Chapter 2: The Devil in a Dior Suit

**Dominic**

She did not turn around right away.

That gave me time to study her properly.

Her posture was rigid, shoulders pulled tight like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. Not weak. Not fragile. Controlled in the way people were when they were one wrong word away from falling apart completely.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," she said. Her voice was sharp but thin underneath.

"I didn't give you one," I replied. "I made an observation."

That got her to turn.

Her eyes told me everything. Shock still sat there, heavy and raw. Not processed yet. Not even close. Betrayal that fresh had a very specific look, like the ground had disappeared beneath someone and they had not yet figured out they were falling.

She reached for her glass. Her hand trembled slightly.

"Another," she told the bartender.

"No more."

She froze. Then she turned toward me slowly, and the anger came fast, like she grabbed it before anything softer could surface.

"You don't get to decide that," she said.

"You've had enough."

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That's funny. A stranger walks in and suddenly he's in charge of my life?"

"You're not in control of it right now," I said. "You're reacting."

Her jaw tightened. "I'm reacting to something that is none of your business."

"Then stop talking to me."

She opened her mouth. Stopped. Looked away instead. But she did not leave.

That told me everything I needed to know.

I pulled out the stool beside her and sat down without asking. She shifted slightly, putting space between us, but she did not turn her back. Not fully.

"Tell me what happened," I said.

"I don't talk to strangers."

"You already started."

"I didn't start anything."

"You walked into something," I said. "And now you're trying to drink your way out of it."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bar. She stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, like she was trying to keep something contained just below the surface.

"You don't know anything about me," she said.

"No," I agreed. "But I know betrayal when I see it."

That hit its mark.

Her breath caught just slightly. Her eyes stayed forward, but she did not deny it. She did not argue. She absorbed it, which told me she was not the type to hide from the truth once it was placed in front of her.

"I walked in on them," she said finally.

Direct. No drama. Just the fact.

"Who?" I asked.

She let out a hollow laugh. "My fiancé."

A pause. Then, quieter, "And my best friend."

That explained the level of damage. Not just romantic betrayal. Personal. Deep. The kind that rewired how someone trusted everyone after it.

"That explains the drinking," I said.

She turned to me with a dry, humorless smile. "You're really good at stating the obvious."

"It helps people hear themselves clearly."

She studied me for a moment, trying to figure out what I wanted from this. Most men would have made it obvious by now. Sympathy. Interest. An opening.

I gave her none of that.

She hesitated. Then she said quietly, "In the suite I booked for tonight. For us."

She looked down at her glass. "I was going to give him my virginity."

The entire situation snapped into focus.

Careful girl. A moment she had planned and protected. Emotional investment built over years. Then complete humiliation at the exact point of her vulnerability.

I did not soften my expression. Did not give her pity.

"You can say it," she muttered.

"Say what?"

"That I'm stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid," I said. "I think you trusted someone who didn't deserve it."

Her eyes snapped to mine. That response caught her off guard.

"That doesn't make you stupid," I continued. "It makes you misinformed."

She stared at me for a long moment like she did not know what to do with that.

"Same difference," she said quietly.

"No," I said. "It's not."

She looked away again. Her fingers tapped lightly against the bar. Restless. Processing.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To understand you."

"Why?"

"Because you're standing at a turning point."

She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. "That sounds dramatic."

"It is," I said. "Because this is the moment where you decide what happens next."

Her expression shifted. Less defensive. More present.

"And what are my options?" she asked.

"You can stay exactly where you are," I said. "Or you can change everything."

"That's vague."

"It's simple."

She exhaled slowly. "Let's say I want to change everything. What does that even mean?"

"It means you stop reacting," I said. "And start deciding."

"And how do I do that?"

"By choosing something different right now."

She frowned slightly. "Like what?"

"Like refusing to let them define what tonight becomes."

Her gaze held mine, searching for something solid in what I was saying.

"I just got cheated on," she said. "With my best friend. I don't think I'm in the right mindset to make life-changing choices."

"You are," I said. "Because right now you have nothing left to protect."

That landed.

She went still, the truth of it settling whether she wanted it to or not.

"What are you offering?" she asked after a moment.

There it was.

"A contract," I said.

She blinked. "A what?"

"A contract. You marry me."

Silence followed.

Then she laughed. Loud and sharp and slightly unsteady. "You're insane."

"Possibly."

"I don't even know your name."

"Dominic Marcello."

Recognition moved across her face. She knew exactly who I was.

"And you want me to marry you," she said slowly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you want revenge," I said. "And I can give it to you."

Her expression tightened. "I don't..."

"You do," I said. "You just haven't admitted it yet."

Her fingers curled slightly against the bar. She did not argue.

"Imagine walking back into their world," I said, lowering my voice. "But this time you're not the one being humiliated."

She did not respond. But her attention locked onto me completely.

"Imagine him seeing you with someone he cannot compete with," I continued. "Someone he cannot touch. Someone who makes everything he had look like nothing."

Her breathing slowed.

"And imagine her realizing she didn't take anything from you," I finished. "Because you walked away and gained something far more valuable."

The silence between us stretched, and I let it.

"What's the catch?" she asked.

"You follow my terms. Publicly, you are my wife. Privately, we maintain the agreement."

"And when it's over?"

"You walk away."

"And what do you get out of it?"

I held her gaze. "That depends on whether you say yes."

That unsettled her. I could see it in the way she looked away first, her composure slipping just slightly.

"How long do I have to decide?" she asked.

"Tonight."

Her brows pulled together. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"This is insane," she said again, but the laughter was gone this time.

"Yes," I agreed.

"I just met you."

"And yet you're still here."

She went quiet again, thinking, weighing, caught between instinct and the particular recklessness of someone who had just lost everything she was being careful for.

"What happens if I say no?" she asked.

"You leave," I said. "And nothing changes."

"And if I say yes?"

"Everything changes."

She stared at me for a long moment, searching for the crack in what I was offering. The place where the real motive would show.

I gave her nothing to find.

I picked up my phone and made a call. Two sentences. I set it back down.

"Someone is coming," I said. "He will bring paperwork."

She looked at me. "You just called someone right now?"

"Yes."

"To bring a marriage contract."

"To bring a legal framework," I said. "You can have your own lawyer review it tomorrow if you want. Tonight, it just needs to exist."

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "You really thought I'd say yes."

"I thought you might," I said. "There's a difference."

Twenty minutes later, Raffael walked in. He placed a folded document on the bar between us. Plain paper. Typed. Not what I would have prepared given time, but real enough.

He set a small black ring box beside it without a word and stepped back.

She looked at the papers. Then at the box. Then at me.

"This is really happening," she said quietly. It was not a question.

"Only if you want it to."

Her hand moved to the papers. She pulled them closer, read the first page, then the second. Her eyes moved carefully, deliberately. She was more sober than she had seemed twenty minutes ago.

She looked up. "What happens to Garrett in all of this?"

"He loses," I said simply.

Something moved across her face. Not a smile exactly. Something harder and more honest than a smile.

She picked up the pen Raffael had left beside the papers.

Her hand was steady when she signed.

I looked at her signature. Then at her face.

"You should know something," I said quietly.

She met my eyes.

"I don't give things back once they're mine."

She held my gaze for a long moment. She did not look away first.

"Neither do I," she said.