Chapter 12

The next morning, Luca was in his father’s office by 8 a.m.

Paolo Virelli looked up from his laptop and smiled. “There’s my son. Ready to become a husband?”

Luca smiled back, hollow and practiced. “Of course.”

“Serena’s family is volatile,” Paolo said, pouring them both espresso. “But old money tends to be. They’re loyal, though. That’s what counts.”

Luca nodded.

“I’ll expect you to keep things quiet,” his father added. “No mistakes. No scandals. You know how fast sentiment turns.”

“I understand.”

Paolo raised his cup. “To your future, then.”

Luca clinked it without hesitation.

That night, Luca sat on the edge of his bed, alone in the dark, wearing a pressed shirt and cufflinks he didn’t remember choosing. His engagement date would arrive the next day, daughter of a tycoon, poised and photogenic, ready to smile on command.

He’d stand beside her.

He’d smile too.

And if someone asked him what he wanted?

He’d say it didn’t matter.

Because it didn’t.

Because he was Virelli blood, and Virelli blood did not bend. It ruled. Quietly. Permanently. No matter what it had to bury.

Even if that meant burying himself.

................

The Virelli estate had been transformed overnight.

Marble floors polished to a mirror finish. Ivory floral arrangements imported from Italy flanking the grand staircase. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms gliding silently through halls with silver trays of champagne.

A backdrop fit for a legacy.

At the center of it stood Luca Virelli, every inch the heir, tailored, composed, and empty behind the eyes.

The engagement press conference was in an hour. He’d already posed for photos in the conservatory, the garden, and beside the family crest. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. None of that mattered. The cameras were fed. The narrative was working.

Across the ballroom, Serena Hartwell Virelli, stunning in champagne silk and blood red heels, laughed too easily at a joke from a board member, her fingers curled delicately around the stem of a flute she hadn’t touched.

She caught Luca’s gaze and smiled. Her expression didn’t reach her eyes.

He excused himself from a small circle of partners and crossed to her. “Everything on schedule?”

“Of course,” Serena replied, lips barely moving. “You look tense, darling.”

He didn’t answer.

“Is it because your little secret’s standing over there?” she added, tipping her head slightly toward the edge of the room.

Asher.

Dressed in black as usual, leaning against a column, whiskey in hand. Watching. Always watching.

“He doesn’t belong here,” Luca muttered under his breath.

Serena’s smile widened. “Neither do you, if we’re being honest.”

He turned to her. “What do you want from me?”

“To do your job,” she said coolly. “To be the perfect heir. My perfect husband. Because if you think I won’t burn down your spotless little image, Luca, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Her voice was velvet and venom.

“I’m playing the game,” he said.

“Then act like it,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Keep your eyes off my brother.”

Asher noticed the shift the moment Luca looked away.

Cold. Controlled. Caged.

He pushed off the wall and made his way toward the private corridor off the ballroom, away from the polished lies and curated applause.

Luca found him there ten minutes later, near the old gallery wing. No cameras. No press. No family.

Just them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Luca said.

Asher turned. “You invited me. Technically.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” Asher said. “Say it.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “You’re a distraction.”

“I didn’t think I rated that high,” Asher said, taking a step forward. “After all, it was just a mistake, right?”

Luca glanced away. “It was.”

“You’re engaged to my sister,” Asher said, voice sharp. “You’re throwing your life away for a business deal. You really want to pretend last weekend and last night didn’t happen?”

“Yes,” Luca snapped. “I do.”

Asher tilted his head. “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying,” Asher murmured, stepping closer. “And not even well.”

“I’m marrying Serena.”

“Because it’s easier.”

“Because it’s right.”

“No,” Asher said, now inches from him. “Because it’s safe.”

Luca looked away. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Then why did you come looking for me?”

He didn’t answer.

Asher reached out, just brushing his fingers against Luca’s wrist.

That was all it took.

Luca jerked back like he’d been burned. “Don’t...”

“What, Luca?” Asher said quietly. “Don’t touch you? Don’t make you remember?”

“You think this is funny?” Luca hissed. “You think you can walk into my life and ruin everything with a few kisses?”

“I think you’re already ruined,” Asher said. “And I think you liked it.”

Luca’s face twisted. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know what you sound like when you come undone.”

“Shut up.”

“You think marrying Serena’s going to fix you?” Asher’s voice dropped lower. “You think smiling for the cameras makes it all disappear?”

Luca took a step back. His chest rose and fell too fast.

Then, too sharp, too bitter, too loud...

“You’re just a faggot who doesn’t know when to quit.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even the chandelier light seemed colder.

Asher’s mouth twitched, not a smile, not quite. Something uglier.

“Nice,” he said softly. “Was that for me or for you?”

Luca stood there, breathing hard. Red faced. Hollow.

Asher stepped back.

“You should be careful,” he said. “Words like that have a way of becoming true. Especially when they come from the only person you’re really trying to convince.”

He turned and walked off down the hall without another word.

Luca didn’t return to the ballroom for fifteen minutes.

When he did, Serena was already giving a toast, her hand linked with his father’s, smiling like she’d won something.

He stood beside her, smiling on cue.

The cameras flashed.

No one could tell that his hands were trembling.

That night, the Virelli estate was quiet. Serena had gone to her private wing. The guests had mostly cleared out. The champagne flutes were stacked, the roses wilting in their vases.

Luca sat in the dark in his childhood bedroom, the one he’d tried to avoid all his life.

He’d said something he couldn’t take back.

He’d hurt the only person who saw him, really saw him, and it felt like cutting off a limb to stay alive.

But it was too late now.

The ring was on his finger.

The photos were in the papers.

And Asher was gone.