Chapter 45 Letta/Juan

Salvatore is lying. I know he is. The second he said he didn’t send the dress, didn’t send the invitation, didn’t want me here… I felt something snap inside me. He’s just trying to save face in front of that little twat Sara. That’s all this is. He doesn’t want to embarrass her. He doesn’t want to make her look like the placeholder she is.

He has to be lying. Why else would he send me a dress like that? Why else would he want me here? Why else would he write that note? He looked right at me and denied it. And Roc, my own brother, acted like I was the crazy one.

I stormed away before I said something I couldn’t take back. My table was a few rows away from theirs, tucked between people I didn’t know and didn’t care to know. I sat down hard, gripping the edge of the table so I wouldn’t scream.

A man beside me leaned slightly closer. “Are you alright?”

I turned, ready to snap, but stopped. He was handsome. Older. Sharp suit, sharper eyes. The kind of man who didn’t blend in even if he tried. I didn’t recognize him, but he looked at me like he already knew exactly who I was.

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

He smiled like he didn’t believe me. “You don’t look fine.”

I huffed. “My brother and Salvatore are acting like I’m insane. Like I imagined everything.”

“Did you?” he asked lightly.

“No!” I snapped. “Salvatore sent me a dress. A ticket. A note. He wanted me here. He wanted me with him. And now he’s pretending he didn’t because she’s standing there.”

The man nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “He’s a fool.”

My breath caught. “You think so?”

“Of course.” He leaned back, studying me. “A man would have to be insane to choose… her… over you.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Exactly!”

He chuckled softly. “I’m flying solo tonight. But I wouldn’t mind spending the evening with someone who clearly deserves better.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“Why not?” he said smoothly. “And who knows… maybe it’ll make Salvatore jealous. Men like him hate losing what they think they own.” My heart fluttered. Maybe he was right, make Salvatore jealous. Make him see what he is throwing away.

I straightened my shoulders, lifting my chin. “Maybe you’re right.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we enjoy the night?”

I slipped my hand into his, feeling a rush of vindication. If Salvatore wanted to pretend he didn’t care...Fine. I’d make him regret it.

**Juan

Letta is exactly where I want her. At my side. Angry. Confused. Desperate to be wanted. Perfect.

She clings to every word I say, every subtle nudge I give her. It’s almost too easy, feeding her delusions, letting her believe Salvatore is the villain in her story instead of the man who finally got tired of her tantrums.

But while one part of my plan is falling neatly into place, the other… Not so much. My eyes drift across the ballroom to the Ricci table. And there he is, Roc Hale. Standing tall. Confident. And not hiding a damn thing.

Marco is beside him, laughing at something Sara said, and Roc doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step away. Doesn’t pretend. He brought him. As a date. I grit my teeth. I expected fear. Shame. A man like Roc should’ve been terrified to be seen like this. Especially in front of the families. Especially in front of Salvatore. But instead? He looks… free. And Salvatore, the bastard, looks proud of him. That wasn’t part of the plan.

I lean back in my chair, swirling the drink in my hand as Letta rambles beside me about how Sara “must have manipulated him” and how Salvatore “would never choose her.” She’s useful, but she’s also exhausting. Still… maybe she can be more than a distraction. Maybe she can be a weapon.

I glance at Roc again. He’s relaxed, smiling, unaware of the eyes on him. The riddle I sent him, which should’ve shaken him to his core, didn’t faze him at all. Not even close. In fact, it seemed to help him. If fear can’t break him, maybe humiliation will.

Letta is still talking, still fuming, still convinced Salvatore is secretly pining for her. I place a hand lightly on hers, and she stops mid‑sentence, eyes wide.

“Letta,” I say smoothly, “you want Salvatore to regret choosing her, don’t you?”

Her jaw tightens. “Of course I do.”

“Then help me,” I murmur. “Help me show him what he’s missing. Help me show all of them.”

She straightens, eager. “What do you need me to do?”

I smile. Because she’ll do anything I ask. And Roc? He won’t see it coming. Not from her. Not from me. Not tonight. The gala is just beginning. And I’m far from finished.