Chapter 3

Seraphina POV:

The rain began to fall as I drove through the empty streets, each drop on the windshield blurring the city lights into a watercolor wash, bleeding together much like my memories.

My mother had worked as a housekeeper for the De Luca family for over a decade. Her silence, the result of a childhood fever, made her an easy target, yet it was her salary that sent me to the most elite private school in Chicago. The same school as Isabella Ricci-who, in a cruel twist of fate, was also my roommate.

I was the "help's daughter," an outcast in a world of wealth and privilege. But I learned to fight back. When a girl put gum in my hair, I soaked her mattress with a garden hose and hid a dead fish in her pillowcase. I learned that to survive, I had to return pain for pain.

The worst was my senior year. Isabella and her friends cornered me in the empty auditorium. They dragged me onto the stage, holding me down while Isabella brandished a pair of scissors, ready to shear off my hair for their humiliating video.

Suddenly, a voice cut through their laughter. "Stop."

It was Dante. He was a few years older, already a terrifying legend in the halls of our school. He snatched the scissors from Isabella's hand and gave a curt nod to his associate, who was recording. "Stop the camera." It wasn't a request. It was a Don's command.

He pulled me to my feet and took me to the estate's private infirmary to check for injuries. It was the first time anyone in that world had shown me a shred of decency. It was the first time my heart stirred for him.

I started watching him from the shadows, a secret, naive crush taking root in my heart. But all I ever saw was the way he looked at Isabella, a possessive, all-consuming fire that left no room for anyone else.

So I buried my feelings. I poured all my energy into my studies, graduating at the top of my class from a prestigious university with a degree in architectural design.

The day I graduated, I found myself back at the De Luca estate. It was the day of Dante and Isabella's wedding. The ninth attempt. The music was playing, the guests were seated, but the bride was gone. A single text was all she'd left: Ran off with some pretty boy. Don't wait up.

The public humiliation was the final straw. Dante's legendary patience snapped. His cold, furious eyes scanned the crowd of guests, and then they landed on me, standing awkwardly near the back. He strode straight up to me.

"Marry me," he said.

Stunned into silence, I could only stare at him. He was the most powerful man I knew, and he was asking me, the housekeeper's daughter, to be his wife. For a wild, foolish moment, the girl who'd watched him from the shadows screamed that this was my only chance. I hesitated, then gave a single, fateful nod.

I married a man who didn't even know my first name. And just like that, the contract was sealed.

For seven years, our marriage was a contract. A cold, respectful arrangement. He was a good provider. When my mother was diagnosed with pneumothorax, a collapsed lung, he flew in the best medical team in the country, and they saved her life. He showered me with extravagant gifts and paraded me at public functions, as the perfect, beautiful wife on the arm of the Don.

I was a fool. I once believed these were signs of his growing affection. I thought that maybe, over time, he could come to love me.

That foolish hope died a month ago.

I was passing his study when I heard him talking to his Consigliere.

"Isabella is coming back," Dante said, his voice flat. "She's single now."

The Consigliere was hesitant. "And Seraphina?"

I held my breath, waiting.

"She was always a placeholder," Dante's voice was like ice. "A low-cost placeholder. A body in my bed. The moment Isabella wants to come back-for real-Seraphina is gone."