The next morning, Lara was awakened by an assistant named Silvia—a slim woman with the posture of a ballerina and the eyes of a drill sergeant. She brought a rack with five dresses, a makeup kit, and a folder with schedules.
"Mr. Vasquez wants you ready by ten. The green dress."
"And what if I want to wear something else?" Lara asked, still half-asleep.
"He won't like it. And frankly, that's the least of your worries, sweetheart."
Lara didn't reply. Soon, she found herself standing before the mirror, dressed in the emerald gown he had chosen. The neckline was carefully cut, the earrings subtle, her hair pinned in a sophisticated bun. She barely recognized herself. But there was something there… something that made her look powerful. As if the woman in the mirror could swallow the world if she wanted to.
"He's waiting in the breakfast room," Silvia said before leaving.
Vicenzo was seated at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. When he saw her, he looked up and smiled.
A dangerous smile. Proud.
"Finally."
"Finally, what?"
"You understand the game."
Lara sat across from him, calmly crossed her legs, and raised an eyebrow.
"And you think you're going to win?"
He chuckled.
"No, Lara. I don't play to win. I play to transform."
She picked up the cup of coffee and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.
"Then you better get ready. Because I'm playing now too."
For a second, Vicenzo looked at her like he was seeing something new, something he hadn't expected.
And maybe, without realizing it, in that moment, he understood the true danger of renting Lara Fernandes: It wasn't her body that put him at risk. It was who she might still become.
✦✦✦
The ballroom of the Palazzo D'Oro gleamed like a vault of polished gold. Every crystal chandelier seemed to flaunt its empire. Every guest wore an invisible title of power.
Lara stopped at the entrance beside Vicenzo, their arms firmly intertwined. The emerald green dress clung to her body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every line of rehearsed elegance.
But it wasn't just the dress.
It was the gaze.
She had learned from Silvia how to walk like a woman with secrets—and from Vicenzo, how to hold her chin high even when everything inside her wanted to run.
"Keep your gaze steady," he murmured in her ear. "You're not here as a guest. You're here as a provocation."
"Nice to know exactly which role I'm playing," she replied, without smiling.
"You're not playing, Lara. You're being born."
It should have sounded like a provocation. But his tone was almost… admiring.
Still, Lara was too tense, too alert to every detail.
The stares came from every direction. Curious. Critical. Hungry. Men in tailored suits, women in designer gowns, undercover reporters, and social columnists masked as friends.
And Lara, at the center of the storm, was the most talked-about piece of the night.
"Is that her?" she heard a woman whisper.
"The corrupt deputy's daughter. Turned mistress of the executioner."
Her heart pounded harder, but she didn't lower her gaze.
An older man, cigar in hand, smiled smugly.
"Looks like you finally found a good use for Fernandes' daughter."
Lara's blood boiled, but her face remained unreadable.
Vicenzo chuckled low.
"She has many uses."
His hand slid possessively around her waist. Lara didn't flinch.
"In fact," he continued, his fingers tightening slightly, "she hears everything. And remembers every word."
The man's smile froze. Lara understood. This was a game, and she was a key player.
Vicenzo paused to greet a group of businessmen, and Lara took the chance to scan the room like a player studying the board.
Until the inevitable happened.
"Miss Fernandes."
The voice was smooth and venomous. Lara turned and came face to face with Cristina Bonaventi, Vicenzo's ex-fiancée, known for her quiet scandals and false smiles.
"You look stunning... for a paid companion."
Cristina gently touched Lara's arm, like a close friend about to offer advice.
"But be careful. Vicenzo likes to play with his dolls. Then he breaks them all."
Lara smiled.
A slow smile. Elegant—and just as poisonous.
"Thanks for the warning. But I'm not made of porcelain. I'm made of steel. And he already knows that."
Cristina blinked, caught off guard by the answer. Before she could reply, Vicenzo returned to Lara's side, holding a glass of champagne.
"Trouble?"
"No. Just compliments," Lara replied, without breaking eye contact with her rival.
Cristina walked away, defeated by the confidence of a woman who, just days ago, had been walking a scandal, and now looked ready to rule an empire.
✦✦✦
Hours later, her feet aching in heels, Lara leaned quietly against a side balcony of the ballroom, away from the noise.
The evening had been a test. She spoke little, listened much, and smiled just enough to mask the storm still spinning inside her.
But a part of her felt strangely satisfied.
She was no longer the lost girl from the first day.
She was polished. Fierce. Deadly.
Vicenzo appeared silently at her side.
"You did better than I expected."
"Maybe because you underestimated me."
He tilted his head, studying her intensely.
"Actually… maybe I did that on purpose."
"Why?"
"To see what you were capable of."
She turned away, but he gently took her chin, forcing her to face him.
"Remember: every stare you received tonight, every whisper, every judgment… was control you ripped from their hands. That's power."
"That's war."
"It's seduction."
And then Vicenzo did the unthinkable. Right there, on the balcony, with the entire ballroom behind them, he pulled Lara by the waist and kissed her.
Not a forced kiss.
Not a kiss of domination. But a heated, provocative kiss, one meant to play for the audience and, at the same time, test his limits.
For a moment, Lara gave in. Not because it was the role expected of her. But because something inside her… something curious… wanted to discover what was behind this man who wavered between tyrant and mentor, executioner and accomplice.
When he pulled back, her eyes were burning. Not with shame. But with fire.
"You think you own me?" she whispered.
He brought his lips to her ear. "Not yet."