I didn’t sleep last night.

The terrace. His voice. The way he looked at me like I was an inconvenience in his perfect little world. It looped in my head until the sun replaced the dark, and even then, the bitterness didn’t fade.

Dominic Devereaux.

There was nothing warm about him. Every word he spoke felt like a negotiation he’d already won. Every stare felt like a challenge, like he was daring me to break.

And I wanted to break something. Preferably his face.

I glanced at the clock.

10:03 a.m.

I never sleep in. I’m always the first one awake, the first one at the office, the one who never forgets a deadline or a meeting. But now, days away from losing everything I built, I found myself staring at the ceiling, waiting for the weight to crush me.

Sunlight poured into the penthouse like it belonged here—clean, warm, expensive. It cast golden streaks across marble floors and modern furniture, bathing the space in something almost peaceful.

But there was nothing peaceful about today.

I sat at my vanity, adjusting the sleeve of my ivory silk blouse. My skin was cool, but I could still feel the heat from yesterday under it. Rage was a quiet thing, the kind that settled deep and waited for the right moment.

My reflection stared back at me—calm, composed, painted in war paint.

This was the first morning I didn’t have anything real to do. The office had already started slipping from my hands. Meetings were canceled. Projects reassigned. And in a few days, I’d officially become what my father always wanted: silent. Decorative.

Replaceable.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed across the glass. I reached for it without thinking, expecting another stiff message from my father’s assistant or another nauseating calendar invite labeled "engagement prep."

But instead, I saw something unfamiliar.

Unknown Number:
We need to talk. Breakfast at The Gilded Lily. 11 AM. Don’t be late.

No name. No emoji. Just a location. A time. And an order.

My brows lifted.

The Gilded Lily wasn’t just a restaurant—it was the kind of place where deals were signed on cocktail napkins and families were ruined over crème brûlée. A place where no one asked questions because everyone had something to hide.

Whoever sent the message had access.

Had power.

And they clearly didn’t care about courtesy.

I should’ve ignored it. I should’ve deleted it and gone back to pretending I had control over my life.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I stood, reached for my heels, and told myself that curiosity was better than silence.

If this was just another move in the twisted game building around my life, then fine. I’d show up. But I wouldn’t sit quietly.

♡

The Gilded Lily was quiet, curated elegance. Gold light shimmered across crystal chandeliers, casting warm shadows over the hushed, exclusive dining room. Soft classical music played in the background—just loud enough to drown out conversation, but quiet enough to hear yourself think.

A woman in a sleek black uniform greeted me the moment I stepped inside.

“Ms. Moretti, right this way.”

Of course, she already knew who I was.

She led me through the velvet-wrapped chairs and marble floors toward a private booth, half-concealed behind golden curtains. Tucked inside sat a woman who looked like she belonged in control of everything she touched.

Her posture was flawless. Her dark hair pulled into a tight, perfect bun. A navy suit hugged her frame like it had been sewn onto her skin. And every time she moved, the slim gold watch on her wrist caught the light like a silent flex.

“Isabella,” she said smoothly. “Evelyn Clarke. I work closely with Dominic.”

She put a little too much effort into that word. Closely.

Noted.

I shook her hand—firm, calm, controlled. No warmth, no flinch. Just business.

“Dominic couldn’t make it? Busy as always, I suppose,” I said as I slid into the booth, holding her gaze.

The corner of her lips twitched. A smile, maybe, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“He trusts me to manage certain conversations,” she replied, folding her hands neatly over a leather-bound notebook.

A waiter appeared silently, placing two drinks between us. Hers was a sharp, bitter espresso. Mine, a pale cup of jasmine tea. Its soft floral scent mixed with Evelyn’s perfume—crisp and clean, with an undertone I couldn’t quite place.

Something steelier.

“This is an official meeting, I assume?” I asked, lifting the cup to my lips. “The message you sent didn’t mention a subject. Or is this something… more personal?”

Evelyn blinked once, slowly. “Of course not, Isabella. As I said, I attend certain meetings on Dominic’s behalf. Rest assured, this is professional.”

Her voice was even, but her eyes didn’t move from mine.

“Good,” I said, setting the cup down. “Then let’s keep it professional. And kindly, from this point forward, address me as Miss Moretti.”

She stilled.

Just for a second.

But I caught it.

Her polite smile didn’t waver, but something in her expression shifted—tightened.

“Of course, Miss Moretti,” she replied smoothly. “That was... careless of me.”

I took another sip of my tea, watching her over the rim of the cup. She didn’t like being corrected.

Funny.

Evelyn straightened slightly, business mode reactivated. “Now, as you move forward with Dominic, there are a few expectations to be aware of.”

I didn’t react, only tilted my head a little. “Expectations?”

She nodded, voice cool and precise.

“The Devereaux family places great value on their image. Everyone associated with them—especially in a public-facing role—is expected to conduct themselves with grace and intention.”

No raised voice. No threats. But her meaning was sharp enough to slice through silk.

I set my cup down with a quiet clink.

“That won’t be a problem.”

Evelyn’s brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing.

I continued, voice steady. “I’ve never been interested in blending in quietly. But if the Devereauxs want poise, strategy, and elegance—they’ll get it. I just hope the courtesy is mutual.”

A flicker passed behind her eyes. Not surprise. Not offense. Something else. Quiet. Careful. Unsettled.

“You have strong instincts,” she said slowly. Her tone had changed—measured now. Watchful. “That’s good. Just remember, in this world, even the smallest misstep... can echo loudly.”

“Won’t happen,” I said, not unkindly. Just final. “I don’t stumble, Ms. Clarke. I calculate.”

There was a pause. Then a soft exhale through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Almost a sound of... irritation?

She smoothed her sleeve and nodded.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, her voice smooth again, but her fingers tapped once—lightly—against her notebook.

This wasn’t a welcome meeting.

It was a test. A warning.

And from the way she spoke, the way her tone flickered anytime Dominic’s name came up... I couldn’t help but wonder.

Evelyn Clarke didn’t want this marriage to happen.

Not because it was risky.

But maybe... because it was me.

♡

Evelyn slid her fingers across the table, retrieving a crisp ivory envelope from the edge of her leather notebook. She held it out like it was something delicate, but I could feel the weight behind it before I even touched it.

“For you,” she said. “It’s the official invitation. Two nights from now. The pre-engagement gathering. Just family and a few high-value guests. Consider it... a soft launch before the headlines roll out.”

I took the envelope. Heavy, expensive. My name was written in gold across the front in sharp, curling letters.

“Of course,” I murmured. “Wouldn’t want the world to think this engagement was anything less than perfect.”

“Indeed,” Evelyn said, her smile brittle around the edges. “I trust you’ll present yourself accordingly.”

“I always do.”

For a second, her gaze lingered on me. Not disapproving. Not exactly impressed either. More like... she still hadn’t decided what I was. A problem to be eliminated or an opponent to be tolerated.

But she didn’t say another word.

Just gathered her notebook, slid her espresso cup away, and stood with practiced grace.

“I’ll see you in two days, Miss Moretti.”

I inclined my head. “I’m counting the hours,, Ms. Clarke.”

And just like that, she turned and disappeared behind the gold-draped curtain, her heels echoing quietly across the marble floor.

♡

Outside, the city felt louder than it had when I arrived. Harsher. More alive.

I stood on the sidewalk, envelope in hand, heels clicking softly as I walked without direction.

In forty-eight hours, I’d walk into a room filled with whispers, staged smiles, and high-stakes performance. Everyone would be watching. Judging. Measuring.

And Dominic?

He’d be standing next to me.

Polished. Distant. Unwilling.

It would be the first time Dominic and I were seen together as a couple. Official. Branded. On display.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I already knew what role I was expected to play.

And like it or not, the curtain had already risen.

END OF CHAPTER 3