Chapter 3 - Cracks in the Ice

Valentina’s POV

The Ishtar Hotel’s grand ballroom glittered under a canopy of crystal chandeliers, their light fracturing across the marble floor like stars scattered over a Sumerian night.

The charity gala buzzed with Baghdad’s elite—diplomats in tailored tuxedos, heiresses dripping in diamonds, important guests and Raffaele Ricchezza, the man who held the room’s pulse.

Everyone important was there.

Tonight, though, I, Valentina, his fiancée, would steal the spotlight.

My gown—a vintage champagne masterpiece from Monica Buccella’s private vintage collection, my late mother Graziella’s friend—clings to my curves, gem-studded and shimmering with every step.

The high slit teases a glimpse of bronzed thigh, but my chest remains a mystery, a deliberate choice to keep them guessing.

My curled hair cascades over my shoulders in perfect curls, crowned by a delicate tiara, a nod to Inanna, the goddess this hotel honors.

My makeup is subtle, sharpening my cheekbones, enhancing my eyes and my lips is a soft rose color.

I smell of vanilla and coconut, warm and tropical, my nails glinting as I hold the gilded leash of my lion.

He’s golden, sleek and strong, his amber eyes scanning the crowd like mine—a perfect symbol of my power move.

I had specifically made Monica get me one, she had some connections with retired circus trainers too, I didn’t mind.

Raffaele stands by the bar, a glass of water in his hand, his black velvet tuxedo cutting a sharp line.

His dark eyes lock onto me, narrowing as he registers the lion, the tiara, me.

He knows his Sumerian history, knows I’m channeling Inanna, a goddess who tamed men and broke empires.

He knows she represents a powerful, multifaceted figure, deeply associated with seduction, both physical and intellectual. Inanna is also known for her strength and dominance over men.

His jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of heat in his gaze, a crack in his icy control.

I glide toward him, my lion padding silently, the crowd parting like silk.

They all are forced to notice my presence in the room.

“Valentina,” he says with his voice low, edged with something dangerous yet attractive. “A lion? Really?” He raised his eyebrow, intrigued.

I tilt my head, letting a coy smile curve my lips, my nails stroking the lion’s mane with slow, exaggerated care.

“Purrs like a kitten, Raffaele. Keep him in your garden—he’s better than those poorly trained guard dogs of yours.”

My tone’s velvet, sweet mockery wrapped in flattery, stroking his ego while I pricked his pride with a honey laced voice.

He scoffs, but his eyes linger on my fingers, the way they move, and I feel the air thicken between us.

“A Bold move,” he breathed out, stepping closer, close enough for my scent to hit him. “The tiara, the gown… Inanna herself would approve.”

“Wouldn’t she now?” I purr, my eyes glinting.

“Goddess of love, war and transformation. A woman who walked into the Underworld and came back stronger. Sound familiar?”

His smirk catches me off guard, a flicker of amusement in his stone-cold facade. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Shouldn’t I?” I lean in, my vanilla-coconut warmth curling around him. “It’s your gala, darling. I’m just… elevating it. You invited me”

Before he can respond, I turn, lion in tow, and glide into the crowd.

Raffaele follows, our fake engagement a polished act.

My diamond ring flashes as I extend my hand to an oil tycoon, my smile a well disguised weapon.

“Mr. Al-Khalidi, such a pleasure,” I say with a syrupy voice. “Your wife’s foundation—how’s the literacy program faring?”

He beams, diving into details, but I steer him elsewhere. “You know, I read the most fascinating article about Sumerian poetry last week. Love poems, so raw and human. Have you explored them?”

Raffaele’s jaw twitches beside me—he knows Al-Khalidi’s a key investor. He tries to pivot. “Valentina, Mr. Al-Khalidi was just telling me about his new pipeline—”

“Pipelines are so technical,” I cut in, waving a hand, my nails catching the chandelier light.

“Poetry, though—that’s passion. Don’t you agree, Mr. Al-Khalidi?”

The man chuckles, nodding. “You’re quite right, Miss Valentina. My wife would love to discuss this with you.”

Raffaele shoots me a look—half irritation, half something hotter, something that makes my pulse quicken.

I’m sabotaging his deals, and he’s starting to see how easy I make it look.

We weave through the guests, my lion lounging nearby, drawing gasps and whispers that amplify my mystique.

I laugh with a diplomat’s wife about Baghdad’s hidden gardens, debate art with a tech mogul, and sidestep every attempt Raffaele makes to steer toward business.

My gown shimmers with every step, my scent trailing like a spell.

I feel his eyes on me, tracing the slit of my dress, the curve of my neck.

Then we reach the heart of the room: Dominico and Giuliana Ricchezza, Raffaele’s grandparents, the family’s iron core.

Dominico’s silver hair gleams, his eyes skeptical; Giuliana, in pink silk, offers a cautious smile.

“Nonno, Nonna,” Raffaele says, kissing Giuliana’s cheek. “You remember Valentina.”

“Of course,” Giuliana says, her gaze sweeping over me. “That gown is exquisite, my dear. A stunning design!”

I nod my head, the tiara’s gems catching the light.

“You have a keen eye, Signora Ricchezza. It’s an honor to wear it.” I turn to Dominico, my smile warm and disarming.

“Signor Ricchezza, Raffaele speaks so highly of your legacy. Tell me, what’s the secret to building something that lasts?”

He raises a brow, but my sincerity hooks him. “Hard work, loyalty, and a sharp mind,” he says with a gruff voice. “You seem to have the last one, at least.”

“Oh, I try,” I say, laughing softly. “But I’m more curious about you. I hear you met Nonna during a storm in Rome—such a romantic story.”

Giuliana’s eyes soften. “You’ve done your homework.”

“Only because it’s worth knowing,” I reply, earnest. “Love like yours—it’s rarer than any empire.”

Raffaele’s watching me, wary but impressed, and I feel a thrill at holding his world in my hands. A tech CEO approaches, eager for Dominico’s ear, but I intercept.

“Signor Rossi, have you seen the hotel’s Sumerian reliefs?” I ask, guiding him away. “They’re breathtaking—let me show you.”

Raffaele’s patience snaps. He grabs my arm lightly, pulling me aside as the lion yawns nearby. “Valentina,” he hisses, voice tight, “Rossi was about to pitch a merger.”

“Was he?” I say, all innocence with my lips curving. “I thought he looked bored. Art’s more… stimulating, don’t you think?”

His grip tightens, but his eyes betray him, tracing the shimmer of my gown, the line of my jaw. “What are you playing at?”

“Playing?” I tilt my head, my scent wrapping us both. “I'm your fiancée, Raffaele. Charming your guests, keeping things… lively.”

My fingers brush his lapel, lingering, and I feel him tense. “Unless you’d rather I talk about pipelines?”

He exhales, sharp, caught between fury and something hotter. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re intrigued,” I challenge with my voice low and sultry. “Admit it—you like it.”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze burns, intense, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

I’m a storm, a goddess, and I can see him wondering if he’s man enough to handle it.

The night stretches on, and I weave through the crowd like Inanna herself, my lion, a silent companion of my power.

I deflect a sheikh’s trade questions with a tale of Babylonian star charts, charm someone important’s wife with compliments, and leave a trail of frustrated businessmen behind.

Raffaele trails me, his irritation softening into something like admiration.

I lean against a pillar, stroking the lion’s fur, my nails glinting under the festive lights.

His eyes meet mine, and I raise my champagne glass in a mock toast.

I know he wished I stroked him instead.

“To Innana,” I said, daring him to join me.

He clinks his glass against mine, voice barely a whisper. “To Inanna,” he says, the word heavy and loaded, the tension between us building.

“But don’t think I’m not watching you.”

I step closer, my breath warm against his ear, my scent enveloping him. “Oh, Raffaele,” I purr, “I’m counting on it.”

He put his arms unexpectedly around my firm waist. I could see his breath hitch for a brief second.

I hand the lion’s leash to a trembling servant with a lazy smile. “He doesn’t bite,” I say reassuringly, releasing it without a care.

“Unless you run.” The poor man freezes as the lion yawns and flops down.

I turn, already forgetting him, and extend a hand toward Raffaele, my fingers beckoning like a queen summoning her favorite.

“Dance with me, caro,” I say with a honey voice, dangerously seductive. “Unless you’re afraid of being tamed.”