CHAPTER ONE: THE WHITE BURIAL

The scent of Casablanca lilies was supposed to be romantic. To Sabizina Moretti, it smelled like a funeral.

She stood before the floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror in the bridal suite of the Vane Cathedral, a structure of glass and steel built specifically for this day. Her dress was a masterpiece of Valenciennes lace and hand-stitched pearls, costing more than the average person earned in a lifetime. It was heavy—a beautiful, shimmering suit of armor that weighed thirty pounds and felt like a lead coffin.

"You look like a queen, Sabi," her father, Lorenzo Moretti, whispered from the doorway. He looked revitalized, the lines of stress from his recent bankruptcy smoothed away by the sheer power of the Vane name.

Sabizina didn’t turn. She watched his reflection. "I look like a transaction, Father. Let’s not pretend otherwise."

"Rage Vane is the most powerful Alpha in the Northern Hemisphere," Lorenzo snapped, his voice losing its warmth. "This 'transaction' saved our family from the gutter. You will walk down that aisle, you will smile, and you will secure our future."

The door clicked shut, leaving her in a silence so thick it felt suffocating.

Then, her phone—concealed in a hidden pocket of her voluminous silk skirt—vibrated.

Sabizina frowned. Only three people had this encrypted number. She pulled the device out. There was no contact name, only a single file labeled: PROJECT CAGE.

As a cybersecurity specialist who had spent years hiding her talents behind the mask of a socialite heiress, her fingers moved instinctively. She bypassed the encryption in seconds.

The screen flickered to life, displaying a series of internal memos from Vane Global Industries. Her breath hitched.

> Subject: Acquisition of Moretti Tech Assets

> From: R.V.

> Content: Proceed with the Phase 3 server breach. Drain the Moretti liquidity by 0400. Once the bankruptcy is public, I will offer the marriage contract. She will have no choice but to say yes.

The world tilted. The lilies’ scent became nauseating.

Rage hadn't saved them. He hadn't stepped in at the last moment as a gesture of "old family ties" or some buried affection. He had been the one who pulled the trigger. He had dismantled her father’s life, ruined their reputation, and driven them to the brink of suicide—just so he could buy her as the ultimate trophy.

He didn't want a wife. He wanted a prisoner he could legally touch.

A knock at the door. "Ten minutes, Miss Moretti. Mr. Vane is waiting."

Sabizina’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked at the window. It was a forty-foot drop to the private gardens. In this dress? Impossible.

She looked at the tablet again. Rage was out there, standing at the altar, likely checking his watch, calculating the ROI on his new acquisition. The thought sent a cold, sharp spike of defiance through her veins.

If he wants a game, she thought, her eyes darkening to a stormy gold, I’ll give him one he can’t winn.

The cathedral was a sea of black ties and designer gowns. Every titan of industry was there to witness the merger of the century.

Rage Valerius Vane stood at the altar, his presence so commanding that the very air seemed to vibrate around him. He was a man of sharp angles and shadows, his black suit tailored so perfectly it looked like a second skin. His eyes—gray as a winter sea—were fixed on the heavy oak doors at the back of the hall.

He didn't feel love. He felt the cold satisfaction of a predator who had finally cornered his prey. Sabizina was the only thing in the world he couldn't simply buy with a check; he’d had to build a labyrinth to trap her. And today, the door would lock.

The music shifted. A low, haunting cello arrangement of Lacrimosa.

The doors opened.

Sabizina appeared, a vision in white. Even from fifty yards away, Rage could see the tension in her shoulders. She looked exquisite. She looked broken.

Good, he thought. Broken things are easier to keep.

She began the long walk. Each step was slow, deliberate. As she drew closer, Rage noticed something off. She wasn't looking at him with the resignation he expected. She was looking at him with a terrifyingly clear focuss.

When she reached the altar, she didn't take his hand. She stood a foot away, her bouquet trembling slightly.

The priest began the rites, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. Rage didn't listen to the words. He was too busy memorizing the way the light hit the pulse point in Sabizina’s neck.

"Do you, Rage Valerius Vane, take this woman..."

"I do," Rage interrupted, his voice a low growl that silenced the room.

The priest turned to the bride. "And do you, Sabizina Moretti, take this man..."

Sabizina looked up. For the first time, she met Rage’s gaze. She saw the "Hyperthymesia" in his eyes—the way he was recording this second, filing it away in his perfect memory to haunt her later.

She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. The guests leaned forward, expecting a whispered "I love you."

"I saw the 'Project Cage' file, Rage," she whispered, her voice like a razor through silk.

Rage’s pupils dilated. For the first time in his life, his calculated heart skipped a beat.

"I'm not your prize," she breathed. "And I’m definitely not your wife."

Before he could reach for her, Sabizina did the unthinkable. She grabbed the heavy crystal chalice of ceremonial wine from the altar and slammed it onto the floor.

The sound of shattering glass was like a gunshot.

In the moment of pure, stunned silence that followed, Sabizina reached into her bouquet and pulled out a small, high-intensity flash-bang—a device she had spent the last ten minutes rigging from the security bypass tools she always kept hidden.

BOOM.

A blinding white light engulfed the altar.

Rage lunged through the light, his hand closing on nothing but air and a scrap of lace. He roared her name, the sound primal and terrifying, echoing through the cathedral.

By the time the spots cleared from the guests' eyes, the altar was empty.

Outside, a sleek black Ducati was idling near the side entrance. Sabizina tore the heavy lace skirt from her gown, revealing a pair of tactical leggings she had slipped on underneath. She threw the $100,000 bodice into the mud, kicked off her heels, and vaulted onto the bike.

She glanced back at the cathedral doors just as Rage burst through them, looking like a demon unleashed from hell. His eyes found hers.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply raised her hand, showing him the engagement ring—the one with the diamond she knew contained the encrypted key to his private servers.

Then, she revved the engine and disappeared into the gray afternoon rain.

One hour later. Vane Global Headquarters.

The atmosphere was radioactive. No one dared to breathe. Rage stood in front of the wall of monitors in his command center, his shirt unbuttoned, his knuckles bleeding where he had put his fist through a mahogany door.

"Report," he said. The word was so quiet it was more dangerous than a shout.

"She’s gone, sir," Marcus, his head of security, said, his voice trembling. "She used a signal jammer near the waterfront. We lost her GPS tag... and the ring."

Rage looked at the screen. It showed the empty cathedral. He replayed the moment she whispered in his ear over and over in his mind. I saw the file.

She had outplayed him. In his arrogance, he had forgotten that he wasn't the only genius in the room. He had hunted a swan and realized too late she was a falcon.

"Sir, the board is calling. The wedding was live-streamed. The stocks are—"

"I don't care about the stocks," Rage hissed, turning around. His gray eyes were glowing with a terrifying, obsessive light. "She has the digital key. She has my secrets. And she thinks she’s free."

He walked over to a map of the coastline, his finger tracing the jagged edges of the cliffs.

"She thinks she can run from a man who remembers the scent of her skin from a mile away?" Rage let out a low, dark laugh that chilled the bones of everyone in the room. "Let her run. Let her feel the wind. Let her think she’s won."

He turned to Marcus, his expression hardening into stone. "Triple the bounty. Hire every tracker from here to the border. I want her back. But Marcus..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't touch her. Not a hair on her head. If she’s bruised when you find her, I’ll bury you alive."

Rage looked back at the monitor, at the discarded lace of her wedding dress lying in the mud. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver thumb drive—the backup of her medical records.

He looked at the data he hadn't told her yet. The reason he was so desperate to marry her before the month was out.

His eyes softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at the hormone levels in her latest blood test—results she hadn't even seen yet.

"Run as far as you want, Sabizina," he whispered to the empty room. "But you’re carrying the only thing in this world I’ll never let go of."

He realized then that the hunt was no longer about a company or a contract.

It was about his blood. And he would burn the world to ashes to bring it home.