The paper burned in Serena's palm all night. She didn't dare unfold it in the garden—too many eyes, too many ears. By the time she slipped back into the ballroom, her smile felt pasted on, like a mask that might peel off any second.
Every toast, every congratulatory kiss on her cheek—it was torture. And through it all, the folded paper in her hand felt heavier than the ring on her finger.
Do not open it here, she told herself. Not unless you want to be shot before dessert.
By the time the last guests had gone and her father had retreated to his office, Serena finally escaped to her room.
Her heels clicked against marble floors until she shut her bedroom door and locked it. She leaned against it for a moment, listening to her heartbeat, then crossed to her vanity.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside her window. She sat down, her gown pooling around her, and unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
At first, it looked like numbers, names, coded notes scrawled in neat handwriting. But when her eyes found the first phrase written clearly in Italian—her breath caught.
Your fiancé is not your ally.
Her stomach twisted. Beneath it was a list of transactions, each with a familiar name beside it. Her father's. And her fiancé's. Payments, dates, coded shipments.
Serena's throat tightened. She didn't understand everything, but she understood enough. The man she was supposed to marry wasn't here for unity. He was here to betray her family.
And suddenly, Lorenzo Romano's warning didn't feel like a taunt. It felt like the truth.
She dropped the paper on the vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.
"Fantastic," she muttered to herself. "I'm either marrying a traitor, or I've gone completely insane. Honestly, not sure which is worse."
A sharp knock at her window made her jump so hard she nearly screamed.
Her head whipped toward the glass. And there he was.
Lorenzo Romano.
Leaning against her balcony rail like he owned the place. Casual, composed, and infuriatingly smug.
Serena yanked the curtains closed, then peeked through them again, because apparently she had no self-control.
He was still there, of course. The nerve.
"Are you insane?" she hissed as she unlocked the balcony door and stepped outside. "Do you want to get shot?"
Lorenzo smirked. "Good evening to you too, princess."
"Don't call me that."
"What should I call you then? Future widow?"
Serena glared at him, though her lips twitched despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And you're loud. Try not to scream next time, or your guards will be here faster than you can blink." His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand. "So. You read it?"
Serena tightened her grip on the page. "Yes. And if this is some kind of game—"
"It's not," he cut in, his voice lower, sharper. "Your fiancé isn't who he pretends to be. And if you marry him, Serena, you won't just lose your freedom. You'll lose your life."
Her breath caught. Her humor vanished, replaced by a knot of fear tightening in her chest.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "Then why are you telling me this? You and I—we're supposed to be enemies."
For the first time, Lorenzo's smirk faded. His expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on hers with unnerving intensity. "Maybe I don't like seeing innocent people walk into traps. Or maybe…" His lips curved slightly, though his eyes stayed hard. "…maybe I just like making trouble."
Serena stared at him, torn between anger and something else she refused to name.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, softer this time. "If someone sees you—"
He stepped closer, so close the scent of smoke and expensive cologne wrapped around her. "Then we'd better hope no one does."
Before she could reply, footsteps echoed faintly down the hall. Guards.
Serena's eyes widened, and she grabbed his arm without thinking. "Inside. Now."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you want me in your bedroom?"
"Shut up," she hissed, dragging him inside just as a shadow passed her door.
Her pulse thundered as they pressed against the wall, inches apart, the room cloaked in silence. She held her breath, praying no one tried the door.
The footsteps faded. Relief washed over her—until she realized Lorenzo hadn't moved.
He was still close. Too close. His eyes caught the dim light, dark and unreadable.
"You're reckless," she whispered.
"And you're braver than you think," he murmured back. "That's going to get you into trouble."
Serena's heart hammered in her chest. Trouble was already here. And his name was Lorenzo Romano.
End of Chapter Two