4

SIERRA

Fall in love? With him? I wanna throw up!

This won't do. I need to create a plan to escape this hell before falling into his delusions! I have to save myself before my life turns upside down and is ruined by that goddamn mafia.

I waited until the mansion was quiet. Not silent because this place never slept, but quiet enough that the guards were probably playing poker and the butlers were pretending not to hear things they shouldn’t.

I slipped out of my ridiculous wing, wearing black leggings I had stolen from the closet and a hoodie that smelled suspiciously like my monster husband. I hated that it was warm.

My plan was simple. Sneak out through the wine cellar, crawl through the dumbwaiter shaft, and drop into the garage, where I hotwire one of his vintage cars and drive off into the night like a caffeinated Bond girl.

I was ready, except… I forgot one minor detail. The wine cellar was locked with a biometric scanner. 

I stared at the glowing panel like it had personally betrayed me. “Of course,” I muttered. “Because nothing says ‘romantic prison’ like retina scans and reinforced steel.”

I tried the handle anyway, but it didn’t budge. I kicked it, and it still didn’t budge. I considered crying, but that felt too cliché.

“Need help?”

I gasped, startled at the voice behind me. I spun around so fast I nearly tripped over my own dignity. But I cursed silently, seeing Mr. Mafia Husband leaning against the wall like he had been waiting for me to fail.

“Are you watching my every move like a stalker?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I live here. You’re the one creeping around like a raccoon in designer leggings.”

“I was… exploring,” I said with my chin high.

“In the dark with a stolen hoodie and a lockpick kit.”

“Do you always spy on your people?!”

“Only when she’s plotting her escape before breakfast,” he smirked.

My jaw clenched seeing that annoying smile. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little. You’re actually very creative. The dumbwaiter shaft? That’s bold, sweetheart.”

“I would’ve made it if your house wasn’t built like Fort Knox.”

“Next time, try bribing the butler. He hates his job,” he said and walked past me.

“You’re not going to punish me?”

He stops and looks at me with his gleaming eyes. “Oh, I will. But not tonight. I’m just going to let you stew in your failure and think about Plan B.”

He walked away, leaving me in the hallway with nothing but my bruised pride and a very locked wine cellar. I glared at his broad back and I hated that he looked hot as he walked down the hallway. 

God!

After my breakfast, I vowed to leave this place today. I open the door of my room and lie down on the couch, coughing dramatically into silk napkins. I was clutching my stomach like it was staging a rebellion and sighing with the tragic flair of a Victorian widow. 

Just then, he walked past my room. I coughed so hard and loud for him to hear. Gladly, his footsteps stopped and came back. So I know he's at the door.

“I think I’m dying,” I whispered, sprawled across the couch like a fainting duchess.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Yesterday was a warning. Today is the finale.”

He sighs and finally walks towards me, placing a hand on my forehead, causing me to flinch at how warm his hand is.

“You’re not even warm.”

“I’m cold inside,” I immediately said with my eyes fluttering. “My soul is shivering.”

“Did you swallow a poetry book?” he chuckled. “Are you trying to escape again?”

I scoffed. “How dare you accuse a dying woman–”

He held up a small bottle to my face. “You left this in the trash can. Laxatives? You were going to fake food poisoning.”

My jaw fell. I attempted to snatch the bottle, but he moved it away with a sly smile. 

“You’re terrible at this.” 

I can't believe he could see through my plan. He's really sharp and smart. Fine! Plan B failed. 

He suddenly leaned down and whispered, “You’ll need something better than melodrama and digestive sabotage.”

“You’re insufferable.” I gritted my teeth. 

“And you’re persistent. I admire that.”

My hands clenched, seeing the amusement in his eyes. I leaned into him without even flinching.

“You haven’t seen Plan C.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh, absolutely.” 

Of course, I won't give up.

I spent the whole afternoon whispering to the staff, leaving cryptic notes in his study, with a few well-timed sighs and distant stares. I even staged a phone call with a mysterious “contact” named Viktor, who didn’t exist but sounded dangerous.

My goal? Make him think I was working with his enemies, I betrayed him, and I was no longer his captive but his rival. I know it sounds dramatic, but I have to.

Then I left a note on his desk. ‘You should’ve let me go. Now you’ll lose more than your pride.’

I waited for his confrontation, but instead, he walked into my room holding the note and a cup of tea.

“You spelled ‘lose’ wrong,” he said.

My eyes widened. “W-What?”

He handed me the note. “You wrote double ‘o’.”

I snatched the note, feeling horrified. “No, I didn’t–”

“You did. Also, Viktor? Really? That’s the name you picked? You were spectacularly failing.”

My jaw clenched as I crumpled the paper. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I hate your grammar corrections!”

He smirked as he sipped his tea. “You’ll try again.”

“You bet your smug little face I will!”

Of course! There are a lot of letters in the alphabet. So, I will really finish all of it until I succeed.

I'm more than desperate now!

When night came, I was in my room, scribbling fake legal documents. But suddenly, a sound shattered the silence.

I covered my ears and froze. My pulse is pounding in my throat upon realizing that's gunfire. It’s raining bullets outside–

I flinched when the door slammed open and Alessandro stumbled in, but this time, he wasn’t smirking. Blood soaked his shirt, his hand pressed against his side, his face was pale, and his lips were tight with pain.