The next morning, Seraphina tried to pretend nothing had changed.
She wore ivory silk to breakfast, hair twisted into a sleek knot, lips painted the shade her mother approved of. The Morelli dining hall gleamed with silver cutlery and polished crystal. Her father read the Financial Times, her mother scrolled her phone, her cousin Isabella picked at strawberries.
As if her engagement hadn't just been weaponized in front of half the city.
Seraphina sipped her coffee. "So when were you going to tell me?"
Her father didn't look up from the paper. "Tell you what?"
She set the cup down harder than intended. "Don't play dumb."
"You'll thank me later," he said smoothly. "Valenti is power. Protection. Influence. We need this."
"I don't," she snapped.
Her mother's eyes flicked up, cool and assessing. "You'll adjust, Seraphina. That's what we do."
Adjust. Bend. Break. Play roles written by men who thought women were just currency. She wanted to scream, but instead she pushed her chair back and left the room without finishing breakfast.
The moment she stepped outside, she regretted it.
Because a black Maserati idled at the bottom of the steps.
Alessandro leaned against the hood, sleeves rolled up, wristwatch glinting in the morning sun. He looked like sin delivered to her doorstep.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Picking up my fiancée." His voice was calm, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She stopped on the last step, glaring. "We are not—"
"—engaged?" His lips curved. "Funny. Your father seemed convinced."
Her nails dug into her palms. "I didn't agree."
"You don't have to." He pushed off the car, closing the distance. "This is happening whether you like it or not. I'm just making it easier."
"Easier?" she laughed bitterly. "Stalking me outside my house is easier?"
"Stalking?" He tilted his head. "No. Claiming."
She groaned. "You're insufferable."
"And yet you're still standing here," he murmured, voice dropping just enough to scrape along her nerves.
Before she could snap back, Isabella appeared in the doorway behind her, eyes wide. "Sera… your father said you have class. You're going to be late."
Seraphina cursed under her breath. Of course. If she didn't leave now, her father would hear of it. And the last thing she needed was another lecture.
"Fine," she bit out. "But I'm driving myself."
Alessandro's smirk deepened. "Get in the car."
Her glare could have burned holes in him, but she slid into the passenger seat anyway, silk pooling against the leather. His cologne filled the space instantly, dark and intoxicating.
The Maserati purred to life.
"You don't get to invade my life like this," she said, staring out the window.
"Invade?" he echoed, amused. "Sweetheart, I haven't even started."
---
At University
The Morelli family's reputation kept Seraphina's life carefully insulated. At her private university, she'd always been admired, envied, untouchable.
Until now.
Whispers followed her down the halls. Not about her grades or her gowns, but about him.
Alessandro walked beside her, black suit jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulder, radiating effortless danger. Students parted like the Red Sea, no one daring to block his path.
She hissed under her breath, "You don't belong here."
"Correction." He leaned closer. "I belong wherever you are."
"God, you sound like a stalker."
"Don't flatter yourself." His smirk lingered. "I don't chase women. They usually chase me. You're the exception."
"Then stop chasing."
"Can't."
She clenched her jaw, stalking faster down the corridor.
By the time she reached her lecture hall, he was already holding the door open. She stormed past without a word, dropping into a seat near the middle. Alessandro took the one beside her, ignoring the shocked stares of every single person in the room.
The professor stammered mid-sentence before continuing.
Seraphina pulled out her notebook, refusing to look at him.
"You don't belong here," she repeated.
He leaned back, stretching out his legs, completely relaxed. "I'm here for you."
Her pen snapped in half.
---
The Library Incident
By mid-afternoon, her patience had shredded. She escaped to the library, her sanctuary of silence and order. Stacks of leather-bound volumes. The smell of ink and old paper.
She'd barely sat down before a shadow fell across her table.
"Studying hard, princess?"
She slammed her book shut. "Do you have nothing better to do?"
His eyes glittered. "Nothing more important."
"Then you must have a pathetic empire if you can waste time like this."
That earned a low chuckle. He leaned down, hands braced on either side of her chair, caging her in. "My empire runs without me. But you—" his gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes "—you're the one thing that requires my full attention."
Her breath stuttered. She hated it. Hated that her body reacted even while her mind screamed.
She shoved her chair back, forcing space. "Stay the hell away from me."
He straightened slowly, smile infuriatingly calm. "You'll learn, Seraphina. The more you tell me no, the more I'll want yes."
---
That Evening
By the time she returned home, her head throbbed. She wanted silence, peace—anything but him.
Instead, she walked into the dining hall to find him sitting at her father's table, glass of red wine in hand, speaking easily with both her parents.
Her father looked up, pleased. "Seraphina, Alessandro's joining us for dinner."
Her fork nearly snapped in half.
Alessandro met her glare with a slow smile, lifting his glass in a toast.
"Good evening, fiancée."