On the eve of our wedding, my fiancé, Cillian Donnelly—heir to a Boston Irish mob family—demanded that his mistress, Trinity Bryant, serve as my bridesmaid in a wedding dress identical to mine.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, I didn't fly into a rage. Instead, I personally arranged Trinity's fitting.

I agreed because I remembered my past life. In that life, my vehement opposition had led Cillian to discard Trinity, who then met her end in an “accidental” drowning in the Charles River.

Cillian’s resentment festered. After leveraging my father’s control over the port to seize power as Boston’s new kingpin, he had my family home burned to the ground.

I died in the inferno, in the throes of childbirth, while he declared it was revenge for his lost “true love.”

I opened my eyes to find myself reborn, just as Cillian knelt before my father to make that same ridiculous request.

This time, I was determined to watch the Donnelly empire crumble without lifting a finger to help.

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1

"Papa, I agree to his terms."

The moment the words left my mouth, Papa’s face darkened.

As the Principessa of the Carvallo family, one of Boston's Five Families, I was an art restorer with a degree from Yale.

Boston's high society would be in attendance; even Don Rinaldi from New York was sending a representative with a gift.

This wasn't just a slap in my face; it was a humiliation for the entire Carvallo family.

Cillian Donnelly, however, was ecstatic.

"Avelina, I knew you'd agree. We grew up together, and you're the kindest person I know. I knew you'd understand Trinity's situation."

"Don't worry, you'll always be the one I love most. When Trinity's child is born, he'll be taught to call you Mamma and respect you as the lady of this house."

I lowered my eyes, concealing the inferno of hatred raging within me.

The searing pain of being burned alive, my father's ashes scattered into the sea—the scenes flashed through my mind.

I stared at Cillian's hypocritical face, fighting the urge to tear his throat out with my bare hands.

I smothered my murderous rage and smiled as I helped him to his feet.

"It's just a ceremony. As long as you're happy, I don't mind."

Cillian froze, his eyes studying me with suspicion. "Avelina, you're not just saying that to make a point, are you? If you're truly unhappy... I'll tell Trinity she can't come. It will just be us."

He watched me, testing my reaction, but I caught the viper’s glint deep in his eyes.

He knew exactly how important this marriage alliance was to him.

The Irish mob's port business was failing, their finances on the verge of collapse. One wrong move and the entire Donnelly family would be torn to shreds by creditors and rivals.

To escape his financial predicament and take over the entire port business, he had to rely on my family, the Carvallos.

In this life and the last, he was always captivated by Trinity's fragile, damsel-in-distress act, completely blind to his own dire situation.

"Cillian, we've known each other for so many years. Do I look like I'm angry?"

"You know I've loved you since we were children. Marrying you is my greatest happiness. Besides, you're only doing this out of sympathy, to protect Trinity. You're so kind, and I'm proud of you."

A smile instantly bloomed on Cillian's face, and he grasped my hand.

"Avelina, I'm so happy you think so! I'm honored to be marrying such a generous, understanding woman."

"It's just..." Cillian paused.

"The wedding is tomorrow, and Trinity has nothing. Why don't you give her that 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO your grandfather left you, as compensation?"

"Trinity doesn't come from money. If the compensation is too meager, she'll be humiliated standing next to you."

Papa's eyes turned icy, his hand instinctively moving toward the gun tucked into his waistband under his suit jacket.

But I just smiled and said:

"Giving it to her directly, wouldn't that just embarrass Miss Trinity even more? I'll have my designer prepare the finest gown for her. I promise she'll be the most dazzling bridesmaid tomorrow."

"As for the car, why don't you sign a formal sales contract? Frame it as you buying it from me as a wedding gift for your 'special friend.' It's a much classier move and upholds your generous reputation."

Cillian hesitated. After all, that vintage sports car was worth fifty million dollars, a one-of-a-kind treasure.

Seeing his hesitation, I quickly added:

"Cillian, this is just a formality. We'll be husband and wife; what's mine is yours, isn't it? The contract will end up in your hands anyway. I'm just thinking of you. A man giving his wife's family heirloom to his mistress... that wouldn't sound good if word got out."

"You're right, Avelina. You're always so thoughtful."

Cillian quickly signed the contract, excitedly snatched the car keys, and rushed out.

I turned to my father.

"Papa, what do you think about our family forming an alliance with the Rinaldi family from New York?"

Papa was stunned.

"Don't you hate Lorenzo? You said he was bossy and clingy."

A bitter smile touched my lips. In my past life, after I burned to death, Cillian had tossed my charred remains into the Charles River.

It was Lorenzo who had arrived, and against his own family's objections, recovered my shattered remains from the cold river and the ruins to give me a proper burial. He even traded all his shares in a Wall Street fund just to have me buried in the finest cemetery.

It was only when I saw him kneeling before my grave, sobbing like a lost child, that I finally understood: Lorenzo was the one who had truly loved me all along.

"Papa, Lorenzo may be two years younger than me, but he’s open and straightforward—he doesn't play games. He has... feelings for me. Unlike Cillian, who's already plotting how to use me before we're even married."

"Besides, you and Don Rinaldi have been friends for years. I'm sure I won't be mistreated if I marry into their family."

My father pondered for a moment, a fierce smile spreading across his face. He turned and instructed our family's Consigliere to arrange the meeting.

I retreated to the estate's library, trying to clear my head.

Outside the window, the garden roses were in full bloom, but my memory held only a field of charred ruins. After I died, Cillian torched the Carvallo estate, dug up my father's ashes from the cemetery, and scattered them into the sea.

His demonic expression was seared into my mind.

"You old bastard, try using your power to pressure me now! If it wasn't for your family, Trinity and I would have a house full of kids instead of being torn apart by death!"

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I stroked the cold mahogany bookshelf, letting the grief wash over me.

Suddenly, I heard the idle chatter of a few of Cillian's soldati from the corridor.

"That Donnelly kid actually went to the Don tonight to ask for his mistress to be in the wedding tomorrow."

"In it? Nah, he wants to have the ceremony with her. He wants to 'marry' that vixen at the same time."

"That's outrageous! A wife and a mistress getting married together? He’s publicly humiliating our Principessa and the Don."

"I heard Cillian never wanted to marry the Principessa anyway. It was she who saw his family was going broke and insisted on throwing herself at him. Some Principessa. So shameless, getting into catfights over a man. I wonder how low she has to stoop just to get him into her bed."

Their words grew uglier, even imagining me licking Cillian's leather shoes just to get him to look at me.

A wave of bitterness washed over me. So this was what I had become in their eyes: pathetic. To think, it was Cillian who had pursued me first.

The Carvallo and Donnelly families' businesses were intertwined, making us childhood friends.

Ever since we were children, Cillian and I had been inseparable.

Back then, he would sit beside me, carefully peeling pistachios for me.

He would wipe the cream from the corner of my mouth and take me to see the Fourth of July fireworks over the Charles River.

When we grew up, he played the part of my guardian, chasing away every suitor who approached me.

I would pout in protest.

"Cillian, you've scared them all away. What am I going to do if I can't get married now?"

He would throw an arm around my shoulders.

"You can only marry me. I won't let any other man near you."

Later, the year I was accepted to Yale, he set off fireworks all night to celebrate my coming of age.

That day, under the brilliant explosions of light, the fire in the young man's eyes was blazing as he knelt on one knee and slid a ring onto my finger.

But all that changed the moment he met my classmate, Trinity Bryant, the perpetually teary-eyed orphan girl.

He was completely enchanted by her fragility, like a porcelain doll that could shatter at a touch. The unshed tear trembling on her long lashes sent Cillian's protective instincts into overdrive.

Worried I would "bully" her, Cillian bought her an off-campus apartment so she would have her own "safe haven."

It wasn't that I hadn't fought back or protested. But all I ever got was the same line:

"I'm just sympathizing with her, taking care of her. Can you stop being so unreasonable?"

Years of breaking up and making up had finally brought us to this cliff's edge.

I let out a long sigh. Just as I turned to go back to my room, Cillian suddenly lunged from the shadows and slammed me against the massive mahogany bookshelf.

I stared at Cillian in shock, wondering what madness had seized him now.

"Avelina Carvallo, we had an agreement. Trinity will be a bridesmaid tomorrow. I saw the guest list. Why isn't Trinity's name at the head table?"

"Are you deliberately messing with me? Are you trying to publicly humiliate Trinity tomorrow?"

So that was it. His towering rage was because his mistress wasn't seated at the table of honor.

But I had already decided to cut my losses and let him have her. This wedding was never going to happen.

"Avelina, I know you're angry with Cillian for being so protective of me, but he's just taking pity on me and wants to give me some support. If you don't want me at the wedding, you could have just said so. Why cause a scandal tomorrow?"

Trinity continued, "The Donnelly family is respectable, prominent. Imagine the scandal—his fiancée throwing a jealous fit at her own wedding. What would Boston's elite say about Cillian? How could he ever show his face in public again?"

With that, she dropped to her knees with a thud on the cold marble floor.

"Avelina, I'm begging you, please just have a proper wedding with Cillian tomorrow. I won't go. I just ask that you don't let him be embarrassed in front of everyone."

"As long as Cillian truly loves me, a wedding is just a formality. I don't care about empty titles."

She spoke with a mix of stubbornness and grievance. With every word, Cillian's face grew darker.

"Avelina Carvallo, do you have to be so aggressive?"

"Do you have to force me to be a heartless bastard and humiliate Trinity? Who would dare spend a lifetime with a venomous woman like you?"

Because we were at the entrance of the estate, several visiting partners and our family's bodyguards had gathered nearby.

A pot-bellied politician sighed, "This girl... she knows the Donnelly kid has someone on the side, yet she still insists on marrying him. She must be after his family's power."

"It's normal for a man to have a woman on the side. If she were a little more magnanimous, this would all blow over. Making a scene at her own doorstep, how embarrassing."

"No wonder the Carvallo Principessa is so desperate. They've been entangled for a decade. All of Boston knows if a Donnelly doesn't marry her, she'll be ruined. No one in our world will touch her."

Their words were daggers in my chest. Seeing my face turn pale, Cillian thought I was scared and grew smug.

"Avelina, I'm not a completely heartless person. As long as you behave and accept Trinity, I'll still give you a wedding worthy of your name tomorrow and make you Mrs. Donnelly."

But in my past life, this monster had not only devoured my family's business but had also watched me burn alive. Seeing his self-righteous, smug look now, I found it incredibly ironic.

He probably thought he was God's gift to women.

Perhaps my expression was too desolate, because a flicker of guilt crossed Cillian's face.

"Avelina, I was a little worked up just now. I spoke too harshly."

"Don't worry, after we're married, you will always be the lady of the house. Trinity will have to respect you. How about this: I'll appear publicly with Trinity at events, and you just need to play the part of Mrs. Donnelly. In return, I'll fulfill my duties as a husband."

"See? I still favor you. Stop throwing your princess tantrums."

Hearing his arrogant words, I wanted to laugh out loud.

He acted like some emperor choosing his concubines, certain that every woman was desperate for his favor.

I suppose his confidence was earned. In my past life, when he’d gone on vacation with Trinity, I’d staged a hunger strike, crying and begging him to stay.

But in this life, whether he wanted to take Trinity to the movies or to a fancy dinner, it had nothing to do with me anymore.

Forcing a man whose heart isn't with you to stay only makes you feel disgusted with yourself.

"Alright, Cillian, it's getting late. We have a wedding to get to tomorrow. We should both get some rest."

Cillian was displeased with my cold attitude, his face darkening. He leaned in close, his voice a low threat only I could hear:

"You'd better play nice tomorrow and let Trinity walk down the aisle on my arm. Otherwise, don't blame me if I call the whole thing off and leave you standing alone at the altar. We'll see what man in this town dares to touch damaged goods like you after that."