Elena's POV:
I didn't sleep.
Not even a wink.
The mansion was quiet, but silence in this house didn't mean peace. It meant strategy. Tension. Enemies calculating their next move in the dark. And now, I was one of them.
One of them.
My reflection stared back at me in the mirror above the vanity, eyes rimmed with red, lips chapped from chewing them raw. I hadn't cried — I refused to — but something inside me had cracked when I found out the truth about my father's deal with the Vitale family.
He gave me away like a pawn. To the son of the man who murdered his brother.
For peace? For power? Or out of fear?
It didn't matter anymore. The damage had already been done. I was married. Tied to a Vitale. Bound to him — to Lorenzo — by gold and blood.
And I hated that part of me didn't hate it.
I hated that I remembered the way his fingers brushed my wrist when he helped me out of the car. How he said my name like it was a secret only he knew. How his jaw clenched whenever someone looked at me too long.
Why did he care?
Why did I care that he cared?
A knock echoed on the door. I stiffened.
Three slow taps. One pause. Two more.
That was his knock.
I rose from the edge of the bed, heart pounding, and opened the door just enough to see him leaning against the frame.
Lorenzo Vitale.
Shirt unbuttoned at the throat, tie hanging loose, gun at his hip like a casual accessory. His eyes locked onto mine.
"You're still awake," he said.
"Obviously."
"I need to show you something."
I didn't answer right away. My fingers hovered on the door handle.
"You don't trust me," he said softly.
"You shouldn't want me to."
A beat.
Then he pushed the door open gently. Not forcing — just enough to let me choose.
I let him in.
He handed me a file the moment the door clicked shut behind him. Brown folder, no label. I flipped it open.
Photos.
Black-and-white surveillance images. Men in suits. One face circled in red — Anton Ferreti. My cousin. My blood. My supposed ally.
The timestamp read: Two nights ago. Location: Vitale South Warehouse.
"What is this?" I asked slowly.
"Your cousin's been selling your father's intel to our enemies. The same enemies that tried to take me out last week."
I didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Because I already suspected. And I hated that he confirmed it.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Lorenzo stepped closer.
"Because no one else will. Because your family is lying to you, and mine wants to use you. And because somewhere in the middle of all that, I think you're smarter than both of them."
His voice was calm. But his eyes—his eyes were searching mine like they were trying to find something worth holding on to.
"I don't need your protection," I whispered.
"I'm not offering protection, Elena. I'm offering war."
My stomach tightened.
Because I believed him.
And because I didn't know if I wanted to fight him or fight with him.
"What makes you think I'll choose your side?" I asked.
He tilted his head, just slightly. Then stepped even closer, our bodies nearly touching.
"You already have."
His hand rose. Touched my cheek. I flinched—not from fear. From the heat that surged between us. The unbearable pull I felt every time he was near.
My pulse raced.
My breath hitched.
And then he leaned in—
But I turned my head.
"Don't," I said.
Lorenzo paused. His lips were an inch from my ear when he replied.
"I wasn't going to kiss you."
I looked at him.
His mouth curved — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Something darker.
"I just wanted to see if you'd stop me."
And I hated that I almost didn't.
The next morning, chaos.
Screams in the east wing. Gunfire outside the gates. The staff running like mice from a burning ship.
I was at the window before anyone could pull me back.
Black vans. Men in masks. And fire—
The goddamn garage was on fire.
"MOVE!" someone shouted. Then Lorenzo's voice over the comms: "Get her out of the room, now!"
Marco, one of his men, barged in, grabbing my arm. "We have to go."
"Where's Lorenzo?"
"He's handling it. Come on."
I hesitated for one second too long.
A bullet shattered the window beside me. Glass flew past my face like ice.
I ran.
Marco dragged me down the stairs, through a hidden corridor behind the library shelves. I didn't even know it existed.
"We're going underground," he said. "Panic tunnel. Leads to the vineyard."
"What the hell is going on?"
"We were compromised."
"How?"
"Internal leak. Maybe yours. Maybe ours. Doesn't matter right now. You're the target."
I stumbled.
"The target?"
Marco stopped at a vault door. Turned to face me.
"They don't want Lorenzo dead anymore. They want you alive."
"Why?"
He hesitated.
"Because your bloodline matters more than we thought."
Then the vault opened.
And Lorenzo was inside.
Covered in soot. Bleeding from his temple. Alive.
He didn't say a word.
Just pulled me into the room, slammed the door shut, and turned three locks.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked again, louder this time.
He looked at me — really looked.
And finally said, "They don't want peace, Elena. They want heirs."
I froze.
"What?"
"They attacked the compound because you're married to me. Which means, to their eyes, you're a Vitale now."
"That doesn't make sense—"
"They're old-school. They believe legacy is blood. And your family name is worth more than gold right now. Combine it with mine?" He laughed, but it was empty. "You're not a person to them anymore. You're a throne."
My stomach twisted.
"So what now?" I whispered.
Lorenzo stepped closer. His face unreadable.
"Now we make them believe we're stronger than they ever imagined."
"And if we're not?"
His eyes darkened.
"Then we fake it. Until we make them bleed."
That night, I sat alone in the panic room while Lorenzo and his men cleaned up the wreckage. The fire was out. The staff was gone. The mansion was locked down tighter than ever.
And I couldn't shake the feeling that this marriage — this deal — had just become something else entirely.
A battlefield.
A crown.
A death sentence.
I reached for the notebook Lorenzo kept in the side drawer and flipped through it. Notes. Maps. Encrypted messages.
And then…
A photo.
Me.
Taken from a distance. Before the wedding. Before I ever knew his name.
Written on the back:
"She's not ready. But she will be." – L.V.
My fingers went cold.
I stood up, heart hammering.
Because this wasn't chance.
He knew me before we met.
Before the altar.
Before the blood oath.
Which meant this wasn't just a marriage.
It was a setup.
And I was the mark.
(PAUSE SORRY BUT FROM NOW AM GONNA BE ADDING CLIFFHANGERS AT THE END OF THE STORY, HE HE HE HE ...LOVE Y'ALL.)
"I need to know the truth," I whispered when Lorenzo came back.
He closed the door, locked it, and said two words that shattered everything I thought I knew—
"You were chosen."