LOGINHailey Carter never believed in marriage. Especially not to Santino Blackwood, the arrogant billionaire her father forced her to marry. Cold, ruthless, and feared in boardrooms and back alleys, Santino makes it clear their union is nothing but a contract. But when Hailey discovers whispers linking Santino to her brother’s death, their fragile alliance shatters. Trust becomes impossible, even as attraction burns hotter with every clash. As enemies circle and betrayal strikes from every side, Hailey must decide: is Santino the monster who destroyed her family… or the only man who can protect her from the darkness hunting them both?
View More(FLASHBACK TWO)The memory flickers to life to the day my father told me about the arranged union with santino, bathed in the garish, over-bright light of my father’s dining room. Even then, I hated that chandelier. It had hundreds of glass pieces that made everything shine with a fake, aggressive brilliance. My father liked it that way. He thought light showed power, but I knew better. Light just makes it easier to see the cracks in the foundation.I sat at the far end of the mahogany table, my hands folded neatly in my lap. To anyone watching, I was a girl drowning in the heavy air of a house that wasn't hers. My stomach felt tight, but not from fear. It was the sharp, cold tingle of a hunter waiting for the trap to spring.I had been leading them all like dogs on a leash for months. I was the one who whispered to the right people about the Blackwood fortune. I had planned every little detail thoroughly, making sure my father felt "backed into a corner" so he would reach for the onl
(FLASHBACK ONE)The memory does not come to me in pieces; it hits me all at once, like a wave of ice water that freezes my blood. As I sit in the dimly lit hospital room, watching the green line of Santino’s heart monitor. I am twelve again, a small girl with long pigtails and a heart full of confusion.It was the summer the world turned grey. A week before that day, my brother Matteo had left for "work" with my father. I remember watching them walk to the car. Matteo looked different that morning. Usually, he was full of light, but his shoulders were slumped, and his eyes were red. I tried endlessly the previous day to cheer him up but nothing worked.I instantly disliked his friend that had hurt him. I didn't understand the complexities of the adult world then, but I hated seeing him hurt. I had spent the entire day thinking of creative ways to cheer him up drawing pictures of the garden and hiding his favorite chocolates under his pillow.But Matteo didn't come back.For seven day
I finish splashing the freezing water on my face and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. The threat from Santino’s mother still rings in my ears like a physical blow. When I finally unlock the bathroom door and step back into the hospital suite.The cold, lethal woman from five minutes ago is gone. In her place sits the warm, smiling woman I thought I knew. She looks up at me with such kindness it makes my skin crawl."Hailey, dear, you look so tired," she says, her voice as sweet as honey. She reaches out and pats the air toward me. "Go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. You must think of the little one. It isn't good for the child's health if you starve yourself. Please, for me?"I stare at her, forced to offer a tight, fake smile. You are absolutely crazy, I scream inside my head. One minute she is promising to bury me and my "bastard" child, and the next she is worried about my nutrition. You two-faced old hag, I think, my eyes narrowing just enough
The fluorescent lights of the VIP intensive care suite hum with a cold, clinical indifference. Inside the room, the air is thick with the scent of ozone and expensive antiseptic. Santino lies in the center of the bed, a landscape of pale skin and shadows. I stand at the foot of the bed, my breath hitching in my throat. I stare at his face, his handsome, sculpted features are now as still as a statue’s. The only sign of life is the rhythmic, mechanical rise and fall of his chest, forced by the ventilator that hisses beside him. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh.I reach out a trembling hand, my fingers inching toward his arm, but I stop just before touching him. The sight of the tubes and wires snaking across his body makes my stomach turn. My fingers shake violently as they land on the sterile white sheet beside him, clutching the empty space instead of his skin. Suddenly, my mind flashes with the image of Lila’s twisted, manic face. In an instant, the grief I’m feeling is replaced by a frost so












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