Chapter 1

Three years of marriage. We fought like enemies and fucked like our lives depended on it—a toxic cycle of adrenaline and sweat. I was foolish enough to think that this fire, however destructive, belonged to me.

I was wrong. His heart had been a locked safe all along, and the key was in another woman’s hand.

“Is that all you’ve got, Lyra?”

I gasped for air, my back slick with sweat against the silk sheets as the man above me gave one last, bruising thrust. Enzo’s hands dug into my hips, his fingers marking me as his territory.

This was our ritual. Even in bed, it was a war of attrition.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pushed deeper, his hot breath ghosting against my ear. “You always play the cold queen, but your body… your body is a goddamn traitor.”

I bit my lip, drawing blood to keep a moan from escaping. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d conquered me. But Enzo knew my anatomy better than I did; he knew exactly how to make me shatter.

He trailed soft, lingering kisses along my neck—the only time he was ever tender—before the brutal rhythm claimed us both.

When the storm passed, Enzo pulled away, slipping on his shirt with a detached efficiency that chilled me more than the sudden cold. As usual, he grabbed a damp towel to clean me up. It was the only act of care he offered, and it felt like a mercy I didn't want to need.

I forced a defiant smirk onto my face, hiding the tremor in my voice. “Adequate, Moretti. Barely.”

His movements stiffened. A dangerous, predatory glint flashed in his dark eyes. “I’ll be sure to try harder next time.”

“I’m going to the underground auction at the docks tonight,” I said, dressing quickly. I kept my tone bored. “There’s an heirloom resurfacing. My mother’s brooch.”

Enzo fastened his platinum cufflinks, his expression indifferent. “If you lose the bid, I’ll buy you something more expensive to make up for it.”

My heart stuttered. For a fleeting second, I let myself believe that was concern. Maybe he’s human after all, I thought.

The auction was held in an abandoned refinery on the city’s edge. Dim, amber lights cut through the gloom, illuminating the lethal elite of the Chicago underworld. Dressed in a backless black silk gown, I sat in the shadows, my palms damp.

“Lot 42,” the auctioneer’s voice echoed. “A 19th-century diamond-encrusted brooch. Opening bid: five hundred thousand.”

My paddle went up instantly. I was ready to spend every cent I owned to get back the last piece of my mother.

“Seven hundred thousand!”

“One million!”

“Two million,” I called out, my voice ringing with desperation.

The room went quiet. The price was triple its market value. I exhaled, thinking I’d won.

Then, I saw him. Enzo. He was sitting in the front row, and next to him sat a girl who looked like she was made of porcelain and lies. Bianca Rossi.

She sighed, her voice a theatrical whisper that carried through the silence. “Oh, Enzo… it’s breathtaking. But someone like me, with my history… I’m not worthy of such a beautiful thing.”

She looked down, the picture of tragic innocence.

I saw Enzo’s gaze flick to me—cold, calculating, and devoid of the heat that had consumed us just hours ago.

“Three million,” Enzo said. His voice was a thunderclap.

The blood drained from my face. “Enzo, what are you doing?” I stood up, my voice trembling.

He didn't even look back. “Five million.”

“Sold!”

I watched, paralyzed, as Enzo walked onto the stage. He took the brooch—my mother’s favorite—and turned toward Bianca.

His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, a tone reserved only for his ‘angel.’ “If you want it, Bianca, who would dare say you aren't worthy?”

Bianca beamed, her eyes gleaming with triumph as he pinned it to her chest. “Oh, Enzo… you’re so good to me.” She glanced at me, her smile sharpening. “But… isn't this Lyra’s mother’s piece?”

Enzo finally looked at me, his face a mask of stone. “Bianca loves it. Be generous, Lyra. Let her have it. I’ll compensate you with any turf or jewelry you desire.”

Compensate? As if a billion dollars could replace the scent of my mother’s perfume that still lingered on that silk-backed brooch.

“I don’t want your money,” I spat, my vision blurring. “I want my mother’s memory.”

Enzo’s expression turned to ice. He spoke the words that finally pulled the trigger on our marriage.

“Don’t forget what this is, Lyra. A political deal. Nothing more. Bianca is different. She is the one I intend to protect with my life.”

I staggered as if he’d shot me. “Protect her? What are you saying?”

“I love her,” he said, the words cutting through me like a jagged blade. “She’s the woman I truly wanted. Don’t look so devastated—we never had feelings for each other. I’ll stay your husband for the cameras, as long as you stay out of Bianca’s way.”