Chapter 2

The next morning, my phone alarm woke me.

It was a calendar reminder.

White Crow Island vacation booking confirmed.

I stared at it for a moment, and the memories came rushing back.

This had been the surprise I spent two full months preparing—on the private island he gave me, the place where he first told me he loved me, I had planned to pin a pair of custom black diamond cufflinks onto his formal jacket with my own hands.

In the old Cosa family tradition, that was the same as asking someone to become your partner for life.

All this time, I had believed that the only thing missing between Kylan and me was for one of us to take the first step.

Looking back now, the irony was almost poetic.

I opened the bedside drawer and took out the cufflinks. In the morning light, the black diamonds glinted with a dark, muted fire, like two drops of solidified midnight.

I clenched them tightly in my palm until the edges bit into my skin.

Then I walked to the window, opened my hand, and watched them drop soundlessly out of sight.

When I came out of the bedroom, I immediately saw Kylan busy in the kitchen.

“Morning.” He pushed a plate toward me, his voice warm and familiar, as if nothing had happened the night before. “Eat.”

I lowered my eyes to the plate.

A fried egg, sunny-side up. Lightly toasted bread. A small handful of blueberries on the side.

For three years, he had remembered every one of those details.

He was the most feared godfather on the East Coast—decisive, ruthless, cold to everyone else. But the way he took care of me had always been soft as velvet, seeping quietly into every corner of my life.

How could I not have believed it would last forever?

I pushed the pain back down and looked up at him.

“Kylan, this ends here.”

His hand shot out and seized mine. The plate crashed to the floor, the shattering porcelain ripping through the quiet kitchen.

“Absolutely not.”

I yanked my hand back by force, my voice trembling.

“You’re about to get engaged to another woman, Kylan. Pick a day and come get your things.”

“Not a chance.” He cornered me against the wall and lowered his head to kiss me. I turned away. “Ophilia, unless I die, you are not leaving me.”

“You’re about to marry someone else. Why won’t you let me go?”

“I told you, that’s just a contract—”

His phone vibrated and cut him off.

Kylan frowned and answered it. When he hung up, the tension on his face was obvious.

“Ophilia, we’ll continue this when I get back. Until then, you are not to leave this apartment.”

But I had heard the voice on the other end.

A woman. Crying.

“So eager to go comfort your fiancée?”

His body stiffened. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t deny it.

“Be good, Ophilia. I have to go. Wait for me.”

He was already out the door before I could answer.

The door shut.

Then came the heavy, muted sound of the triple electronic locks engaging outside.

He had locked me in.

I stared at the door for five seconds.

Then I laughed.

He was going to bind himself to another woman, yet he still refused to give me even the freedom to leave.

Over the next hour, I tried everything, but the lock code had already been changed. Kylan had sealed every exit, even jamming the safety stairwell from the outside.

While I was still stupid enough to believe everything was fine, he had already figured out exactly how to make sure I couldn’t escape.

I stood there numbly, looking at the place I had lived in for three years—from the once-empty walls to the space gradually filled with traces of me and Kylan.

Once, this had been the happiest time of my life.

It felt like my chest was being pricked over and over with tiny needles, and by the time I realized it, tears were already falling.

That was when Anna called.

“Ophilia, I got us two invitations. Kylan and Celeste’s engagement banquet, three o’clock this afternoon, Saint Mark Hotel. I’m coming to get you. We’re going together.”

My fingers turned cold around the phone.

This was Kylan and the Morrow family’s public engagement banquet—a declaration of power to the entire East Coast upper class.

And I was going to crash it.

“Anna, Kylan locked me in the apartment.”

Silence on the other end for two seconds.

“He what?”

“You heard me. Get to the lobby and find a way to make security or property management come upstairs and open the door. Tell them... there’s a strong gas smell.”

“Give me thirty minutes.”

After hanging up, I sat on the sofa and waited. My eyes fell on the small silver frame on the coffee table—my one-year anniversary photo with Kylan. It had been there ever since the day I moved in.

I reached out and picked it up. The latch on the back had always been loose. I had never thought much of it.

Almost on instinct, I turned the frame over and opened the back.

A photograph slid out and landed in my lap.

It was Kylan and Celeste.

His hands were holding her face. She was smiling—the kind of smile only a woman who knows she is loved can wear.

And the look in his eyes as he looked at her—

A violent tremor ran through my whole body. The frame slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor, glass shattering.

I went down with it, one palm pressing into the broken shards. Blood welled up at once.

I didn’t feel a thing.

Shaking, I picked up the photo and turned it over.

His handwriting.

I would have recognized it anywhere.

To my Celeste, my eternal star.

Star.

So Celeste was his “eternal star,” and I had only been the “nightingale” he kept in the dark to listen to for a fleeting moment.

Then all those times he pinned me beneath him and murmured my nightingale against my skin—was he imagining his “star” through my voice?

It felt like a hand was gripping my heart and twisting it inch by inch.

Thinking of his ridiculous little speech about “contracts” and “arrangements,” I almost laughed. Tears hit the photo one by one, smearing the ink.

Kylan, just how many lies did you tell me?

Just then, the door clicked open.

I snapped back to myself, shoved the photo into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and bolted.

Anna was already waiting downstairs. The first thing she saw was my hand.

“Ophilia, what happened to your hand?”

“I’m fine. Drive.”

In a secluded salon near the hotel, Anna quickly bandaged the wound for me. I changed into the simple black satin dress she had brought and pulled on long gloves to hide the bandage.

But when I reached the heavy carved doors of the ballroom and saw the two people inside, I froze.

Celeste stood beside a temporary church in a silver-white gown, blonde hair pinned up, proud as a swan.

Kylan stood at her side in a dark suit, his godfather presence making all the flowers and crystal chandeliers around them look dull.

They stood so close. The priest was saying something. Rings were laid out before them.

So locking me up had never just been about stopping me from running.

It had been about stopping me from appearing here. At this moment.

The instant Kylan saw me, a flicker of surprise crossed his gray-blue eyes.

But it lasted only half a second before his usual cold mask settled right back into place.

Celeste spoke first. She gave me a polished, distant smile.

“Ophilia. I didn’t expect you to come. Welcome.”

I didn’t go to the front. I simply stood in the shadows of the last row. Almost immediately, two men in black suits came up behind me and stationed themselves at a careful distance—Kylan’s men. They weren’t there to remove me. Just to make sure I stayed quiet in my corner.

Same as always.

Within Kylan’s line of sight.

Close enough to see. Far enough never to touch.

After I sat down, he never looked at me again. Not once.

The ceremony continued. The priest recited blessings over the alliance.

I didn’t hear a word.

Under my glove, the wound throbbed with every beat of my heart.

Then came the family toasts and the press questions.

A reporter stood up.

“Mr. Cosa, is your union with Miss Morrow based on family interest, or genuine love?”

Another followed immediately.

“The public has long believed Miss Gray was your girlfriend. Does Miss Morrow’s appearance mean Miss Gray was actually the third party in this relationship?”

I watched Kylan reach for Celeste’s hand, lace their fingers together, and raise them.

I watched him smile at her—a smile so open, natural, and unguarded.

“Celeste and I have known each other since childhood,” he said steadily, without a trace of hesitation. “Our lives have long been intertwined. We are the most suitable choice for one another.”

“There is no third party. Ophilia and I ended things amicably three months ago. She is simply my ex. Nothing more.”

The ballroom went still for a beat.

Then every eye turned to me.

Three months ago.

Last night, he was still telling me Celeste meant nothing.

Two days ago, he was still in my bed.

And now, at his engagement banquet, in his version of events, we had broken up three months ago.

I started shaking uncontrollably. The bandaged wound in my hand flared with pain.

A reporter called my name.

“Miss Gray! Is what Mr. Cosa said true? Did you really break up three months ago?”

This was the first time Kylan had looked at me since I arrived.

Not with concern.

Not with guilt.

With warning.

He was waiting for me to follow his script.

Waiting for me to play the role he had assigned me, just as I had for the past three years.

I looked at him.

At Celeste’s hand in his.

At the lie built so perfectly in front of the church.

For three years, I had played the good actress.

Today was the final performance.

“Yes,” I said softly, turning toward the microphone with the faintest smile. “We did break up.”

Just not three months ago.

From now on.