MARRIED UNTIL MONDAY.

ARIA'S POV

The car screeched to a halt in front of the palace of a house. I ducked out, my fingers gripped tightly on my bag.

I didn't need a soothsayer to know my fate. I had left the house without asking Zane, and now he was back before me.

My other hand held my belly bump.

"Calm down, Aria. Tension isn't good for our little Christabel." I whispered, walking into the oddly quiet mansion.

My shoe softly collided against the white marble, and the twine beads I wore shimmered as the chandelier cast its rays on me.

Nervously, I made my way to my room. I needed a second before I faced Zane.

He wouldn't hit me; he had only done that when he was drunk. I didn't blame him; he had lost a huge deal, and I kept urging him to eat. Well, that was in the past, more accurately, two months ago.

I unwrapped my hand from my bag and gripped the rails. I needed all the support I could get if I were to climb these 25 stairs without fainting. It all seemed good and healthy, but once I got pregnant, it felt like hell. I had begged Zane to get an elevator built; he said he would.

That had been three months ago.

Lord, help me.

That seemed to work.

Thankfully, our room was close to the stairs, the second on the right.

My footsteps echoed through the vast hall. The air was chilling; it wasn't the usual dreaded aura. This was different. The wind was dense, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of warnings I chose to ignore.

My hand snaked around the doorknob as I pulled it open. A scream spilled out of the room and blasted in my ears.

Screams? No, correction: Moans.

I halted midway, the door half-open. The moans increased, mixing with the poisoned air. My blood turned cold at the scene in front of me.

My... my... husband, Zane. He was there, on our matrimonial bed, naked and shamelessly bouncing into another woman.

My insides churned.

"Squeeze my cock again, baby girl." He grunted while the whore wrapped her legs around his torso, submitting to his dirty request.

I wanted to go in, to scream, to voice out my sorrows, but I couldn't. I couldn't even move.

I felt trapped there, frozen, and my feet glued to the floor. I shook, trembling at the sight, yet I couldn't run, I couldn't scream.

Just then, my gaze caught the ink design on her ankle. It was a little snake design with its fangs seeping out.

N-no... no... no... please...

One betrayal was fucking enough; I wouldn't take another. I couldn't. Not this one.

No. God, please!

The whore tipped her head back in pleasure, and her long black hair fell back as her face came into view.

I felt daggers pierce my heart.

Si-lbil. Silbil??

My... my own sister.

"Faster." She groaned, and I almost choked on nothing; tears slipped down my cheeks.

"...No..." I staggered back. "N-no... no." My knee buckled. "...It can't be, I... I... it must be a dream. I... I..." I opened my mouth to scream, yet no words came out.

I stepped back yet again, afraid that I might scatter if I stayed. If I watched more.

"No... it... It can't be." The air clogged my throat, seizing my breath. I retreated, my legs kept pulling me back until I mustered the courage to run. I spun around, unaware that I was at the edge, the tip of the stairs.

With one careless move, I slipped and slammed hard against the stairs. A scream erupted from my throat as I rolled down the stairs. I stumbled, landing hard on my stomach.

Pains sprang through my being, especially my lower abdomen. I screamed more; tears flooded my cheeks, blurring my gaze.

My... my... baby.

"No... no... Christabel, please no!!!!" I grew limp, my head surged with pain. Slowly, I felt something trickling down my legs.

N-no... no.

I reached for my white gown; it was now bleached with my blood. My insides twisted painfully as another scream erupted from my lips.

"N-no... no... help!!!! Help... please." I cried, pain twisting my consciousness.

"Harder, baby." I heard my sister moan even louder.

"Please... help..."

"Yes, baby. Harder."

"Please..."

I couldn't move; I tried, I tried so hard. I couldn't lose her, I couldn't lose my little angel.

God, please.

Please, save my baby.

Please, my innocent baby.

Shakily, I crawled towards my bag, which lay far off, and blood poured out of me like a spring at the mouth of a mountain. My gaze blurred as darkness hovered around me.

"N-no... Please... help."

Finally, I reached my bag, ignoring the pain that stabbed my intestines. I picked up my phone, dialing 911.

"Good morning, you've reached the Emergency Medical Services. How can we help you?" They answered on the first dial.

"Help... please... my baby." I wailed.

"Ma'am, where are you??"

"I fell. My baby." I stuttered, struggling with the darkness. "Callahan mansion. Please, my baby."

"We have already sent the ambulance to your location, ma'am. Ma'am, calm down, nothing will..."

That was all I could grasp before I slipped into darkness, with my hands clutched on my belly, hoping and praying for my baby.

I fainted.

★

The beeping sounds echoed as my eyes fluttered open, and I shut them as the bright light struck my eyes. I had to blink several times to adjust to the contrast.

"Christabel... my... my baby," I muttered, reaching for my stomach. I touched it, looking for my baby, and weirdly, I felt empty.

"My baby... my..."

"Ma'am, you are awake." I tore my gaze to the man who beamed at me. He wore a white lab coat.

"Doctor, my child. She isn't answering me. My child." His smile vanished, replaced with a sad and pitiful look. "Doctor... my child..."

"Ma'am, you had a placental abruption..."

"Where is my child??" I half-screamed.

"The placenta detached from your uterus. I'm sorry, the child couldn't make it."

I died. Those five words snatched my life away from me.

"W-what... what... do you mean," I whispered, and tears flooded my cheeks. "What do you mean by that?? Where is my child?? Where is my Christabel??"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. She didn't survive." The news came with its force, blasting me into insanity. My hands clenched the sheet as I nodded crazily, my lungs squeezed, knocking out any breath I had. I gasped, still nodding.

"I... I... my..."

"Ma'am??"

"I... Christabel." A loud laugh broke out of me. It echoed through the room. "I... I..." I laughed harder, like one who won a lottery even while I'd lost all.

"I... lost... my... I..." Slowly, my laughter changed into cries. I screamed so loud the bed I sat on rattled in resonance. "No!!" I yelled. "No... please."

My heart ripped apart even more; tears flew freely as I cried harder, curling up on the bed as I blamed myself.

If only I had been more careful, if only I had not staggered back, if only...

Amidst my world of possibilities, a certain image resurfaced in my pain. My teeth chattered as my blood boiled, flooded with anger.

If only those bastards didn't stab me in the back.

It took an hour for my cries to cease and another half hour to finalize the formalities. I sat like a doll as the doctors spoke, giving warnings, precautions, and what I should take to avoid something worse.

If only he knew, I had nothing else to lose. My palm itched, I felt sick, and I wanted to go back home.

Home?? I would have laughed if I weren't drained, stripped of every emotion.

Finally, they stopped, and I left, curling up in the Uber they ordered. My hand reached for my belly, which was empty. I really lost her. Just this morning, I wove dreams, a future for me and her. How I would hold her, tell her bedtime stories, how...

"It doesn't matter; she is gone." My mind yelled at me.

"Ma'am, we have reached."

"Th-thanks." I stepped out, my legs wobbled, threatening to fail me. My stomach still ached, especially. It hurt like a bitch.

I stepped in slowly, like I would crumble at any second. My gaze met the maids, who were too busy wiping the bloodstains to acknowledge me.

I ignored all, pushing myself forward.

"Ma'am??" One whispered-yelled, their gaze snapped to me, all filled with pity.

I would have spat on their faces if a certain figure hadn't descended from the stairs. Suited in a black suit, the devil, my dearest husband, stepped closer, looking like he wouldn't hurt a fly; he had his usual casual demeanor, like five maids weren't mopping my blood, like I didn't look like an empty shell.

"A nasty fall." He cooed, a mocking smile lingered on his lips.

"You are the devil," I mumbled as his smile deepened into a sly smirk.

Like it was a praise.

"I noticed."

"Y..."

"Watch your mouth, little wife. You really should know your place." He stepped closer.

Unlike the other times, I didn't recoil in fear. I stood, staring at the monster I married.

"It was just for fun," he said, buttoning his cufflinks like nothing had happened. "We were never really in love, were we?"

We weren't. This hell of a marriage was thrust into my lap on a fine evening, yet I did my best. I endured all the insults, the humiliation, the scars, the torture, thinking I could make this work.

How stupid of me.

"Do you believe in karma?" I asked, halting his steps.

"Seems you hurt your head." He said, storming out.

"I don't, either." Quietly, I walked out and into his room.

I couldn't dare call it ours, not when it reeked of her, it reeked of disloyalty, of sinful ties.

I grabbed my stuff and the divorce papers I once rejected. He had slammed these in my face three months ago, threatening to leave, and like a fool, I knelt and begged; I refused to sign.

I stared at the paper for another second before I scribbled my signature and tossed it onto the filthy bed.

"I don't believe in karma, but I do believe in revenge," I whispered, wheeling my suitcase out of the hell of a house, still clad in the hospital wear. I halted outside, glaring at the mansion. Anger surged through my being.

"...and you both will get what's coming to you."

And just like that, my three-year marriage ended in ink.

ARIA'S POV

THREE YEARS LATER

I stood behind the shadows, observing the devils suited in gold, the highest of men and women clad in jewels. They chatted, displaying their fake smiles, their pretentious attitudes, too good to be true.

Tsk. It takes one to know another.

"Sweetheart." My supposed husband called out, his hand slid down my back and held my waist in a gentle grip.

I smiled back, ignoring the lust that swirled through his eyes. "You look delicious."

I wasn't food, still I smiled harder.

Unlike the rest, I wore a simple black sleek gown, which hugged my waist with a little slit from my lap to my ankle, exposing a little more than it should. A diamond necklace sat on my neck with matching earrings. My hair was packed into a bun and clipped still with a diamond-coated hair clip.

His wish, not mine.

"Let's go." I glided in, my black heel clicking against the floor, eliciting a faint sound.

"Mr. Salvatore." Someone called out as the hall fell into a deafening silence. Their gazes latched on me as I walked in, my head held high like the queen I was.

Who is she??

So the rumor is true??

Is that his wife??

She looks so beautiful.

She looks unreal.

A little smile ghosted my lips.

"Ah! Greetings, my fellow friends." He said heartily. "Sweetheart, I will be back."

"Sure." I smiled. "It's your day. Go and shine."

"This is why I love you." He laughed, rushing to the stage while I stayed back, grinning at him.

"Thank you all for honoring my invitation. I must say I didn't expect it." The crowd laughed. "It was a tough journey, but today we are here to celebrate, to dance merrily. It wasn't easy, I lost hope a thousand times, but my sweetheart was there." He threw an air kiss at me. I recoiled, my cheeks pinked in embarrassment, and with that, the crowds cooed. "She never gave up on me and always said, 'Darling, you are the perfect person for this. Yes, all are good, but what separates you is what you do in secret: the effort and the intention."

I never said such.

"Awwwwn." They gushed.

"And today I am here as the vice president of Macro Jewels. I won. I have to say I wouldn't have done it without you; you were my anchor."

"Literally." I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

He continued his speech, showering himself with praise and a little to me. The crowd hushed even more, laughed at his unnecessary jokes, agreed to his nonsense, side-eyed me, drank, and were merry. Finally, the party ended. I would have gnawed off my skin if I were forced to hear any of his boring jokes or their stupid compliments.

Ass-kissers.

He held my hand as we walked out, like the couple we appeared to be.

I remained quiet till we were far off, out of their prying gaze. I snatched my hand away from his grip and slid into the black limo up front.

He joined as the driver sped off.

"That was great."

A sigh escaped from my lips before I could hold it in. I was in for another long drive with his constant talking, his annoying and boring jokes.

There was no escape for you, Aria.

"You were amazing out there, Miss Aria."

"I'm glad you think so."

"You know, even I, at one point, believed we were truly a lovely couple."

"We aren't," I said. "It was just a deal, Mr. Salvatore. A deal that ended today."

"I know, but still..."

"Seven days."

"Harsh."

"My manager will resend the account details to you."

"I understand. But..." I chattered. "I would like to thank you formally, maybe a coffee or tea date."

"I would have." Lies! I would have rather chopped off my hands and legs to avoid it. "But I have other things to do. Like I said, business always comes first."

The car came to a halt.

Finally.

"Thanks for the ride." I slipped out, my phone beeped, and I didn't bother to check. It must be Ava asking me how it went.

"I guess this is it, Miss Aria. It was fun when it lasted."

It wasn't.

"Goodbye, Mr. Salvatore." I turned and headed into the 'MoonVilla', a hostel. It wasn't a famous five-star hotel. It was a local inn, a hostel meant for people like me, people who wouldn't want to be seen by the world.

I slumped onto my bed, relishing its softness.

Finally, I'm back!!!

Gosh, I ached everywhere, especially my cheeks. Who knew smiling so long could hurt? I kicked off my heels, and my hands made their way to my neck as I peeled off the jewelry.

It felt good to be back home, away from the prying gaze. Only hell knew how hard I tried to ignore it all.

I curled up on my sheet, but I bothered to change; all I needed was sleep. Not like I could get any; those memories never allowed me to.

Those haunting pair of green eyes, the blood.

No!! Snap out of it. I wasn't going down that memory lane today.

I pulled out my phone.

"Another client is satisfied," I whispered. The chime from my phone confirmed the wire transfer.

The money was in, and the deal was closed, and I should have felt something more. Relief. Maybe even joy.

But all I felt was a flicker of pride. Like a small, cold pat on the back for a job well done.

Happiness?

That was a luxury I'd stopped chasing long ago. Not since...

No.

I shook my head, shutting the thought down before it swallowed me whole once again.

I wasn't going down that road. Not tonight.

Today had been long, and all I wanted now was rest or the closest thing to it.

Sleep didn't come easily anymore. Hasn't in years.

I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping for some solace.

Three hours of sleep, if I was lucky.

I lay back, eyes wide open as the darkness crept in, and I welcomed it like an old, bitter friend.

It wasn't her, it wasn't her. I told myself every single morning for three years, but that didn't change anything. The memories didn't vanish; hell, they multiplied, creating fake ones.

A five-year-old Christabel was standing in the middle of a highway, covered in blood and screaming at me to save her. No matter how fast I ran, how hard I tried, I couldn't. I just watched as the truck rammed into her, crushing her into a billion pieces, covering the oddly white-floored road in blood.

"Momma!!!!!" And yet again, I watched her get crushed beneath the gruesome tires.

My eyelids flung open. I rolled off the bed, slipped into the flip-flops, and headed to the bathroom.

And yes, there was no need for me to act like I had seen a ghost, no need to scream. You could say I was used to watching my child being killed in the worst way possible. I was used to the hallucinations, to this madness.

I hauled myself into my bathroom. I could reminisce on my dreadful nightmare later; for now, I needed to catch up on Mario's early morning coffee.

Trust me when I say it is to die for.

I hurried into the bathroom, ignoring my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

Although I still wore the ten-thousand-dollar gown, I looked nothing like the sophisticated heiress.

I looked empty, eye bags marred my blue eyes, my face hardened by years of mystery, my brown hair entangled.

Keep it together, Aria. You wouldn't want to scare your supposed husband.

My stomach lurched at the word.

"Client." I corrected. They were people who needed an escort, a wife to attain their height.

I was the illusion they paid for when they needed to look respectable for Daddy's board or Mommy's will.

I became a seven-day rental for those rich, spoiled second-generation heirs.

A tool for them to break into their trust funds.

They needed a wife. I needed money.

And I was damn good at it.

No strings attached, no questions asked, and I never, NEVER repeated the same client. No matter how much they begged.

Last week's client had been some shy tech prodigy with an overbearing mother and a trust fund the size of Brazil.

He had needed a poised, elegant wife to flash at a family reunion so the inheritance talks could go smoothly.

So I played the role.

I allowed him to hold my hands even when my palms were sweaty and I was disgusted by it.

I smiled for the cameras, and I even told lies to his aunt that she looked stunning in Chanel, when in fact, she looked like a stuffed duck.

At least he wasn't as depraved as this week's one.

A day contract that ended with $300,000 wired into my account.

Easy.

I took a short bath, dressed in a black flare dress, my hair packed into a ponytail, as I scurried out to the "Mario-de-Latte" coffee shop.

Trust me, here was perfect.

I sank in, and after a few minutes, my usual order lay on my table: two cups of coffee-don't judge-and a strawberry pie.

Excellent.

I dug in, relishing its sweet taste. I ate faster; I was expecting a new job today, and the sudden chime of my phone told me I didn't need to wait that long.

Couldn't have waited for a bit. I groaned, but I still picked up my work phone and saw the message flash across the encrypted app that I used for my business.

Unknown Number. One unread message.

"I need a wife urgently. I heard that yours is a seven-day contract. I'm willing to pay 1.5 million dollars. Not a penny more."

My eyes widened.

W-what??

I blinked several times.

One-point-five?

The highest I had gotten paid was from this guy who paid me $300,000.

Desperation reeked through that message louder than the money. He needed me more than I needed his money.

I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee and replied to his text like I did to all.

"Non-negotiable terms:

No intimacy.

No extensions.

No repeats.

Payment upfront.

I DON'T ever wear white."

His response came almost immediately.

"Agreed. My assistant will send the contract and itinerary."

He was fast. And efficient too. I kind of respected that.

A few minutes later, the email pinged in my inbox. I skimmed through the attached contract, scanning the location, terms, and expected appearances.

Manhattan, Upper East Side private penthouse, separate rooms...

Nothing new. Just the same old stuff.

And then I saw the name at the bottom of the document.

Blood drained from my face.

Kane Callahan.

I froze.

ARIA'S POV

My jaw clenched as I stared down at the name on the contract again, just to be sure I hadn't hallucinated it the first time.

Kane Callahan.

Not just any client. Not some rich boy with daddy issues or a seasonal inheritance itch.

Callahan. That name was a knife in my gut.

The contract didn't lie. Neither did the itinerary. Nor the penthouse address that screamed Old Money with new PR polish.

Zane's family.

I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that scratched your throat on the way up. Of course. Of course, the universe would make me sign a fake marriage contract with Zane Callahan's half-brother.

The same man who stood like a god over my deepest trauma, the same man who had cared as I bled out alone and still managed to humiliate me afterwards.

Fate didn't pull punches. It threw them bare-knuckled and straight to the gut.

Still, I signed the NDA.

Still, I packed my bag and entered the town car that arrived exactly when the assistant said it would.

Because that's who I was now.

Aria Whitmore: Professional Wife-for-Hire.

Trauma survivor.

Expert in emotional detachment.

And now? Future Mrs. Kane Callahan, if only for seven cursed days.

But the car wasn't heading toward the Callahan Holdings tower.

I knew Manhattan well enough to clock every turn. The driver didn't speak-thankfully-and the screen separating us stayed firmly up.

I rechecked the itinerary. The contract had listed "Callahan Holdings, 32nd floor office."

Instead, the car took a hard right off Park Avenue and kept climbing north, weaving into quieter blocks, past doormen and polished limestone buildings with gold plaques and names like The Vesper and La Rivière.

By the time we pulled up in front of the penthouse tower, I already knew.

This was no office meeting.

"Sorry for the sudden change of plans. But take the elevator up to the top floor, Miss Aria. Don't keep me waiting."

The concierge opened my door, and as the elevator climbed, my gut clenched.

I'd been through worse.

Hell, I was worse: scarred, steel-hearted, calculated to the bone. But something about the sudden change in plans made every alarm in my system blare at full volume.

He knew.

Kane Callahan already knew who I was.

The elevator opened directly into the living room. Of course, it did. I rolled my eyes.

His penthouse was all glass walls and marble floors. A view of the skyline that screamed generational wealth and strategic detachment.

He stood at the far end, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of bourbon like it had been poured exactly three minutes before I arrived.

"Kane Callahan," I said without greeting, stepping in with my coat still on and with bitterness laced in my voice that I couldn't seem to hide.

"Funny. I thought we were meeting at your office. Why the sudden change in plans?"

He set his glass down.

"Do you want to talk about logistics in a boardroom under fluorescent lights? Or here, where no assistants or security cameras get in the way?"

I crossed my arms. "You could've just said that upfront. You didn't need to play cloak and dagger."

"I've found that most people show their true selves when they're caught off-guard.".

"And what did you learn about me, Mr. Analytical?" I asked, stepping farther into his lion's den.

"That you don't rattle easily." His eyes moved over me, clinical, not lustful. Strategic. Like he was assessing an asset, not a woman. Or a person. "That's a good thing. It'll... sorry, my bad. You will be a great asset."

I gave a short laugh. "You don't know the half of it."

He didn't deny it. Just motioned to the chair across from him.

I didn't sit. I just stood with my arms crossed and my chin tilted just enough to let him know I wasn't intimidated.

Not even close.

"You should've told me who you were," I said.

"I didn't lie about it, though."

"Zane Callahan's brother or half-brother. Whatever," I said, voice flat. "That name should've been in bold at the top of the contract."

"Do you need to know the name of every guy who contracts you?" he replied coolly.

That calm tone. God, it made me want to throw something.

I stepped closer.

"You think this is funny? You think dragging me into your little CEO fantasy while casually omitting that you're related to the man who ruined my life is a joke?"

"No," Kane said. "I think it's an opportunity. For both of us."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He took a step toward me now, slow and deliberate. "You want money. You've made a rather good business out of wearing rings that aren't yours. I need a wife, for a short window, to solidify my position on the board. You were the best option."

"And Zane?"

"What about him?"

"You're seriously going to sit there and act like this has nothing to do with him?"

Kane's jaw ticked. Just for a second. "Zane doesn't run this family. And he sure as hell doesn't run me."

I couldn't stop the bitter laugh that slipped out. "He sure had a way of ruining lives, though. Specifically mine."

"I know what he did," Kane said quietly.

That silenced me.

There was something in the way he said it. Like he'd seen the aftermath. Like he hadn't just read about it in tabloids or overheard it during company gossip, but knew. Lived it.

But he didn't. Nobody did.

"I hated him long before he broke you," Kane added.

A beat passed. And then another.

"You expect me to believe that aligning myself with the Callahan name again is somehow smart?"

"No," Kane said. "I expect you to do the math. You walk away now, you'll still make six figures next time. But stay? You walk away with seven. And something Zane could never erase, his past, hand-delivered to his door, wearing my last name."

He was good, and I was intrigued.

I hated that I didn't hate him more.

I looked away, stared out the glass walls at the New York skyline, glittering little stars.

Everything in me said to walk away, to run even. To disappear and leave the Callahans, all of them, in my rearview.

But...

The photo of my baby's ultrasound still lived in a box I hadn't opened in two years.

The hospital bills were paid, but the grief never was.

Zane still walked around like I hadn't stood there, watching him f-k my stepsister in the bed I lost my child in.

Some ghosts just can't stand to be alone.

I pivoted back to face Kane, who was looking at me with that perpetually serious expression of his.

"One week," I declared, trying to sound more resolute than I felt.

"Seven days," he echoed, his tone confirming that he was just as serious about this as I was.

But there were some ground rules I needed to lay out. "No intimacy," I insisted, raising a finger for emphasis. "No emotional manipulation. And absolutely, no more surprises."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You'll get the same in return," he replied, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he found this whole arrangement amusing in some way.

With that, my back straightened, almost as if I could feel a spark of defiance coursing through my spine.

"Then congratulations, Mr. Callahan. You just bought yourself a wife," I said, letting the weight of those words sink in.

He stepped closer, extending his hand as if we were sealing some kind of deal. His palm was open and inviting, but I hesitated.

I mean, who in their right mind would shake hands on something like this? I looked at his hand, every inch of me screaming to take it, but reason held me back. Because let's be real, if the devil you know is bad, the one who despises your demons just as fiercely as you do?

Well, that could be a whole different level of hell.

But maybe, just maybe, that kind of "worse" is what I needed right now.

I nodded.

Let the game begin.

★

KANE'S POV

Change was the only thing constant.

Tsk. I never believed that saying.

Certain events can't change, certain people whom you couldn't change no matter how hard you tried, and Aria was one of them.

Was. The woman who stood in front of me was a shadow of what Aria was.

I could still remember the glow in her eyes, her wide smile, which warmed everyone up; she was like sunshine, spreading cheerfulness whenever she got it. The woman who glared daggers at me didn't exude such qualities.

Hell, she looked like she would shatter whatever she touched.

It took my brother a year to wipe out her smile and two more years of whatever hell he made her go through to strip her of her goodness.

That bastard.

When she stormed into my office like she owned the fucking place, at first, I was willing to pay double to know who gave her the audacity to walk into my office like that.

The look in her eyes told me she would kick back. She wasn't the little toy, used and treated like a slave.

As I stated my offer, she calmed, although I wasn't stupid enough to think she had let her guard down.

She could whip out a dagger from her black purse and plunge it into my heart at any time.

I won't blame her.

I wasn't that bastard, Zane, but I still bore the same surname as him. I was his brother.

Half-brother, but I don't think she would reconsider her plans based on that fact. We continued as I made a deal I knew she wouldn't refuse, one she saw as an opportunity, not just for money, but for revenge.

I stared at her; she looked weak, ridiculous with her glow, her long hair packed into a simple ponytail revealing the contour of her face, her blue ocean eyes flared with anger and pain, her lower lip captured by her teeth. She wore a simple off-shoulder gown.

She looked more like a little devil.

And yet I leaned in, awaiting her approval.