The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and champagne, but Serena Caruso had never felt more suffocated in her life. Every smile she forced was a mask, every congratulation she received a reminder of the chains tightening around her throat.
Her engagement ring caught the light as she lifted her glass—brilliant, flawless, cold. A perfect stone for a perfect lie.
The man she was promised to was inside, toasting with her father and their guests, already bragging about the empire they would soon share. To her father, this was strategy. To her fiancé, this was power. To Serena, it was a prison.
She slipped away unnoticed, weaving through silk gowns and dark suits, until she pushed open the tall glass doors that led into the garden.
Cool night air rushed to meet her, carrying the scent of roses and wet stone. The garden was quieter, softer—the opposite of the chaos inside. Moonlight draped over marble statues, and the fountain in the center gurgled peacefully, as if mocking her racing heart.
For the first time that night, she let out a breath.
But she wasn't alone.
"You don't look like a woman celebrating her engagement."
The voice was low, smooth, and threaded with something dangerous. Serena froze. Slowly, she turned toward the fountain.
He stood there, half in shadow. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair, sharp jawline, eyes that gleamed with something between challenge and curiosity. A stranger, yet not.
Lorenzo Romano.
Her pulse stuttered. She knew his face from whispers, warnings, and photographs her father had burned. The heir of the Romano family. The enemy. The man who should never be this close to her.
Her mouth went dry. "You shouldn't be here."
Lorenzo's smirk curved like a blade. "Neither should you." He tilted his head, eyes flicking to the diamond on her finger. "Pretty ring. But it looks more like a shackle than a promise."
Her stomach twisted. How could he see through her so easily?
"If my father finds you—" she began, but her voice cracked.
"Then perhaps your father should have been more careful."
Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
He stepped closer, the moonlight catching on his suit, sharp and immaculate. From his jacket, he pulled a folded piece of paper. He held it between two fingers like it was dangerous to touch.
"This," he said. "A little truth. The kind that gets people killed."
Serena hesitated, then reached for it. Her fingers brushed his—warm, steady, electric. Her breath hitched. She shouldn't be feeling this. Not with him. Not now.
Before she could unfold the paper, the garden doors swung open. Voices spilled out—her name, laughter, footsteps searching.
Lorenzo's gaze hardened, and he leaned close, his lips near her ear. His words were a whisper of fire.
"Be careful, Serena. You're promised to a man who might want you dead."
Her breath caught, but before she could respond, he stepped back into the shadows. The garden seemed to swallow him whole.
By the time the voices drew nearer, Lorenzo Romano was gone.
Serena stood alone in the moonlight, clutching the folded paper as if it were a ticking bomb, her heart pounding with a mix of fear, confusion, and something she dared not name.
And for the first time in her life, she realized her father's world wasn't just a cage. It was a battlefield—and she had just been dragged to the front lines.
End of Chapter One