Arianna stood by the massive window of the penthouse, staring at a skyline she no longer recognized. The city glittered beneath her like broken glass, beautiful, sharp, and full of hidden danger. She pressed a hand against the cold glass, the reflection staring back at her an echo of a girl she no longer was.
Last night, she'd signed her freedom away with a single stroke of a pen. Mrs. Virelli. The name felt foreign, like an ill-fitting crown.
Behind her, Lucien's voice cut through the silence.
"You didn't sleep."
She didn't answer. The silence stretched, taut and breathless.
"I don't require your obedience, Arianna," he continued. "Just your presence. Obedience, will come naturally."
She turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "You sound very sure of yourself."
Lucien approached like a shadow given form, his black suit crisp, his silver cufflinks catching the morning light. There was something impossibly calculated about his grace, like a panther too patient to pounce.
"I am," he said simply. "There's breakfast downstairs. Wear something elegant. I've scheduled our first appearance as husband and wife."
She didn't move. "Where?"
He smiled faintly. "The Society for Business Ethics Gala."
She arched a brow. "Isn't that ironic?"
Lucien ignored the barb. "Wear the sapphire choker. The media will be watching."
She didn't flinch until he was gone. Then she let her breath out in a slow hiss. Like venom.
---
Arianna descended the marble staircase an hour later in a black velvet gown that clung to her like scandal. The sapphire choker sat at her throat like a collar, tight, gleaming and suffocating. Her hair was swept up in waves of controlled chaos, a rebellion restrained by pins.
Lucien stood by the grand piano, murmuring into his phone in Italian. His eyes flicked up when she entered, and for a moment, something passed through them.
Not approval.
Possession.
He ended the call. "You clean up nicely."
She smirked. "You're still a bastard."
He offered his arm. "Come. Let's show them how perfect we pretend to be."
---
The gala was held at the Bellagio Royale, a sprawling ballroom of chandeliers, gold leaf, and polished egos. The walls whispered of old money and buried sins.
As they stepped onto the red carpet, camera flashes erupted like gunfire.
"Mr. Virelli! Over here!"
"Arianna! How do you feel after the scandal?"
"Is it true this is a rebound marriage?"
Lucien kept one arm around her waist, the other in his pocket like he owned the world. Arianna smiled with poison-laced charm, every step calculated, every glance deliberate.
"Smile like you mean it," he murmured between his teeth.
"I am smiling," she replied. "Just not for you."
Inside, the ballroom was a battlefield of the elite. Tuxedos, gowns, secrets wrapped in diamonds. The scent of ambition clung to the air like expensive perfume.
Helena Virelli spotted them first. Elegant, frosted with Botox and disdain, she floated over like royalty crowned in ice.
"My, my," she purred. "You do know how to make an entrance."
Lucien didn't blink. "Mother."
Arianna forced a smile. "Helena. I love your necklace. Very... sharp."
Helena's eyes narrowed. "So nice to see Lucien finally tamed."
"I'm not tamed," Arianna said sweetly. "I'm just playing nice. For now."
Helena's laughter was thin. "Lucien, dear. A word?"
He led his mother away, leaving Arianna by the champagne tower, where the bubbles rose like the lies in this room.
That's when she saw him.
Ethan.
Across the room, standing with Miranda, now clinging to his arm like a trophy she didn't earn.
Their eyes met. He looked guilty. Miranda looked smug.
Arianna sipped her champagne.
"Slut," Miranda mouthed.
Arianna blew her a kiss. Then turned, the sting already dissolving into strategy.
Lucien returned, catching the exchange. "Do you want me to have her removed?"
"No," Arianna said. "I want her to stay. I want her to watch."
"Watch what?"
She turned to face him fully. "Me become untouchable."
---
Hours later, they exited to more flashes. The media devoured them like wolves dressed in Prada.
In the car, Arianna sat with perfect posture. Lucien studied her in the dim light, as if she were a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.
"You handled that well," he said.
"I've had practice pretending," she said.
He tilted his head. "You're not pretending as much as you think."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't answer. Just leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Don't fall for me, Arianna," he said lazily. "I'm not your salvation."
She stared at him. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just my transaction."
He smiled. "Transactions always come with interest."
---
Back at the penthouse, she slipped out of the gown and tossed the choker on the dresser like it was burning her skin.
She stared at the drawer.
The letter was still gone.
But something new was in its place.
A flash drive.
She plugged it into her laptop, breath tight, fingers trembling.
A folder opened.
Photos.
Old surveillance. Dates. Time stamps.
One showed her mother in a hospital bed. Next to her, Helena Virelli, whispering something.
Another. Her father signing a document, Lucien in the background, unreadable.
And a video file: "Play Me If You Want the Truth."
She clicked.
A low voice began speaking. Distorted. Masked.
"If you're watching this, Arianna, then you've stepped into the trap they set for your family. But you still have time to flip the board. Start with Lucien. He's not who you think he is."
Lucien's voice called from the hall.
"Arianna?"
She slammed the laptop shut, heart racing.
"Yes?"
He entered, loosening his tie. "Long day."
"Mm."
He walked to her. Brushed a finger down her cheek. "You looked like power tonight."
"I was wearing survival."
"Same thing."
Their eyes locked. The air shifted, thick with things unsaid.
Then his phone rang.
He checked it, face hardening. "I have to go."
She nodded, keeping her expression neutral.
Once he was gone, she opened the laptop again. Replayed the file.
The last line made her blood run cold:
"Lucien didn't save you. He silenced your mother. And now, he's next."