At the Mercer family's annual dinner, I accidentally wore a couture gown that belonged to Lucian's late wife.

The eight-year-old boy I had raised myself, in front of every key member of the Family, threw a glass of expensive red wine all over my pure white dress.

He just stood there, his cold, condescending expression a mirror of his father's.

"Don't think you can become the mistress of this house just by dressing like my Mamma."

"I swear, when I'm old enough to take over the family business, I'll make you disappear for good!"

The cold liquid soaked through the fabric, clinging to my skin.

But I felt nothing. My heart had frozen solid the moment I signed my life away eight years ago.

I looked at the child I had raised as my own for eight years.

There was no anger. The faintest smile touched my lips.

I leaned down and whispered in his ear,

"You won't have to wait that long, my little lion. I'm leaving, and it will be very soon."

I was a substitute, sent to the Mercer family to pay off my family's debt. For eight long years, I took care of my dead sister's Mafia husband and his heir.

At the family dinner, after I mistakenly wore my sister's gown, the nephew I had raised myself doused me in red wine. Meanwhile, the Don of Mercer family, kept bringing home women who looked even more like my sister than I did.

When Lucian brought the twenty-ninth and most convincing lookalike back to the estate, I finished packing my bags, ready to leave for a place where none of them would ever find me.

The early spring air in New York still held a biting chill, but the cold inside this mansion was the kind that seeped into your bones.

I ignored the mocking gazes at my back and walked straight to the art studio at the end of the attic.

All I had to do was wash out the wine stain, change into my own clothes, and I'd be one step closer to leaving the identity of Vera Rossi behind for good.

But the moment I pushed open the studio door, the scene before me made me freeze.

The easel was toppled on the floor. My nearly finished work had been slashed by a sharp blade.

The vast, blue sky I had painted on the canvas was torn to shreds.

"How ugly."

A sneer came from behind me.

"You call this junk art?" He pursed his lips, his eyes defiant. "Mamma only collected Dalí and Picasso. The junk you paint would only disgrace the walls of the Mercer estate."

I took a deep breath, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

"Axel, that was mine."

"In this estate, even you are property of the Mercer family," he said viciously. I shot him a sideways glance.

This time, I didn't bother with my usual attempts to soothe and placate him.

His bravado seemed to falter, and he looked away, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

I walked silently to a corner of the studio, only to be met with an even more brutal sight.

The antique wooden chest I kept tucked away was smashed open. Its contents were strewn across the floor, soaked in black ink.

Lying in the center of the mess was the hand-embroidered tapestry my mother had left me before she died. It was the only piece of her I had left, a delicate scene of the Tuscan countryside stitched with love.

Now, it was ruined. The fabric was slashed down the middle, and the vibrant threads were stained an irreversible, oily black.

Beside the ruined tapestry lay a pair of scissors that belonged to Axel.

The ink dripped onto the floorboards and spattered my hand.

I stared at the ruined fabric, silent for a long time.

Finally, I crouched down stiffly, my hand hovering in the air, not daring to touch the threads that were now destroyed beyond repair.

Eight years ago, I had walked into this underworld with a free heart.

But the sprawling Mercer estate had no room for a single untamed soul.

They took my paintbrushes and shackled my dreams. They gave me a wailing infant and this small corner of memories as consolation.

It took me eight years to raise them.

But it only took an instant to lose them.

Then again, I had nothing left to lose.

I let out a long sigh, just as a familiar set of footsteps approached.

Before I could even stand, Lucian walked in.

The collar of his black shirt was slightly open, revealing the sexy line of his throat and a sliver of a tattoo.

He looked just like Axel, with the same coldness, the same arrogance.

Seeing the mess, Lucian waved a hand, and two soldati immediately stepped out of the shadows.

"Clean this up. Don't leave this filth here."

Within minutes, the ink on the floor, the ruined tapestry, and the shattered canvas frame were all gone.

Just like me. I had meticulously cared for this father and son for eight years, yet I had failed to make the slightest impression on them.

He walked over to me, looking down at me from his great height.

"Vera, you were in the wrong today."

"You have failed to teach our heir the meaning of respect and decorum."

"And in the future, stick to your own clothes."

He nonchalantly shifted all the blame onto me.

And every time, I had always instinctively obeyed.

Then, the hand wearing the family signet ring wrapped around my waist, pulling me hard against his unyielding chest.

He lowered his head, the rough pad of his thumb stroking my chin, his warm breath fanning the side of my neck.

"However, it is your birthday, so I can forgive this lapse in duty."

His hand slid down the curve of my waist. "As a reward for these eight years, you don't have to take the pill tonight. If you get pregnant, you can keep the child."

Since I first came to the estate, he had never remembered any date that was important to me, yet this year, he remembered my birthday.

But now, his every move sent a chill down my spine.

Lucian was a man of immense appetites and overwhelming possessiveness.

I had gotten pregnant within the first month we were together. Before I could even feel a flicker of joy, he sent a man with pills to induce a miscarriage.

"I will only ever love Rose, and Axel will be my only heir."

"If you have your own child, you'll inevitably be biased. You won't be able to care for Axel with all your heart."

After that, every time we were together, he would watch me swallow the pill. For eight years, without fail.

In the past, hearing that I didn't have to take the pill would have had me joyfully undoing his tie.

But today, all I could see was the shredded painting and the black stains on my mother’s embroidery.

For the first time, I pushed him away with all my strength.

Caught off guard, Lucian stumbled back a step, his brow instantly furrowing.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Don Mercer, our eight-year contract is up."

"Tomorrow, I'm leaving."

The spark of lust died in an instant, replaced by a piercing chill.

Lucian didn't even give me a chance to blink.

In that second, his fingers left my waist and clamped onto my chin.

He wasn't using much force, but the threat was enough to make my spine go rigid.

"It seems I've spoiled not only Axel, but you too, Vera."

He leaned in closer, my bloodless face reflected in his pupils, his voice a terrifying low whisper.

I winced in discomfort, but he showed no sign of letting go.

"Since you failed in your duties as a guardian, failed to properly raise my son, then you must stay until you have shaped him into the perfect heir."

Guardian. It was the only title I had in this house that sounded remotely respectable.

I came from a minor crime family from the West, one that had scraped together a connection with the Mercers through some unsavory dealings.

More than a decade ago, my half-sister was invited to a dinner between our families, and Lucian fell for her at first sight.

She married him, and the Rossi family enjoyed a period of prosperity, right up until she died in childbirth.

At that very moment, the Rossi family broke one of the cardinal rules of the underworld, violating smuggling routes and facing complete annihilation.

To pay back an astronomical blood debt, and after some negotiation by my Aunt Carmela, the Rossis' lives were spared.

But the price was me, the illegitimate daughter born from my father's drunken, one-night affair with a maid.

I was offered up like a sacrifice to the newly widowed Lucian.

At the time, he was unwilling to marry again but worried his young son would have no one to care for him.

Then he saw me, a girl who bore a slight resemblance to his late wife, Rose.

An eight-year contract cost me my youth and my freedom.

I was forced to leave behind the open skies of my small western town.

I became his plaything at night and a glorified nanny by day.

In the Mercer estate, I played every role except myself.

"I have not failed my duties. It is you who should honor your promise."

I met his gaze. "The contract is perfectly clear. Eight years in exchange for my freedom and my father's worthless life. The deadline is midnight tonight."

"Freedom?"

Lucian acted as if he'd heard a joke. He released my chin, the pad of his thumb idly stroking the red mark he'd just left on my neck.

"In New York, you have no freedom unless I grant it."

He turned and walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring a glass of whiskey. "If you're making a fuss over your status, there's no need."

He swirled the glass. "Since Rose's position has been empty for so long, you can have it. Give me a second heir, and I'll give you the title of Mrs. Mercer."

"No, thank you." I turned my head, avoiding his touch.

I was done being my sister's substitute, and I wanted no child of mine to be born into this sunless hell.

I walked to the desk and took out a brass key I had prepared, along with a thick stack of documents.

It was the key to the main vault of the Mercer estate and the ledgers of all the internal assets I had managed for him over the past eight years.

"I don't want your title, and I don't want your child."

"The key to the vault and all the laundered accounts. It's all here."

"I've already prepared for the handover. You can find someone more obedient to take over."

Lucian's expression instantly turned grim.

He swept his arm, and the stack of documents, the very lifeblood of the Family, scattered across the floor like scrap paper.

He didn't care about the money.

He strode toward me, snatched my handbag, unzipped it, and dumped its contents onto the desk.

Inside were the passport and ID I had hidden away long ago.

The mechanical whir of the shredder filled the room.

Like a cruel executioner, Lucian fed my passport, piece by piece, into the machine right in front of me.

I watched as my name, my photo, my only ticket to freedom, turned into meaningless confetti.

"You're insane!" I screamed, my voice trembling.

Lucian dusted the paper scraps from his hands, his expression returning to a suffocating calm.

Then, he pressed the intercom on his desk.

"Lock down the estate."

"Miss Vera is emotionally unstable and requires ‘rest.' Without my permission, she is not to leave these grounds."

With that, without even a glance in my direction, he turned and disappeared into the study beyond.

I stood frozen, a chill running through me.

I had to escape, even if it meant jumping out a window.

I rushed to the floor-to-ceiling window, my hand just about to push against the heavy glass.

CRACK!

A sharp explosion shattered the air beside me.

The antique Louis XVI vase next to me shattered, sending shards flying. One piece sliced my calf, drawing a thin line of blood.

I looked up in terror.

On the lawn outside, Axel was holding a high-precision, modified air rifle, the dark muzzle aimed directly at my face.

The eight-year-old boy wore a cruel, excited smile, as if he were playing the most thrilling hunting game.

Through the glass, he mouthed a single sentence at me.

"Papa said deserters get a bullet."

He reloaded the air rifle, its muzzle once again locking onto me.

"I'm warning you. Don't move."

"Next time, I'll have Papa get me a real gun!"

I tilted my head back, refusing to let the tears at the corners of my eyes fall.

I remember when I first arrived, my aunt told me, "You must treat Axel as your own son. After all, you are family, connected by blood."

And yet, after eight years, this father and son duo treated me as if I were nothing; one ignored me completely, while the other hated me to the bone.

At dawn in the Mercer estate, before the morning mist had even cleared, my Aunt Carmela burst into my room.

Just as she had eight years ago when she delivered me to this gilded cage, she was putting on her usual act for the sake of the family's interests.

"Vera, my dear niece, you can't leave."

She clutched at the hem of my dress, her tears flowing with perfect timing.

"The Rossi family's business in Brooklyn is entirely dependent on our connection to Don Mercer. If you anger him, we'll all end up dead in the streets!"

"Your father is still in a hospital, kept alive only because Lucian pays the bills! If you provoke the Don, we'll all end up in concrete shoes at the bottom of the Hudson!"

"Axel still needs you. How can you be so selfish?"

Calling me selfish?

Looking at this woman I was supposed to call family, all I wanted to do was laugh.

"Auntie, in these eight years, have you ever once asked me if I was even living like a human being in this house?"

Carmela froze, her eyes darting away.

A commotion rose from downstairs. A sports car pulled up to the fountain.

Then, the click-clack of high heels on marble floors grew closer.

A woman with flawless makeup walked in.

She had the exact same shade of blonde hair as my sister; even the curve of her lips had been practiced to perfection.

For a moment, seeing her, I was almost in a daze.

Over the past eight years, Lucian would occasionally bring home a woman who bore some resemblance to my sister. She was the twenty-ninth.

She looked more like my sister than any of the others before her. More than me.

"Aunt Vivian!"

Before I could react, a small figure darted past me.

Axel threw himself into Vivian's arms, nuzzling affectionately against her expensive silk shawl.

"You're finally here! This house is so stuffy, it has a cheap smell everywhere."

He shot a disdainful glance toward my room.

The maids were whispering in the hallway, their voices just loud enough to reach my ears.

"Is that the Vivian woman who's supposed to look even more like the late Donna? She certainly looks more refined than that bastard, Vera."

"Of course. Vera is a cheap replacement at best. Now that a better counterfeit has arrived, it's time for the bed-warmer to get lost."

Axel took Vivian's hand. "Aunt Vivian, your perfume smells so good. Not like some people, who always stink of paint and turpentine."

"Papa was right. Someone with no breeding isn't fit to be the mistress of the Mercer family."

My fingers tightened into fists. Though I was long since numb, the words still stung.

I remembered eight years ago, when Axel wasn't even weaned. He'd wake from nightmares every night, and I would hold him for hours, humming Italian lullabies to soothe him back to sleep.

The first name he learned to say wasn't "Papa." It was pointing at me and saying, "Vera."

Back then, he would wrap his arms around my neck and declare, "Vera, you're the best in the world!"

I honestly don't know when everything changed.

The child who once clung to me was gone.

Standing before me was a "little Don," the heir to a billion-dollar Mafia empire.

At some point, Vivian had made her way upstairs and was now standing beside me.

She put on a show of comforting me. "Miss Vera, don't mind him. The little lion is just brutally honest."

"Since you're leaving, you should leave Axel's schedule behind. After all...caring for Don Mercer and Axel is my responsibility now."

I ignored her gloating and turned to face my dear aunt.

"See? There's never a shortage of women willing to climb into Lucian's bed, or to be Axel's stepmother."

"One more or one less of me here makes no difference."

Seeing my resolve, Carmela seemed to realize for the first time that the niece who had been obedient for eight years was gone. She dropped the act.

She shot to her feet and raised her hand.

The slap landed with full force. My cheek burned, and the taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Ungrateful wretch!"

"Your father raised you! You will die in a Mercer bed earning money for this family if I say so!"

Carmela pointed a finger at my nose, her voice a torrent of abuse. "If the family hadn't sent you to Don Mercer to pay our debts, do you think an illegitimate girl like you would be living such a good life? You think you can just fly the coop now that you've grown wings?"

In their eyes, I was never family.

I was just currency for a blood debt, a bargaining chip to curry favor with the powerful.

Carmela raised her hand again, aiming for a second slap.

This time, I caught her wrist in mid-air.

"Enough."

I threw her hand back, my gaze as cold as ice.

"The Vera who could only cry and beg for mercy died eight years ago."

I took a deep breath and straightened my spine.

"I used eight years of my youth to warm Lucian's bed and slave away for his son. That debt has been paid in full, with interest. From now on, whether the Rossi family lives or dies has nothing to do with me."

Stunned by my sudden defiance, Carmela staggered back, still muttering curses under her breath.

I didn't look at her again. I turned to leave.

But as I turned, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Lucian was standing in the shadows of the hallway, an unlit cigar between his fingers.

His bottomless black eyes were locked on me.