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My breath catches. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

It was him. My own blood. He sold me off like cattle. He signed me away like a goddamn property transfer.

Rage explodes behind my ribs, sharp and hot. My hands tighten around the edges of the folder as the words blur in front of me.

But then—there’s another name.

Don Corrado Virelli.

Lazaro’s father.

My pulse skids to a halt, like the floor’s been yanked out from under me. He was part of this too. Don Corrado. The man who fathered Lazaro, the man whose son now acts like he owns me, had his hands in this nightmare from the start. My fingers freeze over the ink. It hits like a punch to the gut—vicious and unforgiving. Not just betrayal—this is legacy-level cruelty. It wasn’t just my uncle. It was the Virellis, too. All of them.

The betrayal doesn’t just stings. It burns. It guts. It destroys.

My fingers trail over their ancient signatures, trying to imagine what they were thinking. Did they even hesitate? Did they ever consider what it would do to a fourteen-year-old girl being thrown into the wolves’ den?

I slam the folder shut, my knuckles white.

I should’ve known. It was never just about survival. It was about power. And now I know exactly whose names I’ll carve into my vengeance.

Starting with the ones etched in ink.

And then I storm out of my room, blood still boiling.

I barge into Lazaro’s study without knocking, the document clutched in my hand like a loaded weapon. His head lifts the second I slam it onto his desk.

"Did you know?" I snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that is enough to detonate the fury bubbling in my chest.

"My uncle signed that contract," I hiss. "But your father orchestrated it. You knew. You knew and you didn’t say a damn word. This engagement, this house—this is all just another version of the same damn trap."

He stays still, too calm. "I didn’t know back then. I found out recently, when I got the document myself."

"And you didn’t think I deserved to know? That I had the right to see what kind of deal was signed with my blood?"

"I wasn’t hiding it from you," he says, voice flat. "I just didn’t care. It changes nothing."

That hits hard. I step closer, fury blazing in my chest. "Of course it doesn’t change anything—for you. You’ve always known how to play the game. Me? I was collateral. A signature on a page. You’re still using me, Lazaro. Just like they did."

"No," he snaps, eyes narrowing. "I refuse to use what I protect."

I laugh bitterly, eyes burning. "Oh, spare me the lies. You protect what you own. That’s what I am to you, right? A person to control, to brand, to cage."

He steps around the desk, body taut. "I didn’t ask for this. But don’t confuse this with what they did."

"What am I, Lazaro?" My voice cracks, thick with rage and something deeper I can’t name. I close the space between us, eyes burning. "Say it. Say what I am to you. Because I’m done being yanked around in your little power games."

"You’re my fiancée," he says, low and sharp. "Whether you like it or not. That’s the truth. And you have your brother to thank for it. If I hadn’t come for you, Zano would’ve. You’d be in his bed, in his house, wearing his ring. So, what the hell difference does it make?"

"It makes every difference!" I shout. "This is my life! I should decide who I marry—not you, not my uncle, not your dead father. Me!"

He moves in closer, eyes dark and cutting. "You get to marry me. There. Decision made. Problem solved."

I scoff, stepping back just slightly. "In your dreams."

"Oh, you have no idea the kind of dreams I have about you…" he murmurs, and the heat in his eyes says every filthy thing he doesn’t.