Chapter 1 - The Proposition

Valentina’s POV

The air in the luxury villa was glacial.

Not from the marble floors or the endless windows overlooking Baghdad’s skyline—but from the man seated across the mahogany desk.

His eyes bore into mine, they were charged with electricity. He would be dazzling, dashing even if it wasn't for the fact he had bought me.

Raffaele Ricchezza didn’t smile. He didn’t blink either. His suit, all black Armani, wrapped his lean form like armor. His presence sucked the warmth from the room.

I met his stare without flinching.

“You understand what I’m offering,” he said finally, with a low and precise voice.

“I do,” I replied. “You’re asking me to marry you.”

“A legal union,” he clarified. “No romance. No expectations beyond public appearances, occasional press photos, and eventual heirs.”

I arched a brow. “You want children?”

He leaned back. “My grandfather’s will is explicit. No heirs, no inheritance. And I don’t intend to lose ten billion dollars because of outdated sentiment.”

I tilted my head, feigning contemplation. “And you chose me… why?”

A pause—barely noticeable, but it was there. “You’re discreet. Educated. Attractive. Not entangled in scandals. You’d serve the role well.”

“And you don’t believe in love,” I added coolly.

His mouth twitched. “Love is manipulation dressed as devotion. I’ve seen what it does to men—what it did to my father.”

The way my stepmother had drained my foolish father dry left a bitter taste in my mouth. All of it in the name of love.

And me? I was nothing more than a leftover—collateral from a dying relationship that ended cruelly with my mother’s death, then slowly decayed into something unrecognizable.

My father always claimed he loved me but everytime Camilla made sure to insert herself between us with her endless ridiculous demands.

My father fell for it every damn time.

Do you know who I am?" His accent was Italian, like mine, but harder, shaped by a different street.

"A monster who buys women?"

He didn't react to the insult. "I am Raffaele Ricchezza. Your stepmother owes me a considerable sum of money."

I frowned, confusion momentarily eclipsing fear. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything." He sipped his wine, studying me over the rim of his glass. "Camilla gambles. Badly. She's been borrowing from my casinos for years."

"And this—" I gestured to myself, to the room, "—is her repayment?"

"In a manner of speaking." He set down his glass. "You were not what she offered initially."

My stomach churned. "What did she offer?"

"Information about your father's research. The location of certain artifacts." His eyes never left mine. "When she couldn't deliver, she offered you instead."

This man was so shameless he didn’t even try to cover up his own family’s heinous crimes.

”Your work is not unknown in certain circles. The quest for Gilgamesh's tomb. The orichalcum." He said

My academic pride flared despite everything. "It's not a quest. It's legitimate archaeological research."

"Research that got your father killed." His words were brutal and precise.

Your stepmother sold you to eliminate competition for your father's will and your mothers wealth. If you're presumed dead, everything goes to her as the surviving spouse."

"And if I marry you?"

"The legal entanglements become... interesting." A cold smile curved his lips.

"Especially when she discovers you're very much alive and now connected to someone with resources to challenge her."

I shook my head in disbelief. "You want to marry me for—what? Access to my father's research?"

Did he want to marry me for information as well?

"I want to pursue your father's discoveries together. The Gilgamesh artifacts, the orichalcum—I've been tracking them for years." His voice lowered, intensity burning in his eyes.

"Your father was close to something extraordinary. I have the resources to finish what he started."

"And in return?"

"Marriage provides you protection, legitimacy, and the means to destroy Camilla."

I searched his face for lies, finding only cold determination. "Why would you help me?"

"I bought your contract to keep you alive and get my own benefits." His voice dropped, suddenly intense.

"There were others bidding tonight with far less pleasant intentions, Miss Valentina Bianchi. Men who would have used you and discarded you after when they got what they wanted."

What he didn’t know was that Camilla Bianchi, my stepmother, had once waved an Iraqi police report in my face, stamped with our local force’s emblem

It stated that my father, Paolo Bianchi, a UNESCO archaeologist working for the Baghdad Museum, had been on the verge of exposing an ancient metal—orichalcum. A substance capable of revolutionizing clean energy.

His research, if made public, would have crippled the fossil fuel empires.

Instead, he died in 2003 during the chaos of the U.S. invasion, when looters ransacked the museum and burned his life’s work to ashes.

His company? Absorbed by Ricchezza Oil. His name? Buried in bankruptcy and scandal.

The whispers said mercenaries silenced him before he could speak.

The report pointed to a hired hitman linked to Ricchezza Oil—a man named Tariq Al-Mansour—and detailed the bribes paid to Baghdad police to bury the case.

Ricchezza has used their influence and hush money to wrap up loose ends.

Now I sat across from a Ricchezza.

Camilla hadn’t just disowned me.

She’d sold me for $500,000 at a black-market auction in a private club as soon as she found out about the money, drugged me with spiked champagne at a brunch I never wanted to attend—just to claim my late mother’s inheritance that I was supposed to get access to once I turned 21.

A small fortune, enough to maintain her lavish lifestyle and keep the creditors at bay.

I should’ve known better.

And fate, in its cruel irony, had handed me directly to the man whose empire had helped destroy my father’s legacy.

I had spent years preparing for this. Finance degree. Law training. Connections. Patience.

Now, I had my chance. Marry the devil, then burn down his kingdom and get justice for my father.

“I accept,” I said, extending my hand.

He glanced at it, then shook it once—firm, cold.

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up the agreement. Prenup. Clause of conduct. You’ll move into the villa soon.”

I stood up. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yes.” He rose too, towering above me. “Betray me, and I’ll ruin you.”

I smiled sweetly. “Likewise, Mr. Ricchezza.”

As I turned to leave the villa, my phone buzzed.

I didn’t check it.

Because at that moment, I wasn’t the girl who had been drugged, sold, and humiliated and dragged to his office like a spectacle wearing this skimpy dress.

Raffaele was a man born into blood money and it only deepened my hatred for him and his family. A man who bought women like livestock could never be trusted.

I didn't care if he saved my life.

I was the woman who would tear down the Ricchezza empire from the inside out—brick by brick until it fell by my hand.

Then I read it and my heart leaped at my throat. It was a message from Maria.

He’s back. I saw Tullio near the bookstore. He followed me.

My pulse quickened.

Tullio Cavaliere. The monster from Maria Medri’s past.

As I stepped into the elevator with my heart pounding. I couldn’t afford distractions.

Not from Tullio.

Not from the red flower hidden in my father’s journal.

Not from the cold billionaire whose eyes had lingered a second too long.

But deep inside, I felt it—

This wasn’t just revenge.

It was war.

I would use this man and his resources to find out what my father had died for and get my revenge before anyone could lay hands upon what we had researched together for years.

I would take down Camilla with me if I had to.

And then I would reclaim my freedom, no matter the cost. I just had to survive long enough to do it.