Prologue :Love, Always From the Shadows
Leo Whitewood's POV
I first loved her when she was ten.
And I was thirteen bloodied, bruised, broken from a world that never gave a damn if I breathed. She had no idea I existed, not really. Just a quiet boy in torn shoes, sitting beneath the shade of the school's abandoned oak tree, pretending the world wasn't drowning him.
But she…
She glowed.
Crystabella Brooklyn had laughter in her voice and springtime in her smile. Her emerald eyes burned into me like sunlight through cracked glass, and for the first time, I felt warmth. She was silk and honey and everything I was never meant to have.
And from that day on, she became mine.
Even if she didn't know it.
Even if the world dared to place her in the hands of another man.
Even if she chose someone else.
I watched her grow from that little girl in ballet flats to a woman dressed in designer gowns, dripping in wealth and beauty, wrapped in a life I would have burned entire kingdoms for. She loved him ,Romano Grayson the golden boy with a diamond smile and a monster's heart.
She saw him.
But not me.
Never me.
Not the boy who became a ghost in the shadows for her.
Not the man who carved himself into power and wealth, just to one day be seen by the only light he ever knew.
I touched myself to the thought of her for years. I built empires in her name. I bled for her in silence. I broke laws, made enemies, killed opportunities that dared to bring her close to danger and she never knew.
But now?
Now she's standing at the altar of betrayal, wearing a ring that belongs to a man who doesn't love her. A man who fucks her best friend behind her back. A man who doesn't deserve the air she breathes.
And I'm not that quiet, unwanted boy anymore.
I am Leo Whitewood.
The man she never noticed, but the only one who has ever truly loved her.
And I'm done waiting.
She belongs to me now.
And I'll make her see it.
Even if I have to break her first.
Even if I have to destroy every piece of her past.
Even if I have to burn this whole fucking world to the ground
She. Will. Be. Mine.
Crystabella's POV
The champagne flute slipped slightly in my grip.
It wasn't from the alcohol. I'd barely taken a sip. It wasn't from the music either, though the strings of the quartet sent shivers down my spine.
It was him.
A man I couldn't name at first, because the boy I used to know, the ghost from the orphanage days, had died long ago. What stood now was a storm in a black suit. Taller. Broader. Power dripping off his body like cologne, dark and magnetic.
Leo Whitewood.
His name hit my memory like a slap.
And suddenly, I couldn't breathe.
His eyes locked on mine from across the ballroom—feral, burning, as if every second I stood beside Romano was a personal sin. He didn't blink. Didn't smile. Just drank me in like I was something he'd been dying of thirst for.
My thighs clenched involuntarily.
I looked away. I had to. The man was dangerous, in a way that made my skin flush and my breath hitch. But every time I blinked, I felt him watching me. Not with casual interest.
No.
With hunger.
Romano was called to the podium for a speech, and I stood politely beside him, wearing the emerald diamond engagement ring his family gave me, smiling through the ache in my chest.
And then Leo moved.
Through the crowd like a predator. Eyes never leaving mine. He didn't care that I was the bride-to-be. He didn't care that people noticed. The moment Romano turned his back to me, Leo was there.
He didn't speak.
He just leaned down, lips barely brushing my ear, breath hot enough to melt me in place.
"You're trembling," he whispered, voice deep, slow, soaked in sin.
"That ring on your finger? Take it off. It doesn't belong to you. He doesn't deserve you."
I tried to step away, but his hand slid to my waist possessive, firm.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he said.
"This thing between us. I can smell it on your skin."
My heart thundered. I hated how right he sounded. I hated that my body responded to him my nipples hard beneath silk, core pulsing with something I hadn't felt in months. Maybe years.
He tilted my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"He fucks your best friend, Bella," he murmured darkly.
"While you wear his name. While you let him touch what doesn't belong to him."
My breath caught.
"You're lying"
"I don't lie. I claim."
His hand slid lower, brushing the bare skin between my shoulder blades, his palm warm, possessive.
"And you've always been mine."
Then he stepped away just like that and disappeared into the crowd, leaving my body aching, my engagement burning my skin like a curse.
And I knew right then…
This wasn't over.
This was the beginning.
Continuation of Crystabella's POV
I should have felt happy.
Every woman in the room looked at me like I had everything a diamond the size of a raindrop on my finger, a fiancé who looked like a prince, and a life carved from wealth and perfection.
But perfection can be fake. Like glitter on glass.
And tonight, that glass was cracking.
The chandeliers dripped light across the ballroom, casting golden halos over faces I had known all my life friends, family, powerful socialites from our elite circle. My dress was emerald silk, backless, hugging every inch of me like a second skin. My hair was curled and pinned, my makeup flawless.
And yet, inside, I felt hollow.
Romano was talking to some senator's wife across the hall, flashing that perfect grin he used whenever he needed to charm the world. He hadn't looked at me in nearly twenty minutes. Not since I caught him whispering something into Alice's ear, something that made her blush and glance away like a guilty schoolgirl.
I told myself I was imagining things.
Like I always did.
Because I loved him. I had to. We were engaged. And we had history.
So why did I feel like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't name?
I took another sip of champagne.
And that's when I felt it.
Not saw. Felt.
A shiver rippled across my skin low, electric, and primal.
I turned instinctively toward the ballroom doors… and my world tilted.
A man had entered the room. He didn't belong. Not because he wasn't dressed like the rest of them he wore his suit like it was tailored by God himself but because he wasn't trying to fit in.
He owned the space the second he walked in.
Sharp jaw, black hair slicked back, cruelly handsome. His eyes swept the room once, slow and calculating. Then they landed on me.
And didn't move.
My heart stuttered.
I knew those eyes.
Not in the way I knew Romano or my father or even Alice. No, this was different. This wasn't a name I used in casual conversation.
This was a memory.
A dangerous one.
Leo Whitewood.
The boy from shadows. The ghost from our childhood. The poor, bruised soul who used to watch us from behind iron fences. Who disappeared after his father died. No one knew where he went. Rumors swirled. Drugs. Prison. Death.
But now, he was here.
And he looked like sin dressed in silk.