I can’t. I shouldn’t. But I do want her.
And if last year was anything to go by, Sophia is not as sheltered as her father thinks.
Taking a deep breath, I walk toward the door, needing to escape the weight, needing to find air that isn’t tainted with cigar smoke and power. Each step feels heavy. My mind races:How do I even face her? How do I … explain?
The hallway outside the office is quieter than I expect. The party outside hums faintly, muffled, irrelevant. I pace, muttering to myself under my breath, hands twitching, fists clenching, every instinct screaming.
Then I see her.
Sophia. Masked, radiant, unaware. She stands near the grand doorway, costume perfect, posture effortless. I stop dead, heart hammering. My mind freezes.
Her gaze lifts, meeting mine. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t think. She smiles small, subtle, unknowing, and it feels like the world tilts.
The next step I take toward her, my chest tightens, my mind screams, every rational thought colliding with instinct. Every fiber of my being wants to protect her, to claim her but also to warn her.
I am supposed to marry her.
And yet, every second of hesitation makes me wonder if I’m already too late.
I stop in front of her. She tilts her head slightly with curious behind her mask. The air between us feels electric. I want to speak. I want to move. I want to escape.
But I don’t.
Because just for a moment, standing there, looking at her, I realize how impossible this is going to be.
Chapter Four
Sophia
The soft echo of shoes on polished floors alerts me before I see him.
Raphael.
Every instinct in my body tightens. He moves with the cold precision I’ve only heard whispered about—the Reaper. And now, he’s walking straight toward me.
His shoulders are rigid, jaw sharp under the dim light, his dark hair falling just enough to shadow the edge of his eyes but not enough to hide that warning expression: don’t cross me. Raphael’s lips are pressed into a straight line, and yet my pulse stutters.
He stops a foot away. I feel his heat even across the small space. Before I can move, he reaches out, taking my hand with a grip that’s firm and unyielding. My heart lurches.
“Raphael—” I start, but he pulls me along as though I’ve been waiting for this without knowing it. My fingers press into his hand and his hold like iron.
We move through the house—walls lined with art and trophies, the faint scent of leather in the air. My mind screams, but my body follows. He doesn’t ask and doesn’t wait for me.
At the end of the corridor, he opens a door and steps aside. The room is dim, a single chandelier casting long shadows overpolished wood floors. Heavy curtains block the night, a faint gleam of party lights sneak through. A leather armchair sits angled toward a grand desk, papers stacked neatly. The faint scent of sandalwood and iron hangs in the air—my brother Antonio’s office.
Raphael steps in behind me, closing the door softly but firmly then locks it. His eyes scan the room before landing on me. Even in the quiet, he radiates control.
“You need to understand,” he says, low, deliberate. “Both families have decided. There’s no room for negotiation.”
I nod, heart hammering. Every nerve screams to run, but my legs won’t obey.
“You think your father would protect you from this,” he continues, “but he won’t. You’ve lived under his watch, your life has been arranged to serve his plans.”
Confused, I shake my head. He notices, steps forward to take my hand in his. Raphael’s touch is gentle, impossibly so. My eyes lift to his, searching for the cold killer I’ve heard about. Instead, I find something more complicated. Far more dangerous.
Without warning, his lips are on mine. I freeze, wanting to pull back, yet the heat, the magnetic pull, the dangerous weight of him… it ignites something I cannot name. My chest presses into his, body responding despite my protests.
Raphael breaks the kiss, eyes dark, unreadable. “Tonight, you will be mine. And as my wife, I will protect you. But you will do as you are told.”
