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Section 1
### Chapter 1: Chapter-1
My jaw practically unhinged, dropping so low I thought it might shatter against the cold marble floor of our Manhattan penthouse. A trail of crumpled fabric lay strewn across the entryway. It’s Vincent’s expensive designer slacks tangled shamelessly with a lacy, crimson thong that definitely didn't belong to me.
My gaze drifted up, following the pathetic breadcrumb trail of clothes toward the kitchen. I let out a dry, humorless breath, shaking my head so hard my long black hair whipped against my shoulders.
Again . Four years of this suffocating, gilded cage, and he couldn't even bother to activate the alarm to be alerted when someone entered in the middle of his sex with another of his mistresses.
I didn't hesitate. My heels padded silently across the tile floor until I reached the kitchen archway, the sound of rhythmic, disgusting wet slapping echoing off the pristine marble countertops.
“F*ck, you’re so tight, babe! Unlike my wife.”
Ice flooded my veins, turning my green eyes pitch black. I leaned my hip casually against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh, sorry that I am not tight enough for you,” I said, my voice dripping with lethal, effortless authority. “But why blame me? Not your small dick, my dear husband?”
I let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut right through the heavy air. His secretary, who had some fresh-faced twenty-year-old playing dress-up, instantly scrambled off the counter, her face turning the color of a bruised tomato, soaked in absolute shame as she tried to pull her skirt down.
“See? She’s not even moaning,” I added, rolling my eyes before turning my heels on them.
I marched straight up the grand staircase, my heels clicking like gunshots against the steps, heading straight for the master bedroom and our massive walk-in closet. I yanked my giant hardshell luggage off the top shelf, dropping it with a loud thud onto the floor, and popped the latches.
I was done. Completely, irrevocably done. I needed oxygen. I needed to breathe air that didn't smell like his cheap lies.
This entire marriage was a joke. I had married him at twenty-one because my controlling, high-society parents drilled it into my skull that he was the ultimate catch. His tech company had been a rising blip on the radar back then, but the Feroci family name? We poured our money, our connections, and our blood into pushing him straight into the top five corporations in New York.
“What the f*ck was that, Livia?!” Vincent’s frantic, booming voice shattered my thoughts as he stormed into the walk-in closet, already hastily buttoning his dress shirt.
“You should ask yourself about that and not me,” I snapped back, not even looking at him as I started aggressively grabbing fistfuls of clothes from the racks and throwing them into the suitcase.
“Why are you even here?!” he yelled, throwing his hands up like I was the criminal here. “You are supposed to be at a fashion show watching models and wasting my money—”
“Your money?” I cut him off, spinning around to face him, my eyes blazing. “Or my money? You are not where you are right now without me, Vincent. Without my family! I wasted my twenties with you! Who cleaned up your messes every single time photos of you cheating leaked to social media? Me! I kept this sham of a marriage and your precious career afloat all by myself!”
His face flushed a mottled, ugly red, his bloodshot eyes darting around because he couldn't form a single counter-argument. Because it was the raw, undeniable truth.
“I just have one rule, Vincent! Don’t let your dirtiness come to my house!”
“It’s your fault! You’re never good enough for me!”
There it was. The inevitable, pathetic gaslighting. The classic script where he turns his depravity into my failure as a wife. He forced me to give up my own career, forced me to play the dutiful stay-at-home trophy wife to protect his image, and then punished me for suffocating in the role.
“You always act like you are—”
“I am done with this conversation.” I grabbed the heavy zipper and yanked it shut, crushing the unfolded clothes inside.
I hauled the luggage off the floor, snagged my designer purse, and shoved past him out of the room.
“Where do you think you are going, Livia?!”
I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. I moved fast, my heels hitting the hallway floor until I reached the private elevator. The secretary was nowhere to be seen, probably scurrying out the back. I slammed my finger against the down button. Just as the heavy metal doors began to slide shut, Vincent’s panicked, furious face appeared in the gap.
Without breaking eye contact, I slowly raised my right hand, extended my middle finger right into his face, and let out a slow, poisonous smirk.
When the elevator chimed and opened to the lobby, I practically glided across the polished floor, catching the doorman's attention. “Get me a cab, please.”
I didn't have to wait long. A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb, and the driver hopped out, hauling my heavy luggage into the trunk. I slid into the backseat, the leather cool against my bare legs.
“Let’s go to the airport.”
My fingers flew across my phone screen, pulling up the airline app to search for the fastest way out of this place. My smirk widened into something sharp and reckless when my eyes locked onto an available flight to San Diego, California. Thousands of miles away from Vincent’s cheating hands. Thousands of miles away from my parents, who cared more about a wedding ring than their own daughter’s pulse.
Even if it was just for a few days, I needed this. I needed to run, or I was going to lose my damn mind and end up locked in a psychiatric ward because of my cheating husband.
Livia SoleneI am completely, utterly exhausted. The bone-deep fatigue of back-to-back flights settles heavily into my joints, dragging my spirits down into a dark pit. Yes, I was sitting in first class, but no amount of champagne or reclining leather seats can cushion the brutal, agonizing impact of non-stop jet lag. I landed in New York around nine o'clock tonight, spent a miserable hour sprinting through terminals to catch another connection, and now I’ve just touched down in Seattle.It is officially one in the morning.My head throbs in time with my rapid heartbeat, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the suffocating silence ringing from my phone. Dante hasn't called me back. He hasn't sent a single text. Not a word since I told him I was defying his orders to fly out here.He’s mad. I know him. I know his possessive, lethal temper. And knowing that he is brooding somewhere across the country, furious with me, makes my chest ache so violently it feels like a thousand jag
Livia SoleneIgnoring my mother is a dangerous, thrilling game, but right now, I don't care. I completely power down my phone, shutting out her toxicity until my boarding call. Dante begged me to fly back to New York with him on his private jet, and as much as every single fiber of my body screamed to say yes, I couldn't risk it.My grandfather’s personal bookkeeper was the one who processed my first-class ticket out here. If my name fails to register on the airline's manifest at JFK, an alert will instantly ping straight to Nonno's estate, and he will start asking terrifying, lethal questions. So, to keep our secret buried, I force myself onto the commercial flight back to New York, sinking into my spacious velvet seat in first class.The moment the aircraft reaches cruising altitude, I power my phone back on to check my notifications. My mother only tried calling twice. No frantic follow-up texts, no missed call spam. For the absolute first time in my years of life, I don't bother c
Livia SoleneIf Dante hadn't spent every single second of yesterday distracting my body and my mind, I would have completely ruined our entire trip, drowning in a sea of toxic overthinking about Mrs. DeLuca catching us red-handed. I know Dante promised me that he took care of it. I don’t know how he handled her, and honestly, I don’t even care to ask. All that matters is keeping this scandal from ever reaching my mother’s ravenous ears.“Are you still trapped inside your head about it?” Dante murmurs smoothly, his long, tattooed fingers gently twirling a lock of my dark hair as I lie sprawled across his warm, bare chest.We are completely naked beneath the heavy silk duvet, cocooned in the dim, lazy morning light of our hotel room. It’s our second day here in Japan and our absolute last before the cold, suffocating reality of our real lives drags us back to the States. It’s been painfully short, but intoxicatingly sweet.“I can’t help it, Dante,” I sigh softly, tracing the dark ink cu
Dante CortezLivia looks like she’s seen a fucking ghost. The vibrant color drains from her face in a matter of seconds, leaving her skin ghostly pale and her dark eyes wide with unadulterated terror.I fucking hate seeing her look like this, fragile, trembling, and terrified because of some pathetic, gossip-obsessed old woman. I got too comfortable. I was enjoying my rare, peaceful moment with my woman and my sister way too much to notice a threat slipping up on us from behind.I unfold my frame from the booth and step around the table until I am standing right beside Livia. Leaning down, I cupped her trembling jaw with my large hand and press a firm, reassuring kiss against her cool forehead.“I’ll handle it, mi reina,” I rumble low enough for only her to hear. “Stay right here.”“Where are you going?” Ysa’s voice pops up behind me, completely innocent and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing.I turn my head slightly toward my little sister. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Sit wit
Livia Solene“Hi, Livia! I am Ysabella!”The second we step into the dining room of the upscale restaurant, a small, vibrant force of nature practically hurls herself into my arms. Ysabella, Dante’s younger sister, wraps her arms around me so tightly that all the lingering, suffocating nervousness and self-doubt I’ve been harboring since yesterday instantly evaporate into thin air. She is only nineteen years old, so unbelievably young, sweet, and bright-eyed to be living on her own across the globe in Tokyo.She takes a half-step back, keeping both of her small hands wrapped warmly around mine, while Dante stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me, his heavy arm slung casually around my waist, his thumb gently caressing my hip.“It’s so, so nice to meet you, Livia!” she gushes, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.“It’s really nice to meet you too, Ysabella,” I smile, my breath catching as relief washes over me in a warm wave.“Oh, please, you can just call me Ysa!”“Well, hi to you
Livia SoleneI wake up feeling delightfully weightless, enveloped in the soft, lingering heat of the sheets, but the space beside me is cold and empty. I stretch lazily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to freeze when the room slowly blurs into focus.The entire suite has been completely transformed. Dozens of deep red, floating balloons hover lazily near the soaring ceiling, their silk ribbons trailing down like crimson rain. Towering vases overflowing with fresh, velvety red roses line the perimeter of the bed, filling the air with a rich, intoxicating scent that instantly floods my senses. And spread across the plush velvet lounge chairs and carpet are dozens of heavy, high-end paper bags from Tokyo’s most exclusive luxury boutiques.“What on earth is happening?” I ask softly, my voice raspy from sleep as I sit up, clutching the white duvet securely against my bare chest.My eyes drift toward the massive glass wall overlooking Tokyo. Dante is sitting casually in a sleek leather
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### Chapter 2: Chapter-2
After dropping my heavy luggage at the hotel downtown, I wandered the pulsing streets of San Diego, letting the cool coastal air hit my flushed face. My feet led me blindly, stopping right in front of a sleek, high-end building pulsing with a low, predatory bass.
There are a lot of bars along the street, but this one really caught my attention. A lot of people are also coming in.
I hadn’t planned this. I just wanted a drink to kill the static in my head. But the glowing red neon sign above the heavy oak doors felt less like a marker and more like a neon invitation, a siren call pulling me in out of the dark.
I told myself I’d just have a drink or two, clear my lungs of Manhattan smog and Vincent’s lies, and leave.
“Hola hermosa!” a cute Mexican bartender greeted me with a smooth grin the second I slid onto a velvet stool at the counter.
I offered a tight, polite smile and scanned the room. The club was packed, but it had high-end breathing room and not a sweaty, claustrophobic mess. A central dance floor throbbed under dizzying, bleeding-crimson lights, surrounded by private VIP booths. Upstairs, a second and third tier of shadowy balconies overlooked the chaos.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, leaning his forearms against the polished marble counter.
“I don’t know. What do you suggest—”
“Give the lady a margarita.”
A low, gravelly voice cut across the space. I turned my head, and my breath caught painfully in my throat. Sitting right beside me on the adjacent stool was a man who looked carved out of pure temptation.
A tight buzz cut framing a clean-shaven, razor-sharp jaw, a straight nose, sun-kissed tan skin, and light, predatory brown eyes that locked onto mine like a crosshair. Even sitting down, I could calculate the sheer, imposing height of him with broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark shirt, thick, corded biceps, and a faint, curling wisp of cigarette smoke lingering around him like a bad habit.
“Enjoying the night?” he asked, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
That’s when I noticed the small, shining silver piercing biting into his lower lip. His entire frame was a canvas of dark, intricate tattoos. He radiated raw, untamed heat.
“It hasn’t started yet,” I shot back, a sudden spike of recklessness overriding my exhaustion.
The bartender slid a glass across the counter toward me and another drink right beside it for the stranger.
“You’re a regular here?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at his drink.
“Oh…” I swallowed hard, blinking.
I took a slow sip of the sharp, salted margarita, letting the alcohol burn a path down my throat. The sheer magnetism radiating off this man was getting under my skin. I wasn't here to play games, and God knew I didn't need another man-shaped problem tearing my sanity apart. I just wanted to numb the ache.
“Marriage problem?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, slicing straight through my thoughts.
My head snapped toward him, my eyebrows knitting together in sharp surprise. He didn't blink. He just stared straight into my green eyes with an unsettling, terrifying intensity, like he was peeling open my skull and reading every messy, humiliating secret I tried to hide.
Without warning, his hand shot out and spun my barstool around, angling my body directly toward his. Before I could protest, he hooked his leg out, placing his thick, muscular thighs right on either side of mine, trapping me in his space. I let him manhandle me. Let him take total control of my body in a way Vincent never had in four years of marriage.
His dark gaze dropped to my left hand resting limply on my lap. I followed his line of sight, my stomach dropping when I saw the heavy, glittering diamond engagement ring and the pristine gold wedding band mocking me under the dim club lights.
“A ring on your finger and you're drinking alone like the world is ending,” he answered smoothly, his gaze burning back up to my face. “Obviously a marriage problem.”
Why did it feel like this stranger knew the layout of my soul better than I did? I flicked my eyes down to his hands. Heavy with ink stretching past his cuffs, entirely bare of any metal band.
He wasn't married, yet he spoke with the dangerous, all-knowing weight of a man who owned the room.
I stayed dead silent. A hot spike of defensiveness flared in my chest. He was getting way too close, crossing lines into territory I kept locked behind iron gates.
With a sharp snap, I twisted my stool away from him, breaking his grip. He let me go too easily, watching with amusement as I faced the bar counter again and took another harsh swallow of my drink.
“So he did in fact cheat on you,” he concluded, his voice a low, teasing hum against my ear. “What the f*ck is wrong with your husband? Cheating on a beautiful woman like you?”
I couldn’t help the dry, bitter laugh that bubbled up my throat. I rested my elbow on the counter, propping my chin in the palm of my hand, and turned back to look at him. He looked dangerously carefree, entirely unbothered by the chaos around us.
“Well, being beautiful will not get you a good husband—”
“He’s an asshole. Wasting the treasure sitting right in front of him.”
I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting salt and lime. This man wasn't just flirting with me because he was basically circling me like a predator sizing up a fresh kill. My eyes drifted back down to my wedding ring resting against the glass.
I wanted to burn it all down. I was so sick of being the dutiful, betrayed wife. But if I crossed that line, would it even be worth it? Or would I just become just as toxic, just as broken as Vincent?
“Dante Cortez,” he broke through my spinning thoughts, his deep, rumbling voice anchoring me right back to the present.
His large, calloused hand rested palm-up right in front of me on the counter, waiting. Daring me to touch it.
“Livia Solene,” I whispered.
I slid my hand into his. But instead of giving me a stiff, polite shake, Dante closed his rough, calloused fingers around mine, pulled the back of my hand slowly toward his face, and pressed his hot lips directly against my sensitive skin. A jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm, making my breath hitch.
“How long are you going to stay here?” he asked, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr under hooded, heavy-lidded eyes.
“You know that I’m not from here—“
“I know everyone in my city, mi reina .”
I didn't even know what the Spanish term meant, but the way it rolled off his dark, sinful tongue sent an instant shiver rippling down my spine. It sounded heavy, possessive, and entirely intoxicating.
“I’ll stay for three more days,” I murmured, my defenses crumbling grain by grain.
“Spend it with me,” he uttered quickly, without a second of hesitation, his eyes locking onto mine like iron chains.
I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, trying to anchor myself to reality. “You are well aware that I am a married woman—“
“Yes,” he breathed, his thumb slowly tracing the heavy diamond band mocking me on my finger. “And I am also well aware that your husband cheated on you.”
Livia SoleneI am completely, utterly exhausted. The bone-deep fatigue of back-to-back flights settles heavily into my joints, dragging my spirits down into a dark pit. Yes, I was sitting in first class, but no amount of champagne or reclining leather seats can cushion the brutal, agonizing impact of non-stop jet lag. I landed in New York around nine o'clock tonight, spent a miserable hour sprinting through terminals to catch another connection, and now I’ve just touched down in Seattle.It is officially one in the morning.My head throbs in time with my rapid heartbeat, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the suffocating silence ringing from my phone. Dante hasn't called me back. He hasn't sent a single text. Not a word since I told him I was defying his orders to fly out here.He’s mad. I know him. I know his possessive, lethal temper. And knowing that he is brooding somewhere across the country, furious with me, makes my chest ache so violently it feels like a thousand jag
Livia SoleneIgnoring my mother is a dangerous, thrilling game, but right now, I don't care. I completely power down my phone, shutting out her toxicity until my boarding call. Dante begged me to fly back to New York with him on his private jet, and as much as every single fiber of my body screamed to say yes, I couldn't risk it.My grandfather’s personal bookkeeper was the one who processed my first-class ticket out here. If my name fails to register on the airline's manifest at JFK, an alert will instantly ping straight to Nonno's estate, and he will start asking terrifying, lethal questions. So, to keep our secret buried, I force myself onto the commercial flight back to New York, sinking into my spacious velvet seat in first class.The moment the aircraft reaches cruising altitude, I power my phone back on to check my notifications. My mother only tried calling twice. No frantic follow-up texts, no missed call spam. For the absolute first time in my years of life, I don't bother c
Livia SoleneIf Dante hadn't spent every single second of yesterday distracting my body and my mind, I would have completely ruined our entire trip, drowning in a sea of toxic overthinking about Mrs. DeLuca catching us red-handed. I know Dante promised me that he took care of it. I don’t know how he handled her, and honestly, I don’t even care to ask. All that matters is keeping this scandal from ever reaching my mother’s ravenous ears.“Are you still trapped inside your head about it?” Dante murmurs smoothly, his long, tattooed fingers gently twirling a lock of my dark hair as I lie sprawled across his warm, bare chest.We are completely naked beneath the heavy silk duvet, cocooned in the dim, lazy morning light of our hotel room. It’s our second day here in Japan and our absolute last before the cold, suffocating reality of our real lives drags us back to the States. It’s been painfully short, but intoxicatingly sweet.“I can’t help it, Dante,” I sigh softly, tracing the dark ink cu
Dante CortezLivia looks like she’s seen a fucking ghost. The vibrant color drains from her face in a matter of seconds, leaving her skin ghostly pale and her dark eyes wide with unadulterated terror.I fucking hate seeing her look like this, fragile, trembling, and terrified because of some pathetic, gossip-obsessed old woman. I got too comfortable. I was enjoying my rare, peaceful moment with my woman and my sister way too much to notice a threat slipping up on us from behind.I unfold my frame from the booth and step around the table until I am standing right beside Livia. Leaning down, I cupped her trembling jaw with my large hand and press a firm, reassuring kiss against her cool forehead.“I’ll handle it, mi reina,” I rumble low enough for only her to hear. “Stay right here.”“Where are you going?” Ysa’s voice pops up behind me, completely innocent and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing.I turn my head slightly toward my little sister. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Sit wit
Livia Solene“Hi, Livia! I am Ysabella!”The second we step into the dining room of the upscale restaurant, a small, vibrant force of nature practically hurls herself into my arms. Ysabella, Dante’s younger sister, wraps her arms around me so tightly that all the lingering, suffocating nervousness and self-doubt I’ve been harboring since yesterday instantly evaporate into thin air. She is only nineteen years old, so unbelievably young, sweet, and bright-eyed to be living on her own across the globe in Tokyo.She takes a half-step back, keeping both of her small hands wrapped warmly around mine, while Dante stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me, his heavy arm slung casually around my waist, his thumb gently caressing my hip.“It’s so, so nice to meet you, Livia!” she gushes, her dark eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.“It’s really nice to meet you too, Ysabella,” I smile, my breath catching as relief washes over me in a warm wave.“Oh, please, you can just call me Ysa!”“Well, hi to you
Livia SoleneI wake up feeling delightfully weightless, enveloped in the soft, lingering heat of the sheets, but the space beside me is cold and empty. I stretch lazily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to freeze when the room slowly blurs into focus.The entire suite has been completely transformed. Dozens of deep red, floating balloons hover lazily near the soaring ceiling, their silk ribbons trailing down like crimson rain. Towering vases overflowing with fresh, velvety red roses line the perimeter of the bed, filling the air with a rich, intoxicating scent that instantly floods my senses. And spread across the plush velvet lounge chairs and carpet are dozens of heavy, high-end paper bags from Tokyo’s most exclusive luxury boutiques.“What on earth is happening?” I ask softly, my voice raspy from sleep as I sit up, clutching the white duvet securely against my bare chest.My eyes drift toward the massive glass wall overlooking Tokyo. Dante is sitting casually in a sleek leather
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