I Sold My Eyes To See Her Lies

“Sera, let me borrow the Aston. I want to take the guys for a spin.”

Heavy bass rattled the penthouse windows.

Gia, wearing a barely-there slip dress, pressed herself against my boyfriend, Rocco. She looked at me with a mix of defiance and fake innocence.

My blood ran cold.

The phantom pain of eighteen bullets screaming through my nerves hit me.

I was reborn.

Back to Halloween Eve.

In my last life, this was the exact moment Gia got her hands on my keys.

The following night, she got high, tore through the streets of Brooklyn, and slaughtered Don Coppola’s Donna and heir.

Then she cried in Rocco’s arms.

And my boyfriend—the man I’d funded for years—handed a fake video to the Don, signing my death warrant.

Seeing me frozen, Rocco reached into my purse without a second thought.

“What are you spacing out for? Gia wants to borrow the car.”

He pulled out the Aston Martin key fob and held it out to her.

Gia reached for it with a triumphant smirk.

I snapped out of it. I snatched the keys from Rocco’s hand. My grip was iron.

“No.” My voice was ice.

Rocco’s hand froze mid-air. His face darkened.

“Seraphina, what the hell is your problem?” He scowled. “It’s just a car. Think your trust fund makes you better than us?”

Gia immediately ducked behind Rocco, squeezing out tears.

“Rocco, it’s okay,” she bit her lip, her voice trembling. “I know Sera hates me. A girl from the streets like me… how could I ever be worthy of touching her million-dollar car.”

Her victim act instantly ignited the street thugs around us.

“Stuck-up bitch. Won't even share!”

“Rocco, your girl is cold-blooded. All she has is dirty money!”

They stood on my imported carpets, drinking the vintage champagne I paid for, and pointed their fingers at me.

Rocco’s pride was wounded. He stalked toward me, his eyes dark.

“Give Gia the keys. Don’t make me lose my temper.”

“I said no.” I looked at the man I once loved. My stomach churned.

“Don’t be a fucking bitch!”

Rocco lunged forward. He shoved me. Hard.

Caught off guard, I stumbled backward. My head slammed against the marble bar.

THUD!

Pain exploded behind my eyes. I sucked in a sharp breath.

The party went silent for a second.

But the suffocating despair from my past life didn't come.

This time, all I felt was absolute rage. A burning need to tear them all to pieces.

I fought through the dizziness, using the bar to pull myself up.

Rocco stared at me. Not a shred of apology in his eyes.

I raised my hand.

CRACK—!

The slap echoed through the penthouse, cutting right through the music.

Rocco’s head snapped to the side. A brutal red mark instantly bloomed on his cheek.

He clutched his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“You hit me?!”

“I’m disciplining an ungrateful stray.” I grabbed a napkin, wiped my hand in disgust, and threw it away.

“Rocco, who do you think you are?” My eyes fell to the Rolex on his wrist. My voice dripped with mockery. “Your pathetic underground fighting ring? I funded it. That Tom Ford suit you’re wearing, the liquor you’re drinking… it’s all on my tab.”

“You use my money to play the big shot, then bring your childhood flame into my home to disrespect me? You’re not just broke. You’re disgusting.”

“We’re done. Now, take your gutter trash and get out of my penthouse.”

Rocco’s face went pale, then flushed purple. I had crushed his ego in front of his crew. He snapped.

“Seraphina! You think I want your money?!” he roared, pointing at me. “I was doing you a favor! Letting you lend us the car so you wouldn’t seem like such a spoiled, arrogant bitch on the streets!”

I actually laughed at his twisted logic.

“My name is Sterling.” I stared him down. “A Sterling doesn’t need validation from bottom-feeders.”

I turned and walked toward the master bedroom.

I was so blind in my past life. I actually believed a nobody like Rocco could offer me love.

Behind me, his useless rage echoed.

“Seraphina! What can you do besides humiliate people with your dirty money?!”

“You’re a heartless monster! You deserve to be alone! To me, your money is an insult!”

An insult?

I stopped. A cold smile touched my lips.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the private concierge for my Amex Centurion Card.

“This is Seraphina Sterling. Terminate the supplementary card ending in 4028. Yes, immediately. No grace period.”

I hung up and instantly dialed my family’s wealth manager.

“Marcus, I need you to print every bill, every sponsorship, and every wire transfer made from my accounts to Rocco and his fight club for the past two years.”

“Since Mr. Rocco finds my money so insulting, please have the legal team step in.”

“I want him to pay back every last cent of that ‘insult.’ With interest.”