one of them...yet. However, there were individuals in my life who constantly tempted me to push those boundaries, one of whom happened to share my blood.

"What's the rush?" Luca slouched in the chair across from me, letting out a yawn. "I just got off the plane. Give a guy some time to sleep."

"According to the society pages, you haven't slept in a month."

Instead, he had been gallivanting around the world, partying it up. Mykonos one day, Ibiza the next. His final stop had been Monaco, where he managed to lose fifty grand at the poker table.

"Exactly." Another yawn escaped him. "That's why I need some sleep."

My jaw clenched.

Luca was five years younger than me, yet he acted as if he were still twenty-one instead of thirty-one.

If he weren't my brother, I would have cut him off without a second thought, especially considering the mess I found myself in because of him.

"Aren't you curious why I called you here?"

Luca shrugged, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath my calm exterior. "Missed your little bro, huh?"

"Not quite." I retrieved a manila folder from my drawer and placed it on the desk between us. "Open it."

He shot me a strange look but complied. I kept my gaze fixed on his face as he flipped through the photos, starting off slow but growing faster as panic set in.

A sense of grim satisfaction washed over me when he finally looked up, his complexion several shades paler than before.

At least he understood the gravity of the situation.

"Do you recognize the woman in those photos?" I asked.

Luca's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"Maria Romano." I tapped the top photo in the stack. "Niece of mafia boss Gabriele Romano. Twenty-seven years old, widowed, and the apple of her uncle's eye. The name should ring a bell since you were sleeping with her before you left for Europe, as these photos clearly show."

My brother's hands clenched into fists. "How did you—"

"That's not the right question, Luca. The right question is what kind of casket you'd prefer at your funeral because that's what I'll have to arrange if Romano ever finds out about this!"

The storm within me broke loose halfway through my sentence, fueled by weeks of pent-up fury and frustration.

Luca shrank back in his chair as I pushed mine away and rose to my feet, my entire body vibrating with rage at his sheer stupidity.

"A mafia princess? Are you kidding me?" I swept the folder off the desk in one furious motion, accidentally knocking over a glass paperweight. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, while the photos fluttered and scattered across the floor.

Luca flinched.

"You've done plenty of stupid shit in your life, but this takes the cake," I seethed. "Do you know what Romano would do to you if he found out? He'd gut you like a fish, slowly and painfully. No amount of money would save you. He'd hang your lifeless body from a damn highway overpass as a warning—if there's even a body left after he's through with you!"

The last man who had laid a hand on a woman from Romano's family without his permission ended up with his genitals severed and his brains blown out in his own bedroom.

And that was just for kissing Romano's cousin on the cheek. Rumor had it that the mafioso didn't even like his own cousin.

If he discovered that Luca had slept with his beloved niece? My brother would beg for death.

Luca's skin turned sickly green. "You don't un—"

"What the hell were you thinking? How the fuck did you even meet her?"

The Romanos were notoriously reclusive. Gabriele kept tight control over his people, and they rarely ventured beyond their family-controlled establishments.

"We met at a bar. We didn't talk for long, but we hit it off and exchanged numbers." Luca spoke rapidly, as if afraid I would attack him if he paused. "She's not under as much scrutiny now that she's widowed, but I swear, I didn't know who she was until after we slept together. She told me her father worked in construction."

A vein throbbed in my temple. "He does work in construction."

Among other things like nightclubs, restaurants, and a dozen other fronts for his illicit activities.

If it had been anyone other than Romano, I could have easily resolved this by paying them off or striking a mutually beneficial deal.

But unlike some businessmen foolish enough to get entangled with the underworld, I didn't mess with the mafia. Once you were in, the only way out was in a casket. I would rather set myself on fire than willingly put myself in a position where I had to answer to someone else.

Paul wanted what my family name could bring him.Romano? He’d bleed me dry, drain my pockets and leave me lifeless, even after he took my brother's life.

   “I know it looks bad, but you don't understand," Luca pleaded, his face contorted with anguish. "I love her."

   A chilling calm washed over me. "You love her."

   "Yes." His features softened. "She's incredible. Beautiful, intelligent—"

   "You love her, yet you've been sleeping around with anyone who crosses your path for the past two weeks."

   "No, I didn't." Luca blushed crimson. "It was all an act to maintain my reputation, you know? I had to be away for a while because her cousin disappeared and her uncle was cracking down on the entire family, but we were careful."

   I had never been closer to committing fratricide.

   "Apparently, not careful enough," I snarled, earning another flinch from him.

   Taking a deep breath, I waited for the explosive rage to subside before sitting down deliberately, making sure I didn't reach across the desk and strangle my only brother. "Do you want to know how I got those photos, Luca?"

   He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head.

   "Paul Hall walked into my office two weeks ago and tossed them on my desk. Coincidentally, he had been in town and spotted you with Maria. He recognized both of you and had you followed. Once he had what he needed, he came to negotiate." A thin smile touched my lips. "Care to guess the terms of the deal?"

   Luca shook his head again.

   "I have to marry his daughter, and he'll keep the evidence to himself. If I refuse, he'll send the photos to Romano, and you'll pay with your life."

   I had an exceptional private security force. They were highly trained, professional, and morally flexible enough to handle intruders in a way that deterred others from crossing me.

   But there was a difference between security and punishment, and going to war with the damn mafia.

   Luca's eyes widened.

   "Shit." He rubbed his face wearily. "Bryan, I—"

   "Don't say another word. Here's what you will do." I locked eyes with him, my stare unwavering. "You will sever all ties with Maria, effective immediately. I don't care if she's your soulmate and you never find love again. From this moment on, she doesn't exist to you. You will not see her, speak to her, or have any form of contact. If you do, I will freeze every account you have and blacklist anyone who financially aids you."

   Our grandfather had been aware of Luca's reckless spending habits and left me complete control of the company and family finances in his will. Being blacklisted by me meant being shunned by everyone in our social circle, and even Luca's foolish friends wouldn't risk that.

   "I'm also cutting your monthly allowance in half until you prove you can make better choices."

   "What?" Luca exploded. "You can't—"

   "Interrupt me again, and I'll reduce it to zero," I said coldly. He fell silent, his expression defiant. "You will earn the remaining half by working at one of our stores, just like any other employee. No special treatment, no drinking or fooling around during work hours, and no disappearing for long lunches and returning two hours later. If you slack off, you will be completely cut off. Understood?"

   After a long pause, he pressed his lips together tightly and nodded.

   "Good. Now get out of my office."

   If I had to look at him for another minute, I might do something I'd regret.

   He must have sensed the impending danger because he quickly made his way to the exit without uttering another word.

   "And Luca?" I stopped him before he opened the door. "If I find out you've broken my rules and contacted Maria again, I'll personally end your life."

   My fist connected with his stomach, a precise and forceful strike. The first hit of the night.

   Adrenaline surged through me as Kai grunted from the impact. Most people would have stumbled and been winded, but true to Kai's nature, he only paused for a few seconds before shaking it off.

   "You seem pissed," he remarked, countering with a left hook. I narrowly sidestepped it. "Bad day at the office?"

   There was a hint of amusement in his question, despite the blow he had just taken.

   "Something like that."

   Sweat trickled down my forehead and drenched my back as I unleashed my frustrations in the boxing ring.

   I had come straight to the Valhalla Club after work. Most members preferred the on-site spa, restaurants, or high-end gentlemen's club, which meant the boxing gym rarely saw any action apart from me and Kai.

   "Heard the Santeri deal is progressing smoothly, so it can't be that." Kai barely seemed out of breath, despite the intensity of our opening round. "Maybe it's not work-related. Maybe..." His expression turned speculative. "It has to do with your engagement to a certain jewelry heiress."

   He grunted again when I landed a hit on his lower ribs, but that didn't stop him from chuckling at my scowl.

   "You should know better than to keep something so monumental a secret," he said. "The entire office is buzzing about it.""Your staff needs to spend less time gossiping and more time working. Maybe then, circulation wouldn't be down."

The announcement of my engagement was set to appear in Mode de Vie's highly sought-after online Style section in mid-September. As the crown jewel of the Youngs' media empire, it wouldn't surprise me if Kai already knew about it.

"Never thought I'd see the day you tie the knot," he remarked, brushing off my sarcastic comment. "And to Valentina Hall, no less. How did you manage to keep her a secret for so long?"

"We're not married yet," I retorted, blocking another punch. "And I didn't keep her a secret. Our engagement is purely a business arrangement. I didn't wine and dine her before closing the deal."

The word "engagement" left a bitter taste in my mouth.

The idea of being shackled to someone for the rest of my life was as appealing as walking into the ocean with concrete blocks strapped to my feet.

I preferred work over people, many of whom couldn't comprehend coming second to contracts and meetings. Business was lucrative, practical, and, for the most part, predictable. Relationships were not.

"That makes more sense," Kai conceded. "I should've known mergers and acquisitions would take over even your personal life."

"Very funny."

His laughter faded when I landed an uppercut to his jaw, and he retaliated with a punch that knocked the air out of my lungs.

Our conversation dwindled, replaced by grunts and curses as we relentlessly pummeled each other.

Kai, the most mild-mannered person I knew, had a vicious competitive streak. We had started boxing together last year, and he had become my go-to partner for venting frustrations because he never held back.

Who needed therapy when you could just punch your friend in the face every week?

Hit, duck, dodge, hit. Over and over until we ended the night with a draw and a plethora of bruises.

But now, after my shower and a moment of clarity, I had worked off most of my anger. When I met Kai in the locker room, I had gained enough composure not to explode at my brother again.

I had been on the verge of cutting him off completely after our conversation earlier that day, disregarding any promises or conditions. It would serve him right, but right now, I didn't have the energy to deal with his inevitable temper tantrum.

"Feeling better?" Kai was already dressed when I entered.

Button-down shirt, blazer, thin black wire frames.

All traces of the lethal fighter from the ring had vanished, replaced by the epitome of scholarly sophistication.

"A bit," I replied, getting dressed and rubbing my sore jaw. "You pack quite a punch."

"That's why you called me. You'd hate it if I took it easy on you."

I snorted. "Just as much as you'd hate losing."

We left the gym and took the elevator up to the first floor. The Valhalla Club, an exclusive global society for the wealthy, had chapters all around the world. However, its New York headquarters were the grandest, spanning four stories and an entire city block in upper Manhattan.

"I've met Valentina a few times," Kai said casually as the elevator doors opened. "She's beautiful, smart, and charming. You could've done a lot worse."

I felt irritation flicker in my chest. "Perhaps you should marry her then."

I didn't care if Valentina was a supermodel saint who saved puppies from burning buildings in her free time. She was simply someone I had to tolerate until I destroyed all the evidence.

Unfortunately, Christian's latest update confirmed that Paul had stored the photos both digitally and physically.

Christian could handle the digital evidence, but destroying the physical copies was trickier when we didn't know how many backups Paul had. I couldn't risk making a move until we were absolutely sure we had tracked down his entire stash.

"If I could, I would," Kai replied. The shadows in his eyes disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

As the heir to the Young fortune, his future was even more predetermined than mine.

"All I'm saying is, don't be an asshole," Kai advised, nodding at a passing club member. He waited until they were out of earshot before adding, "It's not her fault she's stuck with someone like you."

If only he knew.

"Worry less about my personal life and more about yours," I retorted, raising an eyebrow at his cufflinks. Gold lions with amethyst eyes, part of the Young family crest. "Leonora Young won't wait forever for a grandchild."

"Luckily for her, she already has two, thanks to my sister. And don't try to deflect." We crossed the gleaming black marble entryway towards the exit. "I meant what I said about Valentina. Be nice."

My back teeth clenched.

Whether I liked her or not, Valentina was my fiancée, and I was growing tired of hearing her name leave his mouth.

"Don't worry," I replied curtly. "I'll treat her exactly as she deserves."

5. Valentina

CHAPTER 5
"Seriously, Valentina, you haven't even had a conversation with your fiancé since you got engaged?" Isabella's arms folded across her chest as she shot me a disapproving gaze. "That's just absurd. What kind of relationship is that?"

"It's an arranged one," I replied, the bar momentarily tilting before steadying itself. Maybe I shouldn't have downed two and a half mai tais in a row, but our weekly happy hour at The Tipsy Goat was the only time I could let go.

No judgment, no need to be prim and proper.

So what if I was a little tipsy? It was practically expected at this place.

"It's probably for the best that we haven't talked," I continued. "He's not exactly the most pleasant person to converse with."

Even now, the memory of my first and only meeting with Bryan sent waves of indignation coursing through me.

He had shown no remorse for ditching half of our introductory dinner to smoke cigars in my father's office. And he had left without even saying thank you or goodnight.

Bryan may have been a billionaire, but he had the manners of an ill-mannered troll.

"Then why on earth are you marrying him?" Sloane raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Tell your parents to find you someone better."

"That's the problem. They think he's the perfect match," I replied.

"Bryan Davis, perfect?" Sloane's eyebrow arched even higher. "His security team once put someone in the hospital for trying to break into his house. The poor guy ended up in a coma for months with broken ribs and a shattered kneecap. It's impressive, I'll give him that, but perfect? I don't think so."

Only Sloane would find putting someone in a coma impressive.

"Believe me, I know. But it's not me I have to convince," I muttered.

Not that Bryan's notorious ruthlessness meant anything to my family. He could shoot someone in the middle of rush hour in Manhattan, and they would find a way to justify it.

"I don't understand why you agreed to this engagement in the first place," Sloane shook her head. "You don't need your parents' money. You can marry whoever you want, and they can't do a thing about it."

"It's not about the money." Even if my parents cut off my inheritance, I had more than enough from my job, investments, and trust fund that I inherited at twenty-one. "It's about..." I paused, searching for the right word. "Family."

Isabella and Sloane exchanged glances.

This wasn't the first time we had discussed my engagement or my relationship with my parents, but I felt compelled to defend them every time.

"Arranged marriages are expected in my family," I explained. "My sister did it, and now it's my turn. I've known this was coming since I was a teenager."

"But what will they do if you say no?" Isabella asked. "Disown you?"

My stomach dropped. I forced a tight laugh. "Maybe. Most likely."

They had praised my aunt for disowning my cousin after she turned down a scholarship to Princeton to open a food truck. Refusing to marry a Davis was a thousand times worse.

If I broke off the engagement, my parents would never speak to me again. They weren't perfect, but the thought of being completely cut off from my family and left all alone made the mai tais in my stomach slosh dangerously.

But Isabella wouldn't understand. Culturally, we were similar, even if she was Filipina Chinese instead of Hong Kong Chinese. But she came from a large, loving family who supported her decision to move across the country and pursue her dreams of bartending and writing.

If I expressed similar desires to my parents, they would either lock me in my room and perform an exorcism or kick me out onto the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back, figuratively speaking.

"I don't want to disappoint them," I finally said. "They raised me, sacrificed so much for me to have the life I have now. Marrying Bryan would benefit all of us."

Family relationships shouldn't be transactional, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I owed my parents an immense debt for everything they had done - the opportunities, the education, the freedom to live and work wherever I wanted without worrying about money. These were luxuries that most people didn't have, and I didn't take them for granted.

Parents took care of their children. And when those children grew up, they took care of their parents. In our case, that meant marrying well and expanding the family's wealth and influence.

It was just how our world worked.

Isabella let out a sigh. We had been friends since we met at a yoga class when I was twenty-two. The yoga lessons didn't last, but our friendship did. She knew better than to argue with me about my family.

"Fine, but you can't avoid talking to him forever," Isabella said. "You're moving in with him next week."

I fidgeted with my sapphire bracelet. I could have protested against giving up my apartment in the West Village to move into Bryan's penthouse on the Upper East Side, but what would be the point? Arguing with my father would only be a waste of breath.

However, besides Bryan's address, I didn't have any details about the move. No keys, no information about the building - nothing.

"You'll have to talk to him eventually," Isabella added. "Don't be a coward."

"I am not a coward," I replied, turning to Sloane. "Right?"

She looked up from her phone.During happy hour, it was technically against the rules to check our phones. And whoever broke that rule had to foot the bill for the entire night. But in reality, Sloane had been singlehandedly funding our happy hours for the past six months. She was the definition of a workaholic.

"Even though I disagree with Isabella's advice most of the time, she's right this time. You need to talk to him before you move in," Sloane said, her voice dripping with elegance. "There's an art exhibition at Bryan's place tonight. You should go."

Bryan was known for his jaw-dropping art collection, rumored to be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. His annual private exhibition, where he showcased his latest acquisitions, was one of the most sought-after invitations in Manhattan.

Technically, we were engaged, and not being invited would've been embarrassing if I wasn't secretly relieved. The idea of spending every night with Bryan Davis, sharing a room and a bed, made me uneasy. Images flashed through my mind of him sitting behind my father's desk, exuding confidence with a cloud of smoke surrounding his captivating face.

A sudden warmth spread between my legs, unexpected and intense. The press of his thumb against my lip, the smoky glint in his eyes – there had been a moment when I thought he would kiss me. Not out of affection, but to taint me, to dominate and corrupt me.

But the expectant gazes of my friends brought me back to reality. I wasn't in my father's office; I was in a bar, and they were waiting for my answer.

"The exhibition. Right," I said, trying to hide my blush beneath the alcohol-induced redness. "It would be rude to show up uninvited."

Isabella countered, "You're not just some random party crasher. You're his fiancée, even if you don't have a ring yet. Plus, you're moving in soon. Consider it a preview of your new home, which you can't move into unless you talk to him."

I sighed, wishing I could turn back time and mentally prepare myself for what was to come. "I hate it when you make sense."

Isabella's dimples appeared as she smiled. "Most people do. I would go with you, but I have a shift tonight."

By day, Isabella was an aspiring writer of erotic thrillers, and by night, she served overpriced drinks to obnoxious frat boys at a dive bar in the East Village. She despised the bar, its clientele, and its creepy manager, but until she found another job, she was stuck.

"What about Sloane?" I asked hopefully. Confronting Bryan tonight would require backup.

"I can't. Asher Donovan crashed his Ferrari in London. He's okay," Sloane said, causing both Isabella and me to gasp. We didn't care about sports, but Asher Donovan was too beautiful to die. "But I need to handle the media fallout. This is the second car he's crashed in two months."

Sloane ran a boutique public relations firm with a prestigious client list. She was always putting out fires.

She motioned for the check, paid it, and made me promise to call her if I needed anything before disappearing out the door in a cloud of Jo Malone perfume and platinum blonde hair.

Isabella left for her shift shortly after, leaving me alone in the booth, contemplating my next move.

If I were smart, I'd go home and finish packing for my impending move. Crashing Bryan's party wouldn't lead to anything good, and I could always call him tomorrow if I decided to. 

Pack, shower, and sleep. That was my plan, and I was determined to stick to it.

But fate had other ideas.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're not on the list. It doesn't matter if you're Mr. Davis's mother, sister, or fiancée..." The hostess raised an eyebrow at my bare ring finger. "I can't let you in without an invitation."

I maintained my smile. "If you call Bryan, he'll confirm my identity," I said, even though I wasn't entirely sure he would. I'd deal with that issue when we crossed that bridge. "This is just a minor oversight."

After happy hour, I had gone home as planned, but I only lasted twenty minutes before caving in to Isabella and Sloane's suggestion. They were right; I couldn't sit around waiting for Bryan when my move-in date was fast approaching. I had to face him, no matter how much he irritated or unsettled me.

Of course, to see him, I had to get into the party.

The hostess's face turned red. "I assure you, there was no oversight. We are meticulous in—"

"Valentina, there you are."

A smooth British accent cut through our standoff.

I turned, surprise washing over me as I saw the handsome Asian man smiling at me. His perfectly chiseled face and deep, dark eyes would have been almost too perfect if not for the simple black frames of his glasses, which added a touch of approachability.

"Bryan just texted. He's looking for you, but you weren't answering your phone." He came up beside me and pulled out an elegant cream invitation from his jacket pocket, handing it to the hostess."Kai Young plus one. Allow me to bring Ms. Hall along, sparing Bryan on his monumental night," I proposed.

She shot me a glare but managed a tight smile for Kai.

"Of course, Mr. Young. Enjoy the festivities." She stepped aside, and the two stoic guards behind her followed suit.

Unlike typical nightclubs or bars, exclusive events like this rarely required identification. Instead, the staff was expected to commit guests' faces and names to memory.

Once we were out of earshot, I turned to Kai with genuine gratitude. "Thank you. You really didn't have to do that."

Kai and I weren't particularly close, but we often found ourselves at the same parties and engaged in pleasant conversation when our paths crossed. In the self-centered jungle of Manhattan's elite society, his thoughtful and reserved demeanor was a breath of fresh air.

"It was my pleasure." His formal tone brought a smile to my face.

Born in Hong Kong, raised in London, and educated at Oxford and Cambridge, Kai's manners reflected his cosmopolitan background.

"I'm sure your absence on the guest list was simply an oversight on Bryan's part." He deftly plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing server's tray and handed one to me. "Speaking of which, congratulations on your engagement. Or should I offer condolences?"

My smile blossomed into laughter. "The jury is still out on that one."

From what I had gathered, Kai and Bryan were friends. I wasn't entirely sure what Bryan had told him about our engagement, so I erred on the side of caution.

To the public eye, we were the picture-perfect couple, radiating happiness and excitement about our impending nuptials.

"Smart move. Most people treat Bryan like he's infallible." Kai's eyes sparkled mischievously. "He needs someone to remind him that he's just as human as the rest of us."

"Oh, believe me," I replied. "I don't think he's a deity."

More like a devil sent to test my patience.

Kai chuckled, and we engaged in small talk for a few more minutes before he excused himself to catch up with an old college friend.

Why couldn't I have ended up with someone like Kai? Polite, charming, and wealthy enough to satisfy my parents' standards.

Instead, I was stuck with a brooding Italian who seemed to have never heard of basic etiquette.

I let out a sigh and placed my empty glass on a nearby tray before wandering through the penthouse, marveling at the stunning architecture and opulent decor.

Bryan had steered clear of the modern minimalism favored by his bachelor peers, opting instead for meticulously crafted furniture and rich jewel tones. Turkish and Persian silk rugs adorned the gleaming floors, while sumptuous velvet drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows that offered breathtaking views of Central Park and the city's iconic skyline.

I passed two sitting rooms, four powder rooms, a screening room, and a gaming lounge before finally stepping into the long, skylit gallery where the exhibition was taking place.

I hadn't spotted Bryan yet, but he was likely...

My footsteps slowed as I caught sight of a familiar head of glossy black hair.

Bryan stood at the far end of the hall, engrossed in conversation with a stunning redhead and an Asian man whose cheekbones could cut ice. He wore a genuine smile, his expression warm.

So he was capable of displaying normal human emotions. Good to know.

A surge of heat coursed through my veins, whether from the alcohol or the sight of his genuine smile, I couldn't be sure. I chose to attribute it to the former.

Bryan must have sensed my gaze because he abruptly stopped talking and glanced up.

Our eyes locked, and the warmth vanished from his face as quickly as the setting sun.

My heartbeats collided with each other in a flurry of chaos.

Though a double-length hallway separated us, his displeasure permeated the air, seeping into my body like a toxic poison.

Bryan excused himself from his companions and strode toward me, his powerful, muscular frame cutting through the crowd with the determined precision of a predator zeroing in on its prey.

Anxiety tingled down my spine, but I forced myself to stand my ground, despite every instinct screaming at me to run.

It's fine. He won't murder you in public. Probably. Maybe.

"Lovely party. Unfortunately, my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail, but I managed to make it," I remarked as he approached. I plucked a glass off a nearby tray and extended it towards him. "Care for some champagne?"

"Your invitation isn't the only thing that's missing, mia cara." The velvety endearment would have been swoon-worthy if not for the darkness lurking beneath the surface. He declined the offered drink, his hand hovering just shy of it. "What are you doing here?"

"Just enjoying the food and artwork." I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip. Nothing tasted quite as sweet as liquid courage. "You have impeccable taste, though your manners could use some improvement."

A cruel smile etched itself across his lips. "How ironic that you're always lecturing me on manners when you're the one who showed up uninvited to a private event."

"We're engaged," I said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. The sooner I got this conversation over with, the sooner I could leave. "Yet we haven't exchanged a single word since the dinner, even though I'm supposed to move in next week.""I don’t expect grand gestures of love and bouquets every day," I began, my voice steady. "But I do expect basic courtesy and communication skills. Since it seems like you're incapable of taking the initiative, I took matters into my own hands."

I finished my drink and placed the glass down, meeting Bryan's gaze head-on. "And don't think of this as me showing up uninvited. Think of it as me accepting your invitation ahead of time. After all, you did agree to let me move in, didn't you? I just wanted to see my new home before making a commitment."

My heart pounded with nerves, but I refused to show any signs of weakness. I couldn't let Bryan think he could overpower me whenever he was upset. If he sensed any vulnerability, he would seize the opportunity.

Bryan's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"That was quite a speech," he said, his voice laced with coldness. "You certainly didn't have this much to say at dinner the other night." His tone softened, his gaze sweeping over me with increasing intensity. "I almost don't recognize you."

His words carried a double meaning, an intimacy that sent shivers down my spine and ignited a fire between my legs.

Gone were my tweed and pearls, replaced by a classic black cocktail dress, heels, and my favorite red lipstick. Diamonds adorned my neck and ears. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it was the best I could do in a rush.

Yet, under Bryan's scrutiny, I felt as if I had shown up to a church reunion in a string bikini.

My stomach tightened as his gaze traveled from my face, down my chest, and settled on my hips where the dress hugged tightly. It skimmed over the length of my bare legs, the perusal both obscene in its laziness and erotic in its thoroughness, like the touch of a lover determined to explore every inch of my body.

My throat went dry. A flame ignited deep within my stomach, and I wished I had chosen a more conservative suit for the evening.

It would have been safer. Less likely to cloud my mind with his rough drawls and electric attraction.

What were we even talking about?

"Different occasions call for different approaches," I stammered, grasping for words that made sense.

I raised an eyebrow, praying he couldn't hear the rapid beating of my heart. It was impossible, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he could see right through me, as if I were made of a thousand pieces of broken, transparent glass.

"You might want to try that strategy sometime," I said, determined to keep the conversation going. "People might actually like you."

"I would if I cared about what others thought of me," he retorted, dragging his eyes back up to mine. The mocking cruelty returned to his expression. "Unlike some of my esteemed guests, I don't derive my self-worth from their opinions."

His insinuation hit me like a punch to the gut, and a sudden chill ran through my body.

No one could switch from tolerable to asshole faster than Bryan Davis. It took every ounce of willpower not to throw my drink in his face.

He had some nerve, but the worst part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

Insults with a grain of truth always cut the deepest.

"Good. Because I assure you, their opinion of you is quite low," I snapped.

Don't slap him. Don't cause a scene.

I took a deep breath and quickly wrapped up the conversation before I went against my own advice.

"As delightful as this conversation has been, I must excuse myself. I have other places to be," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "However, I expect all logistical information regarding my move-in to be in my inbox by noon tomorrow. I would hate to have to show up at your building and reveal your incompetence to your neighbors." I touched the diamond pendant around my neck. "Imagine how embarrassing it would be if people found out that the great Bryan Davis couldn't even coordinate his fiancée's move-in."

Bryan's glare could have melted the gold frames hanging on the walls.

"You may not care about what others think of you personally, but reputation is everything in business," I continued, taking a business card out of my clutch and slipping it into the pocket of his suit jacket. "I assume you already have my contact information, but just in case, here's my card. I look forward to your email."

I walked away before he could respond.

The heat of his anger burned at my back, but I caught a glimpse of something else in his eyes before I left.

Respect.

I kept walking, my heart pounding in my throat, my feet moving faster and faster until I reached the nearest guest bathroom. Once the door closed behind me, I slumped against the wall and covered my face with my hands.

Breathe.

The surge of adrenaline was already fading, leaving me drained and anxious.

I had stood up to Bryan and won...for now. But I wasn't naive enough to think that was the end of it.

Even though I had gained some grudging respect from him, he wouldn't let an uneven score stand.

Somehow, I had entered into a cold war with my fiancé, and tonight was only the beginning.

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