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After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor
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The air in the Parisian haute couture salon smelled like money and fear. I’d waited six months for my wedding dress. Now, it was draped over the shoulders of Sofia Ross—the trending influencer, and my mafia fiancé Vincent Cassio’s god-sister. The salon manager was sweating bullets, his eyes darting between me and the man lounging on the velvet sofa. Vincent Cassio stood up. He adjusted a fold of the diamond-encrusted train on Sofia with a casual flick of his wrist. “Her premiere next week needs a statement piece. She’s borrowing it. Pick something off the rack and stop making a scene.” His tone was flat, final. Under the crystal chandeliers, Sofia admired herself in the full-length mirror, a triumphant smile on her lips. I looked at my reflection in the same mirror, wearing jeans and a soaked trench coat. I looked like a lost tourist. Suddenly, the entire past year of planning felt like a sick joke. I didn’t yell. I just felt cold. Numb. I slipped the five-carat engagement ring off my finger. It hit the glass coffee table with a sharp, final click. “You’re right, Vincent. I don’t need this wedding dress. This wedding… I don’t need it either.”
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After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor Chapter 8
Obsession and madness fueled Vincent’s last burst of energy.He dragged his broken leg through a blizzard, crawling inch by bloody inch to the underground garage exit of the Falcone building.He waited. Three days and nights. No food. Only sips of filthy melted snow.He didn’t have a plan. He just knew he had to see Elara. One more time. He’d grovel. He’d lick her shoes. Anything.On the fourth evening, as the snow fell heavy, a black armored Bentley, flanked by two blacked-out SUVs, nosed out of the exit.Vincent lunged.He threw himself forward, collapsing on his knees directly in front of the Bentley’s grille.THUD.The sound of his knees hitting the frozen asphalt echoed.Brakes screamed.Vincent knelt in the filthy, ice-churned slush. He began to pound his forehead against the ground.Thump. Thump. Thump.Blood, shockingly red, mixed with the grey snow under his face.“Elara! Please! See me!”“I was wrong! I know I was wrong!”“I don’t beg for forgiveness! Just… a job. A scrap. I’
After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor Chapter 7
The month after the wedding was called off.Vincent’s life became a living nightmare.Federico’s edict of exclusion meant no one in the city’s underworld would touch him. Not the smugglers, not the bookies, not even the low-level street crews. He was poison.He was drowning in debt. Two hundred million in embezzled funds he’d tried to funnel from shaky joint ventures, plus countless penalties and broken contracts. His little empire of film studios and vineyards was just a hollow shell now, seized by creditors.Sofia, who had clung to him and cooed “Vincent, darling,” vanished the moment the news broke. She used his last, desperate trust to drain the final thirty grand from his private offshore account.She fled overseas.Before her plane took off, she sent one text.‘All talk and no fortune, Vincent. You’re less useful than a dead rat. Did you think I’d starve with you? Laughable.’The once-untouchable Vincent.Now he was bearded, ragged, stinking. He spent his days dodging the collect
After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor Chapter 6
The fire in the great stone fireplace of Federico Falcone’s private estate crackled, pushing back the deep chill of the night. I sat wrapped in a thick robe, my hair still damp from the shower that had washed away the grime and the cold of the street. On my wrist, my grandmother’s emerald and diamond bracelet was back where it belonged.The family doctor had just finished bandaging my skinned knees and left quietly.Federico walked over, a steaming mug in his hand. He pushed it into my grasp. Hot chocolate, not milk. He sat beside me on the large leather sofa, pulling me and the cashmere blanket around my shoulders into his solid warmth.“The legal team is ready,” he said, his voice a low rumble near my ear. “So are the account managers.”I took a sip, the sweet warmth grounding me. My mind, clear and cold, clicked into place.“Put them on screen.”Federico gestured. A large monitor mounted on the far wall lit up. It split into multiple feeds. On one side, my family’s chief consigliere
After Calling Off the Engagement, I Became My Ex-Fiancé’s Creditor Chapter 5
Another silence. Then, a low, guttural sound that was pure, unleashed violence. “Ten minutes. Tell me where.”“Back alley. Film festival.” I gave him the cross streets.“Stay alive. I’m coming.”The line went dead.In the distance, from the warm, dry dressing room, I could still hear the faint sound of Vincent’s laughter.Nine minutes.I counted each one, the pain in my knees a steady, grounding throb.Then, the night split open.Not with sirens, but with the roar of high-performance engines that didn’t belong on a red carpet street. Tires screeched, metal barriers groaned in protest.Headlights—dozens of them—pierced the rain, belonging to a convoy of blacked-out, armored SUVs. They formed a perfect, intimidating circle, blocking all access.The lead vehicle, a matte-black Rolls-Royce Cullinan, stopped directly in front of the service entrance. The door opened.Federico Falcone stepped out.He didn’t wear a suit jacket. Just black trousers and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to h
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