Chapter 1 One Blade Hanging

I woke up sticky with a feeling I knew too well, his arm locked around my waist, his weight pressed against my back.

His breath warmed the back of my neck, slow and lazy, like the world could burn outside this penthouse window and Darius Morrano would still sleep like a stone.

I opened my eyes to a ceiling that was too white, too expensive, with a crystal chandelier dangling like a museum piece. Everything in this room screamed money—silk sheets on a super-king bed, a fur rug worth more than my entire life.

A low groan slipped out before I could stop it. The reality always hit in the first second I was awake: me, Aubrey Valez, an orphan with a screw‑up brother drowning in debt, lying in the bed of the heir to the most powerful business empire in the country.

Irony had a sick sense of humor.

My mouth twisted into a smile I didn’t feel. I should’ve been in Sociology this morning, faking interest in a debate about economic inequality. Instead, I was napping right in the middle of it.

Darius muttered, his voice a deep vibration against my back. “Noisy.”

His arm tightened a little, like my body was just another thing he could claim. Which of course he could.

I glanced at the massive window and the skyline beyond. From up here, the skyscrapers, cars, even the people looked small. Exactly the way he saw the world, everything tiny, while he loomed large.

I drew a long breath, fighting the truth I never wanted to name. I was tied to a man who was perfect in the most infuriating ways.

Darius wasn’t just handsome. He was lethal charm wrapped in a hard jaw, a smile that hid too much, and eyes that could strip a person bare without a touch. And his body? Let’s just say God had a favorite the day He made him.

“Why are you staring at the ceiling like you’re planning a war?” His voice came low now, awake, a mix of mockery and laziness.

I snorted. “I’m counting how long I have before you ruin my life.”

A rare laugh rumbled out of him, the kind that always sent a shiver up my spine. His hand slid up, fingers tracing the line of my stomach like he owned every inch. “Too late, piccola. Your life’s been mine since the day you slammed into me outside campus.”

I shut my eyes, dragged back to that moment. The hot coffee spilling down his shirt. The stranger turning with a cold stare and a smile that felt like signing away my soul.

Now, years later, I still didn’t know if I’d sold it or he’d just stolen it. All I knew was I was stuck.

I rolled over, slow, until my face hovered inches from his. His black hair was a mess, but somehow it only made him look better. His blue eyes had gone dark, deep enough to drown in.

“I hate you,” I whispered, half hoping the words would hit.

The corner of his mouth curved. His gaze dipped to my lips, then back to my eyes. “I know. That’s why you keep coming back.”

I wanted to laugh at his arrogance. I wanted to push his arm off me. I wanted to remind myself our worlds weren’t the same, heir to the Morrano empire versus a girl who survived on scraps of mercy and her brother’s mistakes.

But I stayed still. Because the truth was it felt too good in this dangerous embrace.

I took a deep breath, stared at that perfect face, and knew one thing for sure: every morning I woke up with Darius Morrano’s arm around me, I fell a little deeper.

And I hated it.

///

I opened the apartment door with my elbow, arms full of shopping bags stuffed with things I should’ve needed but really bought to avoid life. The air hit me first.

Too-sweet lavender and something else. Something off.

My heels clicked on the scuffed marble of our tiny apartment, the place clearly too small for two adult women who looked like they wanted to murder each other.

The couch snagged my eyes.

And there she was.

Steccy. Sitting like a zombie, face pale, hands shaking, eyeliner smudged like she’d just wrestled a storm.

“Please tell me you didn’t kill someone.” My voice was flat. I dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter and crossed my arms, looking at her like I’d just found a giant roach in my bed.

Her head lifted. Her eyes were red and… panicked. A kind of panic I almost never saw on my sister’s face. Usually her expression split cleanly into two options: annoying or more annoying. This was something real.

“What happened?” I raised an eyebrow, already rehearsing how to rewrite my entire day to avoid her.

Steccy bit her lip and shook her head fast.

“This is a mess. A huge mess.” Her voice rasped. Her whole body trembled. Then she started to cry.

Not the dramatic, fake sobs she pulled when some shiny shoe slipped out of a sale. Not the plate-throwing tantrum for a guy who ghosted. This was real crying.

Something in me tightened. My chest went hard. “Stec…”

No answer. She buried her face in her hands and hiccupped.

Shit.

I walked over slow. Empathy wasn’t exactly a family skill. But seeing her like that, wrecked and wet and broken, made my blood run cold.

“What did you do?” I snapped louder. “You didn’t sleep with the wrong guy again, right? Please tell me this isn’t about another Russian mob or—”

She lifted her head and looked at me. “I… I’m in debt.”

I snorted. “Oh, great. New concept. You, in debt? Never seen that before.”

“Aubrey.” Her voice broke. “This isn’t—this isn’t a stupid jewelry store or a car rental. These people are serious.”

I leaned in, slow, narrowing my eyes. “How much?”

She froze.

“Steccy.”

“Eight hundred thousand.”

Silence slammed down. Time stopped. Even the neighbor’s TV, which always leaked noise into our place, seemed to vanish.

“Eight hundred thousand?” I said, my voice coming out like it’d been iced. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

She shook her head. Fresh tears slid down. “I… I thought I could double it—”

“If you say crypto or underground race betting, I will throw your face into the sink right now.”

She didn’t say anything. Which meant—yeah, exactly that.

I turned to the sink and turned the tap. Needed something to drink. Maybe vodka. Maybe poison.

“Aubrey, I’m scared,” she said softly from behind me.

I watched my reflection on the fridge door. My jaw clenched. This panic wasn’t for show. These tears weren’t for attention. And if Steccy was scared, whatever came for us now was serious. Not something we could dodge with lying or running or charm.

“Who’s after you?”

She met my eyes. Her lip trembled. “Solenzara.”

Oh, fuck.

I leaned my back against the counter. My heart pounded too fast. That name wasn’t just a threat. It was a blade ready to drop.