The crowd erupted into applause as Marcus De Luca raised his glass. My father’s voice boomed through the grand hall, cutting through the chatter and laughter.

“Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great families,” he announced, his arm around my shoulder. “Isabella and Antonio, together, will lead us into a new era of peace.”

I tried to focus on the cheers and Antonio’s hand resting lightly on my waist, but my heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons. From the corner of my eye, I caught Sofia glaring at me.

Antonio leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. “Smile, Isabella. This is your big moment.”

It wasn’t the comforting whisper I’d always dreamed of from him. Antonio Ricci had been my secret crush since college, back when I was just the quiet girl in the corner, watching him laugh with his friends. Back then, I thought he was untouchable. Now, he was mine—or at least, that’s what everyone wanted to believe.

As we stepped down from the stage, I was careful to avoid Sofia’s gaze. I didn’t want a scene, not tonight.

Too late.

A splash of cold, sticky wine hit my chest, the deep red staining the cream silk of my dress. Gasps rippled through the crowd, but no one moved to help me.

“Oh, no!” Sofia exclaimed, her voice dripping with false concern. She clutched her empty wine glass like an actress on stage. “I’m so clumsy. I didn’t mean to ruin your beautiful dress, Isabella.”

My hands trembled as I wiped at the stain. I knew what she was doing, but no one else seemed to care. The guests quickly turned back to their conversations, dismissing the incident as a harmless accident.

I forced a tight smile. “It’s fine, Sofia. Accidents happen.”

“Of course, they do,” she said sweetly, her eyes glinting with malice.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed upstairs to my room. The humiliation burned worse than the wine, and the memory of Antonio’s indifferent expression as it all happened twisted the knife even deeper.

Inside my room, I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. I tore off the ruined dress and grabbed a simple black one from my closet. As I zipped it up, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Before I could answer, Sofia let herself in.

“What do you want?” I asked, glaring at her.

She shut the door behind her and crossed her arms. “I thought I’d properly introduce myself. Sofia Moretti. Antonio’s girlfriend.”

I froze, though her words didn’t surprise me. I’d known about Sofia long before tonight. Her smug Instagram posts, the whispers at parties—it wasn’t exactly a secret.

“I know who you are,” I said quietly, turning back to the mirror to adjust my dress.

“Oh, I bet you do,” she sneered. “You’ve been sniffing around Antonio since college, haven’t you? Poor little Isabella, always watching from the sidelines.”

I stiffened, but I refused to rise to her bait.

“You think wearing a ring is going to change anything?” Sofia continued, stepping closer. “He doesn’t love you. He never will. Antonio’s only doing this because it’s what his family wants.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “If that’s true, then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off celebrating with him?”

Her face twisted in anger. “You don’t get it, do you? Antonio and I are meant to be together. You’re just a pawn in some ridiculous power play between our families.”

Her words cut deep, but I refused to let her see how much they hurt. Instead, I turned to face her, my expression calm.

“You’ve made your point, Sofia. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to return to.”

Her laughter was sharp and bitter. “Run along then, porcelain doll. Just remember, no matter what you do, you’ll never have him.”

Before I could reply, there was a knock at the door. Antonio’s voice called from the other side.

“Sofia, are you in there?”

Sofia’s lips curled into a triumphant smile as she sauntered to the door. She opened it, and without a word, pulled Antonio into the room.

“Antonio,” she cooed, her hands finding his collar. Without hesitation, she kissed him in front of me, her lips pressed against his with all the force of a declaration.

I stood frozen, watching them, my breath caught in my throat. Antonio’s hand lingered on the doorframe, his eyes not meeting mine.

I felt my heart shatter into pieces, but I refused to let them see it.

Sofia broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me with a victorious glint in her eyes. “See? Told you he’d never be yours.”

Antonio’s lips curved into a smirk as his dark eyes flicked to me, amusement written all over his face. It was like he enjoyed watching me fall apart.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

I squared my shoulders and let my expression harden, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on. If he thought this was going to break me, he was sorely mistaken.

“Well,” I said coolly, gesturing toward the open door. “If you two want to continue your little... performance, I suggest you find another room. I’m sure you’ll feel much more comfortable somewhere else.”

Sofia’s grin faltered just a bit before she straightened and stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. “Better things to do, huh? Like what, Isabella? Make empty threats?”

Antonio’s lips twitched, clearly enjoying her little performance.

“Come on, Isabella,” Sofia sneered. “You’re not gonna call off this engagement. You wouldn’t dare. What are you without Daddy De Luca? Nothing.” She crossed her arms, the smugness radiating off her in waves.

I didn’t say anything, just stared at her, which seemed to piss her off even more.

“And let’s not forget,” she continued, her voice dripping with mockery, “you’re not even Marcus’s real daughter. You think you can waltz in here, playing perfect little mafia princess, and actually have a say in anything? Please.”

Antonio chuckled lowly, his eyes locking onto mine. “She’s not wrong, Isabella. You think you can just walk away from this? From me? You’re dreaming, Isabella.”

I took a slow, deep breath, keeping my face blank even though my chest felt like it was caving in.

“You’re both so sure of yourselves,” I said evenly. “But guess what? I don’t care.”

Sofia’s jaw dropped, but I wasn’t done.

“I don’t care what either of you think,” I continued, turning my attention to Antonio. “And I don’t care what my father thinks, either.”

Sofia let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, that’s cute. The porcelain doll thinks she’s grown a backbone.”

“Keep talking, Sofia,” I said with a shrug. “It won’t change anything.”

Antonio’s smirk dropped instantly. His whole demeanor shifted as he stepped closer, his jaw tight. “You’re not ending this,” he said, his voice sharper now.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You don’t want this. I sure as hell don’t want this. So what’s stopping me?”

In a flash, Antonio grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not rough. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but every word hit like a punch to the gut. “You don’t get to call the shots, Isabella. You never did. And let’s not forget—you’re not even a real De Luca. You’re just a charity case, playing pretend in our world.”

My stomach twisted, but I kept my face neutral. No way was I letting him see how much that hurt.

He was right, of course. I wasn’t Marcus De Luca’s biological daughter. I’d known that since I was a teenager, but hearing it thrown in my face like this still stung.

“You’re right,” I said, my voice calm, even though my chest was burning. “I’m not a De Luca by blood. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else gets to treat me like I don’t belong here.”

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly before he let go.

“And as for this engagement,” I continued, taking a step back, “tell my father whatever you want. I’ll make sure he knows exactly how I feel about it. If you and Sofia want to play house so badly, go for it. I’m done.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sofia piped up, stepping beside him. “You’re bluffing. You can’t call it off, Isabella. You don’t have that kind of power.” She glanced at Antonio, smirking. “Right, babe?”

Antonio didn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze stayed on me, dark and intense.

“You’re not ending it,” he said again, his voice quieter this time but no less firm.

I yanked my arm out of his reach and gave him a tight smile. “Watch me.”

The party was still in full swing when I stepped back into the grand hall. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all grated on my nerves now. Every step felt heavier as I scanned the room for my father.

I found him by the bar counter, laughing with his business partners, a cigar in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. Marcus De Luca, the untouchable, the feared, the man who took me in and raised me like his own. Or so I thought.

I marched over, ignoring the curious glances from guests who noticed the tension radiating off me.

“Papa, I need to talk to you,” I said firmly, stopping beside him.

He barely glanced at me, too engrossed in his conversation. “Not now, Isabella,” he said dismissively, taking a sip of his drink. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“It’s important,” I insisted, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound calm. “More important than my life.”

That got his attention. His sharp, dark eyes flicked to mine, narrowing slightly. “Gentlemen,” he said to his companions, his tone smooth and practiced. “Excuse me for a moment. My daughter seems to think the world is ending.”

They chuckled politely, and he gestured for me to follow him. We walked in silence to his study, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor echoing in the quiet corridor.

Once inside, he shut the door and turned to me, his expression hard. “What is it, Isabella? Speak.”

I stood my ground, even though my heart was racing. “I want to call off the engagement,” I said, my voice steady.

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then his expression darkened.

“Are you out of your mind?” he growled.

“No, Papa,” I said, lifting my chin. “I’m finally thinking clearly. Antonio doesn’t love me, and I don’t want to marry someone who—”

He cut me off, his voice booming. “This isn’t about love! This is about loyalty, about family, about power! You think you can just walk away because you don’t feel like it?”

I took a step back, but I didn’t back down. “It’s not just that. Sofia—”

“Don’t you dare bring that woman into this,” he snapped. “Antonio is your fiancé. That’s the end of it.”

I clenched my fists, my frustration boiling over. “Why, Papa? Why are you so desperate to tie me to someone who doesn’t even respect me? I’m not your blood, remember? You’ve made that clear enough times.”

The slap came so fast I didn’t see it coming. The force of it sent me stumbling, my hand flying to my face as a sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth.

“You ungrateful little girl!” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “I gave you a life. I gave you my name. And this is how you repay me? By questioning me? By embarrassing me in front of our allies?”

Blood dripped from my nose, staining my dress, but I refused to let the tears fall. I straightened, glaring at him through the pain.

This wasn’t the first time he’d hit me. It wasn’t even the worst. I remembered being fifteen, sprinting home in the rain because I lost track of time at the library. Two minutes late. That’s all it took for him to drag me by my hair into the house and slap me until my cheek swelled.

“Time is respect,” he’d said that night, his voice calm, like he was teaching me a lesson. “And you will respect me.”

Even now, the memory made my stomach churn.

“You’re wrong,” I said quietly, my voice trembling but firm. “You didn’t give me a life. You gave me a role to play in yours. And I’m done.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to hit me again, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not calling off the engagement!” his tone was cold and final. “If you try, you’ll regret it. Do you understand me?”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you understand me, Isabella?!”

“Y-yes, Papa,” I said, though my voice was barely above a whisper.

Satisfied, he gestured to the door. “Get out of my sight. And clean yourself up before you embarrass me further!”

I left the study without another word, my chest aching as much as my face. The party was still in full swing, the laughter and music a cruel reminder of the world I was trapped in.

As I passed by a mirror in the hallway, I caught a glimpse of myself—my swollen nose, the blood smeared across my lips, the fire still burning in my eyes.

Marcus De Luca may have raised me, but he didn’t own me.