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Bianca's POV:

~~~

The text message on my phone is just a room number and a time. Penthouse 4, 11:00 PM. Come alone if you want to see where your fiancé really spends his nights.

I hold the steering wheel of my car until my knuckles turn white.

My chest feels tight, like a band of iron is wrapping around my ribs. Julian. My sweet, attentive Julian. We are getting married in three weeks.

The invitations are sent. My dress is hanging in my closet.

This has to be a sick joke.

A prank from someone who hates the Rossi name.

I pull up to the valet of the Grand Imperial Hotel. The air tonight is heavy, thick with the smell of coming rain. I hand my keys to the valet boy, my hands shaking so badly the key ring clatters against his palm.

"Good evening, Ms. Rossi," the front desk clerk says as I walk into the lobby. The marble floors echo loudly under my heels. The clerk smiles, but it looks forced. "Are you checking in?"

"No," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat, trying to sound like the powerful heiress I am supposed to be. "I need access to Penthouse 4."

The clerk hesitates, looking down at his screen.

"I’m sorry, Ms. Rossi, that room is registered under a private account. I can't give out access without the guest's approval."

I lean against the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"My fiancé is up there. Just let me up. Please."

Something in my face makes him relent. He swipes a gold keycard and hands it to me.

"Elevator on the left, ma'am."

The ride up to the penthouse is agonizingly slow.

I look at my reflection in the polished metal doors. I look pale. My hair is neat, and my makeup is perfect, but my eyes look terrified.

I am Bianca Rossi. My father rules this city. Nothing happens without our permission. I am safe. I keep telling myself that, over and over, until the elevator dings.

The hallway is lined with thick, plush carpet that swallows the sound of my footsteps.

I walk up to the door of Penthouse 4. It is cracked open just a tiny fraction. A sliver of warm light spills out onto the dark wood.

Then, I hear it.

A laugh.

It’s a woman’s laugh.

High, breathless, and deeply familiar. It belongs to Elena. My best friend. My maid of honor.

My breath catches in my throat. I push the door open, the heavy wood swinging wide.

The penthouse is beautiful, filled with expensive art, but my eyes go straight to the massive bed in the center of the room.

Julian is there.

His shirt is off, his dark hair messy. And Elena is wrapped around him, her hands in his hair. They are kissing so deeply they don’t even notice the door opening.

"Julian?" The word leaves my mouth as a gasped whisper.

They both freeze. Julian pulls away from Elena slowly. There is no panic in his eyes. No guilt.

He just looks at me, a cold, slow smile spreading across his face.

Elena doesn't look ashamed either. She pulls the silk sheet up to her chest and giggles.

"Oh, look, Julian. The princess is finally here."

"What is this?" My voice trembles, tears finally burning my eyes. "Julian, what are you doing? Elena, you're my best friend..."

"Best friend?" Elena scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Bianca, I’ve hated you since the day we met. You only kept me around to feel superior. The rich, perfect Rossi heiress and her charity-case friend."

I step back, my head spinning. The world feels like it's tilting on its axis. "Julian, please tell me this isn't real. We're getting married."

Julian gets out of bed. He walks toward me, completely unbothered by his lack of clothes. He looks down at me, his eyes dead and dark. "We were never getting married, Bianca. I wouldn't bind myself to a Rossi if you were the last woman on earth."

"Why?" I whisper, the tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "I loved you. My father gave you a job. We gave you everything!"

"Your father," Julian snaps, his face suddenly twisting into a mask of pure rage, "murdered my family."

I blink, confused.

"What? No. My father is a businessman—"

"Your father is a butcher!" Julian roars, grabbing my upper arms in a grip so tight it will leave bruises tomorrow.

"Ten years ago, he wanted my father's shipping company. When my father refused to sell, your dad had his warehouse burned down. My mother and my little sister were inside. My dad hanged himself a week later. Your father ruined us. He killed them."

"No... no, that's a lie," I sob, trying to pull away, but his fingers dig deeper into my flesh.

"I changed my name. I spent five years working my way into your father’s circle. I endured months of pretending to love a spoiled, clueless little girl just to get close enough to strike," Julian whispers, his breath hot against my face. "And tonight, the trap closes."

Before I can scream, the bathroom door opens. Two large men in dark suits step out. One of them holds a heavy black handgun.

"Tie her up," Julian orders, throwing me toward them.

I hit the floor hard, the carpet scraping my knees. I try to crawl toward the door, but a heavy boot steps on my hand, crushing my fingers.

"Ahhh!" I scream in pain.

A rough hand grips my hair, yanking my head back. A cloth smelling strongly of chemicals is shoved over my nose and mouth.

I fight, kicking and flailing, watching Julian casually put on his shirt while Elena watches from the bed, smiling.

The room begins to spin. The lights blur into streaks of gold. My limbs grow heavy, useless.

‘My dad,’ I think desperately as darkness claws at the edges of my vision. ‘I have to warn my dad. He was right about Julian.’