Chapter 3

After I was discharged, I sat in the parking lot for a long time before calling my father.

"I need the family lawyer to handle immigration paperwork. As fast as possible."

A few seconds of silence on the other end. "You know what it means to break this alliance."

"There won't be any fallout, Dad." I cut him off. "Casper forged the marriage certificate. Legally, this marriage never existed."

A beat of dead silence, then a strangled curse: "That son of a bitch."

"Once I'm gone, this fake certificate becomes a card in your hand. The Scarfaro don deceived the daughter of the Damont family—that kind of leverage, you can use however you like."

My father was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

"I'll have Maxim handle it. Fifteen business days." He paused. "Veronica, are you sure this is what you want?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

I hung up, started the car, and drove back to the estate.

Over the next two days, I rested at the estate. Casper didn't come home. Not even a phone call.

On the third day, I finally had the strength to get out of bed.

I went into the storage room and pulled out everything connected to Casper—photos from trips, jewelry he'd given me, our matching mugs, those his-and-hers pajamas in the closet that I'd never wear again…

I piled it all into the fire pit in the garden and struck a match.

The instant the flames leapt up, the smiling faces in the photographs began to twist, curl, and turn to ash. The two of us at eighteen, kissing in the Alpine snow. At twenty, wrapped in each other's arms on a gondola in Venice. Last year, exchanging rings at our wedding…

All of it burned to nothing.

I stood before the fire, watching every vow from those young years disappear. Strangely, I felt an indescribable lightness.

Then footsteps came from behind.

"What are you burning?"

Casper's voice, from over my shoulder. I didn't turn around.

"Things I don't need anymore."

He was silent for a moment but didn't press. I heard him approach, and then a gift box appeared before my eyes.

"There was some trouble down at the docks these past few days." His tone was deliberately softened. "You look awful—are you sick?"

I turned around and looked at the gift box in his hands.

"You've always wanted this bracelet, right?" He held out the box. "I had someone pick it up specially. About the other day… I was out of line."

I looked down at the bracelet.

Two months ago, when this bracelet had first hit the market, I'd mentioned it in passing. He'd been looking at his phone at the time and gave a distracted "mm" without even glancing up.

Two months later, he'd actually remembered.

Too late. I'd already stopped wanting it. Along with the man standing in front of me.

"It took you this long to think of giving it to me," I raised my eyes to his. "Is this guilt over disappearing on our anniversary, or compensation for hanging up on your wife's thirty-seven calls?"

Something flickered in Casper's eyes. He clearly hadn't expected me to lay it out so bluntly.

"I've always gotten you whatever you wanted." His voice tightened slightly. "Wasn't that always the way?"

Hearing him mention how things used to be, my mouth twisted into a cold half-smile.

"No need." I pushed the gift box back into his hands and turned toward our room.

Behind me, he seemed to want to call me back, but in the end said nothing.

Back in the bedroom, my phone buzzed.

A friend request from an unknown account. The avatar was two clasped hands—and on the man's finger was Casper's wedding ring.

Cecilia.

I accepted.

The message popped up immediately: "Got a minute? Let's meet. I have something to show you. Trust me, you'll find it very interesting."

I stared at those words, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.

In our world, that was a declaration of war.

Still, before I left, I wanted to see for myself what kind of woman had brought Casper Scarfaro to his knees.

I changed clothes and followed the address she'd sent to a café on the South Side.

Cecilia was already seated by the window. Cream-colored dress, hair falling past her shoulders, flawless makeup—soft and innocent-looking.

Exactly the type that men who thought they controlled everything were most likely to lose their grip over.

I sat down across from her.

"You came." She smiled at me, then pulled a stack of photos from her bag and slid them toward me.

I looked down.

Most were candid shots from Casper crashing her wedding—him gripping her hand, the two of them barreling toward the exit, heedless of the world, like star-crossed lovers on the run. The rest were recent snapshots: shopping, dinner, movies, her leaning against his shoulder with that sweet smile.

Cecilia had been watching my face the whole time, waiting for me to break down.

All she got was me picking up my coffee cup and taking a leisurely sip.

"Is that all?"

Her smile faltered for an instant, then turned even more triumphant.

"Veronica, do you know? For the past year, Casper has never forgotten about me." Her voice was saccharine. "You thought he chose you? His heart has always been mine."

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "He crashed my wedding and took me right out from under that man's nose. He bought me a villa—right on Lake Michigan. You know where that is? That's where he had me for the first time."

A villa on Lake Michigan. My fingertips tightened slightly.

That was the spot Casper had pointed out to me when he was eighteen. We'd stood at the lakeside, his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on top of my head: "When we're married, I'll build you a house right here. A honeymoon cottage, just for the two of us."

After the wedding, he'd never mentioned it again. I'd always assumed he'd simply forgotten. But he hadn't forgotten—he'd given it to someone else.

"He comes to see me every week," Cecilia continued, her eyes gleaming with pride. "He even assigned his men to take care of my daily life. Veronica, do you really think you still stand a chance? For men, what they can't have is always what they want most."

I set down the coffee cup and looked up at her.

"Finished?"

She blinked, caught off guard.

"If you really were his great love, why did he give you up and choose to marry me?"

The color drained from Cecilia's face. Her mouth opened and closed before she found her voice again.

"That was because… you two were childhood sweethearts, and the two families' power—"

"So," I cut her off, "even when he left you, it was because I mattered more?"

Her face flushed scarlet.

"You're the one who forced him to choose!" Her voice went shrill. "And from that moment on, you went from the rose he held in his palm to a dead flower rotting in a vase—nothing but duty and burden. But me? Because he had to let go, I'll bloom forever in the softest place in his heart. Sweetheart, that's how men are—what they've already got, they never appreciate. What they can't have is what haunts them forever."

I listened quietly until she was finished, then rose to my feet.

"Maybe you're right." I looked down at her. "But so what? You're his mistress. I'm his wife—in name, at least. In our circles, the woman who breaks up a marriage is called a goomah. You really think you've won?"

I turned, left a generous tip, and walked toward the door.

Behind me came the screech of a chair dragging across the floor.

Cecilia rushed up and grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.

"You think you can just walk away from this?" Her voice was warped with fury. "Let me show you who he'd really save!"

The next second, she yanked me hard toward the middle of the road.

The shriek of brakes ripped through the air.