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Mari's POV

“You were marrying the man who gave the order to have you abducted.”

I blinked at him. Once… then again, slower this time, as if my eyes were trying to reboot.

And then—God help me—I laughed.

It tore out of me before I could stop it: sharp, disbelieving, the kind of laugh you make when someone says something so outrageous your brain just refuses to compute it.

“Okay, sure,” I flicked my hand like I was brushing off a bad joke. “Try harder. That one’s ridiculous.”

But he didn’t smile.

Instead, he pulled a phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and held it out to me.

A picture stared back—Beyhan. My fiancé. Caught under the soft glow of the same sunset I remembered all too well.

I’d taken that picture myself—on the night he kissed my forehead and promised he’d never hurt me.

For a heartbeat, my vision pulsed, refusing to focus. Maybe it was Photoshop. Maybe a distant cousin. Anything—but no. Every detail was right. I would have accepted any excuse to make this not real.

But no—every detail was right. Even the tiny crease near his left eye when he laughed.

A cold wave rolled through me, leaving my hands numb and useless.

He lowered the phone, watching my face.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked softly.

The room tilted, slow and sickening.

Panic slammed into my chest as I lunged for the window, slamming the button—nothing. A faint ringing filled my ears, drowning out my own breathing.

The window slid down—just a crack, enough for a sharp breeze to cut through the stale heat, cool against my sweat-slick skin.

I sucked in a ragged breath, clutching the seat like it was my last lifeline, and risked a glance at Ramiel.

“You’re wrong,” I said. “Wrong about everything. My fiancé’s name is Beyhan Purcell.”

“Beyhan Purcell is just a mask—the one he wore to trap you.” He paused. “His real name is D’Arcy — my uncle’s son.”

It landed, though my brain refused to absorb it.

“Beyhan is your—" I started.

“Cousin,” Ramiel cut in, his tone cold and unyielding.

I shook my head, like I could undo the last five minutes. Like I could forget the man who kissed me goodnight last night.

“So every smile… every promise… all of it was a lie?” My voice cracked.

“Since day one.”

“None of this made sense,” I whispered. “Why would he find me, propose to me—marry me?”

“The point?” Ramiel’s gaze swept over me. “To get revenge on me.”

My jaw slackened. The floor might as well have given out beneath me.

“My cousin believes that I’ve stolen his life,” he continued. “Marrying you was going to be his way of taking something of mine.”

“I’m not yours. I was never part of your damn collection.”

His mouth twitched into a smirk, but before he could speak, the window rolled down, revealing the driver waiting in the front seat.

“We’re here, sir.”

Ramiel nodded. “Thank you, Lucas.”

He stepped out, slamming the door behind him, and the silence that followed crashed over me, heavy and suffocating. My chest hammered, my thoughts scattering like glass. Everything I believed—every truth I clung to—shattered in a single moment.

The car door swung open again. And there he was.

For five years, I had cursed his name—crafted him into the villain who stole my life. It was easier that way.

But now?

His piercing blue eyes cut through every lie I’d ever told myself. Heat coiled low in my stomach—the same reckless, dangerous spark I felt the first time he looked at me.

I forced myself to pull back. I remembered the cost of wanting him.

The cost—the child, now four, with his eyes and my stubbornness—waiting across the ocean, blissfully unaware I even existed in his world.

Let’s just say the emotional bruises hadn’t even begun to fade.

Ramiel leaned in, reaching for the seatbelt. His hand brushed my hip, and every nerve in my body screamed awake. No one had ever touched me like that. No one but him.

“Follow me,” he said.

Get it together, Mari.

If Beyhan could lie to my face and sleep at night, what made me think Ramiel was any different? Trust wasn’t something I had anymore.

My legs finally stopped threatening to fold, so I looked up.

The house loomed in front of me—massive and old, the kind of old that didn’t crumble, just watched. Ivy crawled up the stone walls in thick ropes, gripping the windows like it wanted in.

“See? Not so bad, right?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin—until I realized it was just Hael at my elbow. “It looks like a horror movie set,” I muttered.

The kind where the heroine goes inside and the whole theater yells at her not to.

Only this wasn’t a movie—and the monsters here didn’t need special effects “Hurry,” Hael nudged me. “Rain’s coming.”

I inhaled. Then, I followed the cobblestone path through the arch as he pushed the door open and slipped in behind me.

The inside didn’t help. Stone walls, medieval tapestries, rugs so expensive I felt guilty breathing on them. The place smelled faintly of old books and colder secrets.

Ramiel stood in an alcove, speaking quietly to a man almost his height.

Were all Italians built like this, or did I just have a fatal weakness for tall, dangerous men?

Ramiel—check.

Hael—check.

Beyhan—no, D’Arcy—also check.

Fantastic.

He’d told me he was an American investor in the UK.

Turns out, according to Ramiel, that was lie number… who even knew anymore?

“Kamaria?”

I turned. Ramiel watched me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Maybe sympathetic—but no. Sympathy wasn’t something a Valcanti trafficked in.

“Why don’t you go rest upstairs?” Hael murmured beside me.

I raised a brow. “Upstairs?”

“Winnie will show you.”

He stepped aside to reveal a young maid in a navy uniform, white apron crisp enough to cut glass.

“Welcome to the Valcanti residence, Mrs. Valcanti,” she said with a bright smile.

“Who exactly are you calling Mrs. Valcanti?”

“Winnie,” Ramiel cut in calmly, “just show our guest to her room.”

She dipped her head in relief and motioned toward the semi-spiral staircase. “Right this way, miss.”

I would’ve refused—if their staring didn’t make my skin itch. So I followed her up the stairs.

Winnie led me down the left corridor, her heels clicking softly across marble, and stopped at a door halfway down.

“Here you are, madam,” she said gently, pushing it open.

I stepped inside—and immediately felt like I’d walked into someone else’s dream. Why was I surprised? Of course the man who ruined my life in a custom-tailored suit would shove me into a room fit for a queen he didn’t actually want.

The room was enormous: sea-green paneling, a white marble fireplace, leather armchairs. A towering bed draped in sheer fabric. Tall windows opening to a Juliet balcony overlooking a violently green courtyard.

“This place… it’s unreal.” I exhaled.

“It is lovely, isn’t it, Miss Kamaria?” she said politely.

I flinched. “It’s Mari.”

“Of course.” The flatness of her voice said she did not approve. She gestured to a cream-paneled door. “Your wardrobe has been modestly stocked. We’ll tailor additional pieces soon, but I’ve set something out for this evening.”

I turned slowly. “This evening?”

“Yes, madam. For dinner.”

“…Dinner?” Apparently I’d forgotten all other English words.

“With Master Ramiel,” she said, as if it were the weather report.

And just like that, something in me snapped.

“I most definitely am not,” I bit out, frost forming on every syllable. “March right back downstairs and tell your master that dragging me into this circus doesn’t mean I’m going to dance.”

She blinked in horror, but I wasn’t done.

“He didn’t marry a bride—he took a fucking hostage.”

I stormed across the room, the hem of my ruined wedding dress hissing behind me like something venomous. I dropped into a wingback chair, satin snarling under me.

“Tell him,” I said, pointing at her like an execution order, “to choke on his champagne. And then fuck himself with the bottle.”

Winnie froze—like my words had slapped something sacred.

I didn’t apologize. If this was a performance, it was the kind where someone bleeds.

After a stunned beat, she curtsied sharply and vanished, the door closing with the soft finality of shame.

The moment she was gone, I tore off the heels from hell, folded my legs beneath me, and let my head drop back, wedding dress and all.

Let him come.

I hoped he choked on the vows he forced down my throat.

I was halfway through deciding which heel to throw first when the door creaked open again—

And the temperature in the room plummeted.

It wasn’t Winnie. My heart slammed as Ramiel leaned against the doorframe like he owned the entire world.