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.

VALERIA

One minute, Dante’s eye-fucking me from across the seat. Chances are he knows I can see him and doesn’t care—or maybe he's clueless I'm aware. Either way, I play along, laughing harder, rolling my shoulders until my sleeve slips... and the next—the call, and then...

"I'll see you later," that’s all Dante says before rushing off. Taylor starts the car, and I crane my neck toward the chaos outside,but aside from flashing blue and red lights and a growing crowd, I can’t make out much.

The drive home is quiet. I’m halfway to sleep when the door opens and Taylor taps my shoulder.

“We’ve arrived, ma’am.”

“So soon?” I yawn, covering my mouth. He nods and holds the door open. I thank him and head inside.

Silence greets me. My heels echo against the marble floors, each step emphasizing just how empty this place feels. I think of those big houses I used to deliver to back in Colombia—towering pillars, million-dollar art on every wall, and still, the same hollow quiet. They always had one thing in common: the resounding absence of happiness and satisfaction. Now I’m living in one of them.

Dante's emergency leaves me with no choice but to call it a night.

I don't bother locking the door. A small smile tugs at my lips in satisfaction as I take in the room—queen-sized bed, feathered pillows, a well-furnished and beautiful, well-stocked walk-in closet, and my own personal mini spa of a bathroom. For someone who grew up scraping by, what more could a diva like me want?

A lot, actually. But this will do for now.

I sigh, peeling off my clothes slowly, each piece landing to form a small heap. My body cracks as I stretch. Me time, finally. Rihanna's essential playlist blares from my phone, and I heat up the jacuzzi. Warm, scented water wraps around me as the bath bomb fizzes, turning the water dark green and filling the air with jasmine and rose.

Just as I grab the soap, my phone rings. I roll my eyes and reach for it. My mood lifts when I see the name flash on the screen: Diego.

A lump forms in my throat and I gulp, placing my phone against my ear.

"Hello," I whisper, switching to Spanish.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, Camila," Diego’s voice drops, irritation lacing his tone.

Here we go.

I bite my lips, scrambling for an excuse. “Didn’t think I was supposed to call so soon. You’re the one who said only in emergencies, remember? The two-week rule?” I snap, eyes scanning the room suspiciously.

Diego sighs, voices chattering in the background. "You always have an answer, don't you, Camila? Are you in?"

I smirk. "What do you think?"

I can already picture his frown, and it makes me grin wider.

"Was it that easy? Or is there something I’m missing?" I can tell he's both surprised and suspicious.

I twirl a strand of hair, toes peeling through the bubbles. "Guess you'll just hear the juicy parts when we meet. Told you I could get any man I want, didn't I?"

"You can get anything you put your mind to, Valeria," he corrects dryly. I roll my eyes. Typical Diego—always my hype man.

"Semantics," I click my tongue.

Diego scoffs, mumbling something incoherent in Spanish. "Don't just disappear like that, Camila, you had us worried for days." There it is—the protective nature of my friend resurfacing.

"Tell them I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, letting out a deep sigh. "I didn't have much of a choice, you know. I thought about calling, but it was too risky."

"Do you think he believes you?" Diego asks.

Does he believe me? I ask myself. I try to remember any time Dante has acted suspicious of me or questioned me, and nothing comes to mind.

"He should. I mean, I'm going to be Mrs. Romano soon," I say defensively, surprising both myself and Diego.

There's a brief silence, and I slap my forehead. There, I've done it again... in five, four, three, two, o—

"I remember you sounding this way with a certain Raphael—"

"Shut up, Diego," I bolt upright in the bathtub, water sloshing. I grip the side of the bath rail tight enough to hurt. "You don't have to remind me of that fucker every time I've got something good going."

"You sounded a bit too happy, if you ask me," Diego mutters. Then softer, "I don't want you to get hurt again, Camila."

"Well, I'm not," I bite out.

"If anything goes wrong, you let me know, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dad."

"I'm serious," he says sternly, and I roll my eyes. God knew what he was doing when he took my dad and gave me a twenty-seven-year-old best friend with a fifty-year-old’s personality.

"I know, I know," I groan, dragging my hand along my face.

"Good girl. We send greetings from here. Take care, Camila."

"You too, Diego. I send my greetings with love." The line goes dead immediately, and so does my mood.

The quiet returns—until a ping. A Fox News alert lights up my screen:

“Blue Cyber Systems Hit by Major Cyber attack Amid Breach Allegations.”

I tap it instantly. So that was why he'd left in a hurry. In one night, both his inheritance and business have been threatened. He seemed confident earlier, maybe too confident—but one can only reach a breaking point.

I tap on the phone app, about to ring him, but I can't bring myself to tap on his number.

My thumb hovers over his digits. Should I call? What if he doesn’t pick up? Would I be interrupting? Maybe tomorrow morning’s better.

He’s already had a rough day as it is. I give my phone one last look, thumb hovering over his name like it’s a trigger.

“Don’t be that girl,” I whisper to myself. Then I tap call anyway.

It rings once. Twice. Then voicemail.

I give my phone one last look before hitting play. Rihanna's voice fills the air, drowning out every sound—but my thoughts are louder