His Second-Best Choice

"Clean my gun, Aurelia."

Lucian yanked off his tie. He didn't even look at her.

He just walked out of a shootout. Dark, dried blood soaked the hem of his custom suit. The air smelled like burnt powder and iron.

Aurelia took the heavy jacket. Her fingers touched the sticky fabric.

"Are you hurt? Let me call the doctor."

"Shut up." Lucian shoved her hand away and headed for the bathroom. "The gunfire gave Bianca an asthma attack. I had to sit with her for two hours. Stop bothering me with this bullshit."

The door slammed shut behind him.

Aurelia stood frozen. She looked down and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Three years. Lucian proposed seventy-seven times. The entire West Coast Syndicate thought she was playing games with the Sterling Underboss. Nobody knew the truth. The first three times, she took the ring with tears in her eyes. His face instantly turned to ice. He called her cheap and desperate.

Only when she took the hint and said no, did he smile again.

He was her fiancé. She really thought he was her only shield in this hellhole.

Aurelia forced a tight smile. She walked into the study, punched in the code, and opened the hidden gun compartment.

A new hidden slot sat beneath the Glock.

Inside lay a cheap burner phone.

No passcode.

She tapped the screen. The latest video played instantly.

Dim lighting. It was the penthouse, their supposed future home. Bianca wore a sheer black silk slip, straddling Lucian's lap.

She panted softly into his neck. "She's still waiting for your seventy-eighth proposal... You really gonna marry that boring bitch?"

In the video, Bianca leaned against his neck. Lucian gripped her shoulder and shoved her back, his face cold as stone.

"Aurelia signs the contract next week. She runs the books. She is the only Mrs. Sterling in this family. Know your place."

Bianca pressed on. "What about you? Do you actually love her? If you didn't need the docks clean, would you marry me instead?"

The man said nothing. Silence hung in the dark.

The video cut off.

Her blood ran dead cold.

She bit her bottom lip until she tasted iron. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot. Her knees almost buckled.

Three years. He took two bullets for her during turf wars. Every single time, he held her close and promised to keep her safe.

It wasn't love. It was bait.

He was just waiting to reel her in.

The shower stopped.

Aurelia swiped the screen clean. She slipped the phone back into the slot, wiped off her fingerprints, and locked the safe.

"Gun clean?"

Lucian stepped out with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair.

"Not yet. I washed my hands first." Aurelia turned around. Her face was completely blank.

Lucian gave her his usual dismissive look. "Get some sleep. Don't forget we have the sit-down tomorrow."

"Okay," she whispered, shutting the study door behind him.

The second she cleared the gates, Aurelia kicked off her designer heels, pulled on flat boots, and climbed into an unmarked pickup out back.

No tears. She didn't even look back at her room.

Three years of hidden backdoors. She liquidated every anonymous Swiss bearer bond in minutes. Cleaned out, untraceable.

Two in the afternoon. A foggy harbor on the edge of San Francisco.

Inside a dim, diesel-soaked boathouse, a black-market broker slid a confidential deed across the table.

International waters. No state flag. Sheer sea cliffs with an independent defense radar.

"Here's your rock. Ten million cash, not a penny less." The broker stared greedily at the cashier's check. "Owner's real picky, though. Title transfer takes seven full days. Plus, the Sterling wedding is in a week. You running now..."

Cold steel jammed against the bridge of his nose.

Aurelia racked the slide with one hand, her ballcap pulled low.

She slammed the cashier's check onto his palm. Her voice dropped low, sharp as a razor on bone:

"Wipe every single flight path within seven days. Hand over all defense codes. One word leaks out, the next bullet goes through your teeth."

The broker swallowed hard and pushed the wax-sealed deed over.

Aurelia tucked the gun away, shoved the heavy parchment into her trench coat, and stepped into the cold fog.

The salty harbor wind whipped her face like a blade.

She checked her watch.

Six-twenty PM.

Forty minutes until the monthly closed-door audit.

She had to get back.

Seven days. One wrong move, and the lookouts would drop a dime on her. Lucian's cleaners would finish the job. She had to wear that sweet, obedient mask for just a little longer. She had to stay invisible.

Aurelia killed the engine in a dark alley behind the underground casino.

She checked her hair in the mirror, slipped her piece into the glove box, and took three deep breaths to swallow down the nausea.

Down the hall, the heavy steel door sat cracked open. Clinking glasses and loud laughter spilled out.

Aurelia kept her chin down and pushed the heavy door open.