Chapter 2

The next day, Sophia Ricci waltzed into the hospital room.

She held a bouquet of white lilies—funeral flowers—and wore an innocent smile.

"Get out," I said. My voice was ice.

She walked right in, put the flowers in a vase, and spoke softly. "Isabella, don't be like this. Damien already told me off. I just glanced at the files. I had no idea... I feel so awful."

With one sentence, she turned a capital offense, leaking intel, into a little mistake. "Curiosity."

I slowly stood up and walked toward her. "You think 'I didn't know' is going to keep you alive?"

I pressed the cold steel of my gun to her forehead.

Fear finally crept onto her face. She flinched back. "You can't… Damien, he…"

"He what?" I chambered a round.

I sneered. The innocent act was pathetic.

Damien had countless women, but none ever dared to threaten me.

None ever dared to declare war.

"You think he'd go to war with me over a traitor?" I asked her.

The next second, Damien's voice came from the doorway.

"Bella, stop!"

He lunged between us, pulling Sophia behind him and grabbing my hand.

I looked at him, and my heart turned to stone.

We had a deal. No woman would ever upset me. If one did, he would make her disappear.

Now, for another woman, he was telling me "no" for the second time.

"Let. Go." Each word was a shard of ice.

"Bella, don't," he said, his voice tight. "This isn't the way."

"My father almost died!" I screamed.

From behind him, Sophia peeked out. "Damien," she whimpered, "I just wanted to apologize…"

"Then apologize," Damien ordered without looking back, his tone harsh.

Sophia froze, then lowered her head, looking hurt. "I'm sorry, Isabella."

She lifted her eyes, and where only I could see, she mouthed two words: "He will."

Just then, her body went limp, and she fell into Damien's arms. "Damien… I… I don't feel well."

The performance was so transparent it was insulting.

Damien hesitated for a second. He looked at me, then back at Sophia, and finally held her steady. "I'll take you home."

"No," Sophia said weakly, pushing him away. "Isabella is still angry. You should stay with her."

It was a reminder. A power play to show him who really needed him.

"I'll be right back," he promised. A promise I knew he wouldn't keep. Then he swept her into his arms and was gone.

In a moment, my phone buzzed. Sophia's number.

I answered. There was no sound, just heavy, repressed breathing.

"Damien…" Sophia's voice was syrupy sweet, trembling with victory. "Do you like my new tattoo? Right here on my collarbone… your initials… just like the one on your wife's wrist."

The tattoo on my wrist. The one Damien designed for me on our first anniversary.

"...It looks better on you." It was Damien's hoarse reply.

I slammed the phone down, my body ice-cold.

I had to get out of that suffocating hospital. I had to go back to our manor.

My fortress. My kingdom.

But when I pushed open the heavy oak doors, I found my kingdom was being invaded.

A strange middle-aged woman was ordering the maids to take my mother's paintings off the wall.

"This place is a museum," she sneered. "So dead. Damien wants to breathe some life into it."

And it was Sophia's mother giving the orders.