VALERIA

Dante places his hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward. We move past a row of steps that take up space big enough for an actual room and stop in front of the largest brown door I've ever seen.

At the rate my heart is beating, I'm sure Dante can hear it too. I'm not usually this intimidated. If meeting a duo of stuck-up billionaires is anything to compare to my past job, this is a pinch of salt... or so I try to convince myself.

The hinges groan, and a draft of chilled air rushes past, carrying the faint scent of oak and polish. An older man dressed in a tuxedo steps forward.

"Master Dante, miss," he bows, "welcome home."

"Thank you, Augustine. How are you faring?" Dante's tone softens, a flicker of warmth I've never heard before.

"Very well, Master Dante. Dinner is ready. Your parents are waiting." Augustine steps aside, revealing the exquisite interior of the mansion. Chandeliers dangle from high ceilings, their bright light traveling across the room, accentuating the contrast of my green dress against the white walls of this house. Everything is so minimalist yet elegant; whoever picked this must have great taste.

"Tesoro mio, sei a casa!" A shrill voice drifts our way. I turn to face a middle-aged woman who looks like the female version of Dante. Her black hair is styled in a short wolf cut that gives her a chic look, and I recognize her immediately as Florence Romano, Dante's mother. She spreads out her hands, a radiant smile on her face as she beams up at him.

"It's good to see you too, Mom." Dante lowers himself to hug her. Florence pats his cheek tenderly, then asks a few questions in Italian. Dante must have said something unpleasant. Soon she turns to face me, smile replaced with a frown. Her gaze lingers on my neckline, then my shoes, like she's cataloging flaws. I meet her stare, chin high, pretending I don't feel like prey.

"This is Valeria Torres, Mom," Dante says immediately, pulling me to his side. "Valeria, this is my mother, Florence."

"Torres," she says my name lazily, probably trying to fix a family to it. Then, "What happened to Alex?" Florence says sharply, eyes blazing with unfiltered disgust.

Right.

"We broke up, Mother," he says tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Pfft. Oh, please," Florence says, the words dripping with disdain.

"I'm starving, Mom," Dante says, smiling. "Am I not allowed to eat again at my parents'?" She nods grimly, her eyes raking over me one last time before she looks away. Just like I expected. Shrewd doesn't even cut it-the devil wears Prada is more like.

A wave of roasted meat, butter, and herbs hits me the second I step in, warm and inviting in a way the house itself isn't. The table gleams under chandelier light, every dish laid out like art.

"Hello, Dad," Dante says to a man I instantly recognize as Lucas Romano. Dressed in black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a sleeveless cardigan, he looks every inch the composed patriarch. His eyes, though steady and assessing, carry that quiet authority that could make anyone shrink. Anyone but me.

"Hello, son," Lucas says, his gaze on me.

"This is Valentina, my girlfriend. Valentina, this is my father, Lucas Romano." The pride in Dante's voice makes me wonder if there's more to him and Alex's story than he's letting on. From the looks of things, he doesn't seem to give a fuck about my presence, pushing the wrong button. In fact, my fake boyfriend seems to gloat at their disapproval.

"Huh." Lucas' brows rise slightly, silent amusement in his voice. "Welcome to my humble home, Valentina. You don't mind introducing yourself over dinner, do you?"

Humble home indeed.

I plaster the most sincere smile I can pull. "Your home is beautiful, and it'll be my pleasure."

Dinner begins with an appetizer that consists of red wine and caprese salad. I feel Florence's gaze follow me while I eat. Good thing I know dining etiquette well enough to eat a full-course meal without embarrassing myself.

"So," Florence lowers her glass, "Valeria, tell us about yourself. Who are your parents?"

Dante's gaze flicks to his mother, a warning glint in his eyes, then he shifts in his seat, adjusting his cufflink.

"I'm an orphan." I flash a bleak smile, gaze lowering back to my meal.

"Sorry to hear that, but if you don't mind, I'm curious if you have any living relatives?" There's not the slightest hint of remorse in her voice, and I can already tell where this conversation is headed.

"Not at all." I take a bite of my salad. "I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough."

"Rainer Maria Rilke," Lucas says, eyes narrowing not in disapproval but silent calculation.

"Interesting," Florence murmurs, voice dipping low. "So, all relatives are dead. I can only imagine how hard it is, navigating through life alone, left only with the legacy of the deceased," she says slowly. Then, as if she didn't just belittle me, she says through a smile, "So, which companies do you own?" Dante's lips twitch in impatience. He lifts his wine glass, hiding the faint smirk of disbelief behind it.

"The Romanos are a very enterprising family." The unspoken words in her statement are supposed to make me flinch, if only she knew who I really am.

"I don't own any companies, but," I place a palm over Dante's, stroking it fondly, "I don't think Dante minds my socioeconomic status." Dante snickers quietly beside me. I can almost see the smile on his face.

"Young people," Florence laughs nervously, waving off my statement. "Don't they just remind you of Romeo and Juliet, Lucas dear?" She lets out a long, dreamy sigh, and Lucas makes an agreeing sound.

"Darling, what would happen if an eagle lived in the midst of eagles?"

"The eagle, I suppose, would begin to act like a chicken," I say easily.

"Good thing you're smart. You see," her voice rises, sharp and direct, "In our world, dear, heritage isn't something you build, it's something you preserve. We invest wisely-in business, in alliances, and yes, in marriage. Surely you don't imagine this little... arrangement with my son could ever become anything lasting?"

There's no trace of emotion in her features, just dark green eyes boring into my soul and an air that's convinced me she would shred me into pieces if I dare go against her will.

"Florence," Lucas says, placing a hand over his wife's.

"Dante dear, how has work been?" Her radiant smile returns.

Dante clears his throat. "Work has been going well, thank you."

"Good to know you don't have too much on your shoulders. Maybe you can make time to fix the issue between you and Alex," she suggests. "You've always had a generous heart, Dante, but perhaps it's time you learned generosity doesn't mean lowering your standards. Some people simply weren't raised to understand the weight of our name."

My jaw clenches, and I stab my fork into a piece of steak. My relationship with Dante might be a sham, but that doesn't make her words cut lighter.

Dante places a hand on my thigh, gently squeezing it.

"Alex and I are over. You, of all people, should respect my decision." His tone is firm; his gaze meets mine long enough to send a sympathetic look.

"I'm only looking out for you. Besides, she's the perfect girl for you, can't you see? She's suffered two panic attacks since you drove her out of your house because of this," her gaze meets mine, "Valentina."

"You've never liked any of my exes," Dante says dryly, tongue sliding over his teeth in frustration.

"Well, they weren't good enough, if you ask me. Look at this one, for instance. What could she possibly offer you, huh? You're a business mogul, Dante, so you should know she's an investment one way or the other-"

"Not everything has to go your way."

Florence holds up her hand. "If your father had married beneath his station, do you honestly believe the Romano name would hold the influence it does today? Legacy, my dear, isn't sustained by affection-it's sustained by association."

"Florence," Lucas says softly, raising a brow at his wife.

"I've heard all you have to say. Too bad I'm getting married to Valeria." Dante tips his chin, brows lifted faintly.

"Dante, your mom and I would not-" Lucas begins, only to be cut short by his wife.

"Is this a joke?" Florence's voice comes out as a half-gasp. She leans forward slightly, lips pulled into a thin line, fingers wrapped tight around the edge of the table.

"I'm afraid not, Mother."

VALERIA

The attention is no longer on me, yet I can feel the anger and hatred seething under Florence's skin the same way you feel the winter chill before snow starts to fall. Her nostrils flare slightly, lips twitching like they're struggling to stay calm.

"Don't act surprised, mother. You keep on asking me to settle down," Dante scoffs. "Besides, this would stop investors from pulling out and the feds from snooping around."

Florence lets out a visible sigh of relief, a small knowing smile tilts her lips as she hurriedly gulps down her drink.

"It's a contract marriage, after all," she says softly, sounding more like she's trying to convince herself than anyone else.

"And," Dante pauses. Both Florence and Lucas' eyes snap towards him. "This marriage is going to be my first and last. I don't plan on marrying anyone other than Valeria now or ever." The certainty in his voice makes me want to both blush and hide.

"Lucas, say something!" Florence's eyes dart between Dante and me, then her husband. "You're his father."

I have to stop myself from scoffing at her desperate plea.

"You'd cut yourself out of the inheritance if you go against us." Lucas's voice drops to that calm, dangerous register that makes the room feel smaller. His features harden into steel as he glares at his son.

"An inheritance of what?" Dante asks, shaking his head in wry amusement. "Real estate and material I could get myself? You seem to forget I transferred my shares to my own holding company years ago. And you never signed a conditional leadership agreement."

Lucas snorts, leaning back in his chair. "You think a holding company saves you? One bad headline, and the board votes you out under the performance clause I wrote myself." Then, lowering his voice, he adds, "You can keep your shares, but forget about the rest. The estate, the trust, the old money-none of that will bear your name after this."

"Then I'll build mine from scratch. Without your shadow hanging over me," Dante says, tossing his napkin across the table, a subtle tick in his jaw.

God, this is worse than I imagined. I mean, I expected Florence's bullying, but them disinheriting Dante? My appetite vanishes. My stomach churns, and my heartbeat drums heavily in my chest. The thought of Dante planning to build from scratch reminds me of my ironic reality. I guess building from scratch is a different reality for people like him.

"You're going to regret this, and when you do, it might be too late," Lucas says flatly.

"Let me be the judge of that." Dante's gaze meets his mother's. "Don't look so surprised. You taught me yourself to always stay one step ahead. What did you call it again?" He feigns a pause. "Ah, futuristic thinking."

The color drains from her face; even her diamond earrings seem to lose their sparkle as she grips her fork hard, knuckles white.

"Don't you dare use my own words against me." Her voice trembles, and all of a sudden, the intimidating woman I met earlier looks smaller... frail even.

"Good night, Mom. Dad. I love you." Dante rises and steps behind my chair, pulling it back slightly.

"Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Romano, thank you for dinner," I murmur, avoiding eye contact.

Dante's hand slips around my waist as we leave the dining room in silence. Guilt worms its way into my thoughts, breeding doubt and fear. I've dealt with powerful people before; this won't be the last of it. Families like the Romanos always find a way to get what they want. It's only a matter of time.

I glance at Dante, who looks calm as ever, like his parents didn't just threaten to disinherit him.

"Let me handle the thinking, Valeria," he says softly. I look away quickly, biting my lower lip.

A flicker of confusion crosses Augustine's face before it returns to neutral.

"Are you leaving already, Master Dante?" Augustine asks.

"I'm afraid so, Augustine. See you when next I visit." A faint smile lifts his lips, dimples forming in his left cheek. "Good night."

The butler bows. "Goodnight, Master Dante, and Miss..."

"Valentine," I offer spitefully-then Dante pokes my waist. "I mean, Valeria."

"Goodnight, Miss Valeria. Have a lovely night."

We both murmur our goodbyes and step into the cold night air. The chill hits like ice after the suffocating warmth of the Romano home.

"What was that about, Valeria, or do we now call you Valentine?" Dante scoffs, sliding into the seat beside mine.

"Valentine, please. It has the Italian flair your family might actually appreciate."

"I doubt it," Dante says quietly. The engine roars to life, and the privacy glass slides up. I steal a few glances at him, wondering if I should bring up his parents' threat. The logical part of me knows I shouldn't-but the silence is maddening. Dante isn't scrolling through his phone like usual. He's just staring out the window, checking the time every so often. He looks... tired.

"I'm sorry about my parents," Dante says finally. "They're not used to change."

"You mean poor people?" I tease.

Dante rolls his eyes, a small smile flickering across his face. "Semantics."

He turns toward me, more serious now. "Really, I didn't need to bring you here. My original plan was to just let the media run with our relationship. Guess I got carried away."

"So... this is the last family dinner I'll be attending?" I ask.

"Very unlikely."

"Guess my dream of a drama-free in-law dinner was just a fantasy," I sigh. "Do they really plan on disinheriting you?"

"Yes-if I hadn't played my trump card. But my parents are stubborn, so fingers crossed." The way he says it, without a hint of worry, makes me wonder where he gets that kind of confidence. Mars?

"Well, I'd hate to come from your family-if that helps."

Dante laughs, a real one this time. It's rich and contagious, and before I know it, I'm laughing too.

Then his phone rings, slicing through the moment.

"Excuse me." He lifts a finger. "Alejandro? What-" His expression tightens. Dante switches to Italian, his voice rising with every word as he bolts upright in his seat. He runs a hand through his hair, muttering, "Fuck."

Cupping the phone, he lowers the divider. "Drop me off at the office and take Valeria home," he says, then returns to the call, leaving me in silence and confusion.

DANTE

"Well, I'd hate to come from your family-if that helps."

The corners of my mouth lift before I can catch myself and I'm laughing. Only Valeria could say something like that and make it sound that damn funny. That wasn't supposed to be funny.

I should probably defend my parents, especially Mom, but I've lived long enough to know better. They're real-life villains ,or superheroes-depending on who's watching. And Valeria... she's worth the damn trouble. Mom usually runs off my dates before dessert, and when I don't bring them, she still finds a way to ruin it. But Valeria? She handled her. Flawlessly.

I steal a glance at her , gaze slowly traveling over her body. The same body I swore I'd keep in check - long legs stretch lazily, shining dimly under the glow of the streetlights, her breasts jiggle with the rustle and fall of her chest, causing the sleeve of her dress to slip, and my cock twitches in my pants. Just then, my phone rings.

The screen lights up showing Alejandro's name.

"Excuse me." I lift a finger, swiping my screen. "Alejandro? What-"

"You need to get to the office now, Dante. I'm already there. There's been a break-in and an attempt to hack into the company's software."

I tsk, jaw ticking as my features slowly harden.

"Shit! When did that happen?" I say quickly in Italian, running a hand through my hair.

"A few hours ago. We haven't been able to confirm the exact hour yet." Alejandro's voice sounds tense; someone calls him in the background and he shouts back a muffled reply.

"What the hell does that even mean?" My voice rises and I bolt from my seat. "I didn't hire the best hands to work like snails," I spit, rage coiling in my throat; my breathing comes out ragged and loud. Whoever pulled that shit has some balls– I'll find that mother fucker.

"The IT guys are already here, but there's something you need to see for yourself. I can't say more over the phone," he sighs.

"Fuck," I mutter, my grip tightening on the phone.

♠♠♠♠

"I'll see you later," I say hurriedly to a confused Valeria. I don't wait for Taylor, my driver, to open the door; I do it myself and hurry to the building. There's a crowd of journalists, cops, and workers camped outside; among them I spot my assistant, Paul. Our eyes meet and he hurries to my side.

"What floor's Alejandro?" I say icily, already headed to the entrance.

"On the twentieth ," he says in a breathless whisper. "Sir, the cops are still inside the lab. They said whoever did this knew what they were doing, got past three firewalls and physical security. Alejandro's been talking with forensics since he arrived..."

I tune out soon, silently fuming. My long strides eat up the distance and soon I'm almost at the front door when Paul places a hand on my shoulder. I turn sharply to face him, shrugging him off.

"Sir, you might want to stay back for now, there's shattered glass everywhere, and the wires near the mainframe sparked earlier," Paul's voice fades into silence at my glare. He steps aside, lowering his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he mutters.

At my arrival on the tenth floor, the air reeks of burnt circuits and sharp disinfectant.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper aloud, taking in the damage.

Shards of glass crunch under my shoes as I step inside, the glow of half-dead monitors flickering across the walls. A few cables hang loose, sparking faintly. Blue-red flashes from the cops' radios strobe against the metallic walls. Two officers dust for prints near the shattered mainframe while another murmurs into his walkie.

Alejandro stands by the central console, sleeves rolled up, his expression carved in stone.

"Said the same thing when I walked in," he mutters. Then, looking around suspiciously, he tugs my sleeve lightly, nudging me toward a less crowded area.

"Someone's feeding intel from the inside," Alejandro says in a low voice once we're out of earshot. His eyes flick toward the cops before settling back on me. "The breach wasn't random, Dante. They knew exactly where to hit - the same systems tied to your private accounts."

My eyes narrow back to the mess and I roll my neck, trying to ease the stiffness building at the base. "You're saying there's a mole," I say flatly.

He nods grimly, rubbing the back of his neck-a nervous habit he only has when shit's bad. "We traced fragments of the code to the same pattern used before the assassination at your brand launch. Whoever did this had help, someone with access."

I exhale sharply through my nose, nostrils flaring. There's only one name on my mind: "Nacho."

Alejandro hesitates, lips pressing into a thin line. "Possible. But he's too careful to get his own hands dirty. He'd use someone inside to do it for him."

My gaze narrows, flicking to the shattered mainframe and back to the soot-stained walls. I swear on my life - if that bastard had any hand in this, I'll snap his head off with my bare hands. He's pinned an assassination on me, scared off investors, and now he thinks he can get bolder every day. I'll make sure this is the last provocation he ever gets, even if it's the last thing I do.

"Then we start digging. I want names, Alejandro - anyone who logged in remotely, anyone who's been near this system in the past seventy-two hours."

He gives a curt nod. "Already on it. Forensics is pulling access records now. But if it is Nacho..." He pauses, eyes darting to the side, voice dropping lower. "Then this isn't just about the company, Dante. It's personal."

I clench my fists at my sides, veins tightening across my knuckles. "He picked the wrong person to make it personal with."

Alejandro studies me for a second, brows knitting as if to gauge how far I'll go. "Don't stress over it. All we have to do is wait for him to make one wrong move and then attack," he says reassuringly.

I give a dry half-smile. "Nacho's too smart for his own good and I don't have the patience to wait for something that may never happen. I'll personally put an end to that bastard."

My phone screen comes to life, displaying the PDF I sent Valeria earlier. I don't even remember pulling it up, probably tapped it by mistake, but the file's already loaded-her responses neatly typed beneath each question.

I skim through, half-distracted, until one line catches my eye. "Best food: anything I'm craving at the moment."

A dry chuckle escapes me, barely there, but it's enough to pull a small smile to my lips. Give it to Valeria to be 'spontaneous'.

Alejandro glances up from the monitor. "What's funny?"

"Just a text," I say, still looking at the screen. Then I add, almost casually, "From Valeria."

His brows draw together in thought. "Valeria?"

"The woman from the club," I reply, locking the screen and sliding the phone aside. "My fiancée."

For a second, Alejandro just stares. "You got engaged?" If expressions could get Grammys, he'd be walking out of here with an armful.

I fold my arms over my chest, clearing my throat. "Something like that." My voice levels out again as I switch the subject. "Tell me how deep the breach goes."

The silence stretches, work swallowing whatever curiosity he has left.