Chapter 2

"Neriah Vale, the bureau chief, approved your reinstatement. When do you plan to come back?"

"In seven days."

Because that wedding… it was never meant for me and Dante. So I chose to walk away. He won’t mourn me. I know that much.

The call ended just as Dante stepped through the door.

"Who were you on the phone with? What’s happening in seven days?"

"A coworker asking about our wedding date," I lied easily. "I told them seven days."

His eyes flickered with something—panic? He closed the distance between us fast and pulled me into his arms like he could hug the truth out of me.

“Don’t overthink things,” he murmured. “Stella and I… we’ve known each other since we were kids. She’s like a sister to me. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

That one word seemed to calm him. His lips curled into a smile as he buried his face in my neck. A familiar comfort, now tainted.

He pulled out his phone, tapped something, and showed me.

"Neriah, I’ll always love you. So don’t leave me… or I’ll lose my mind."

And right then, like the universe had a cruel sense of timing, a message popped up on his screen.

It was from Stella.

A photo of a marriage certificate. Blatant. Bold.

Dante scrambled to hide it, locking his phone with a swipe, thinking I hadn’t seen.

He scurried off to the kitchen, guilt in every move, and cooked all my favorite dishes.

Three years ago, when I woke from a coma to find I’d lost my hearing, I spiraled into a void of despair. But Dante stayed. He weathered every storm I threw his way. He took care of me like I was glass.

And tonight, he spooned soup into my bowl with a soft smile. “Baby, you’re still so thin. You need to gain some weight, or they’ll say I’m starving you before the wedding.”

What wedding?

I said nothing. Just lowered my head and ate.

The next day, I handed in my resignation at the company and returned home to pack.

Before I could finish, the front door slammed open with a violent crack.

Dante stormed in like a man possessed. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside, practically shoving me into his car.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

He was pale. Shaken. And driving like a madman. The streets blurred as we sped through red lights, traffic parting like the sea for his black luxury car.

We screeched to a stop in front of the hospital.

He hauled me through the sliding glass doors straight to the blood bank.

“She’s Rh-negative,” he barked at the nurse. “Draw her blood.”

Then he turned to me, eyes pleading, voice sharp. “Neriah, Stella was attacked by some bastard’s illegitimate child. She’s in critical condition—losing too much blood.”

I said nothing. Just stared at him. His panic twisted into frustration.

“I cared for you for three years! Took everything you threw at me without complaint! Don’t I at least deserve a bit of blood in return?”

I gave a tired, bitter smile and rolled up my sleeve.

The nurse moved fast. Blood filled the bag while I fought to stay upright.

When it was over, I leaned against the chair, lightheaded, my vision swimming.

The nurses whispered like I wasn’t even there.

"Money talks. Film Queen Anderson called the hospital director herself to stage this little drama—just to test President Crowhurst."

"Well, now we know. He loves the Film Queen. Not the other woman."

My heart was clenched. I couldn’t breathe. He forgot—I have severe anemia.

As I left the hospital, I caught a glimpse of him again. Dante, walking beside the gurney, shadowing Stella like a loyal husband.

He didn’t come home for days.

Instead, he texted me updates from some supposed business trip. Told me to eat well. Rest. Had his assistant drop off vitamins and iron supplements.

On my birthday, I got a single message from him.

[Urgent. Come to Dynamite Clubhouse.]

I hesitated… then called a cab anyway. Some of me still cared, even if I didn’t want to.

The private room at the clubhouse was thick with cigar smoke and luxury. The scent of old money and secrets.

“President Crowhurst really struck gold,” a voice laughed. “The Crowhurst family may be broke, but with Film Queen Anderson backing him, he’s the CEO of the Anderson Group now. Just three years, and he climbed to the top.”

I froze outside the door, hand on the handle.

A crash rang out. Shattering glass. A loud thud.

When I peeked in, the man who had just spoken was clutching his head, red staining his temple—wine or blood, I couldn’t tell.

Dante stood over him, fury pulsing him off in waves.

“Next time you open your mouth without thinking,” he growled, “it won’t end this easily.”

I didn’t recognize him. Not this man. This wasn’t the gentle Dante I once knew. That version had been a lie—smoke and mirrors.

I turned to leave.

But Stella’s bodyguards spotted me. One of them grabbed me roughly, shoving me into the room before I could protest.

Dante’s eyes widened in horror.

He jumped to his feet, hands flying in panicked sign language.

“Why are you here?”

I pulled out my phone and typed slowly.

"You told me to come."