Chapter 2

The sunlight was too bright.

Luca winced as it slid through the gap in the blackout curtains, carving its way across the hotel room like a judgment he hadn’t asked for.

His head pulsed behind his eyes, the aftershocks of whiskey and regret pounding with surgical precision.

Somewhere on the floor, his phone buzzed for the fifth time.

He didn’t move.

His arm was draped over his eyes, blocking the light, the world, and the reality waiting just outside this quiet cocoon of crumpled sheets and unfamiliar silence.

Beside him, the bed was empty.

Luca turned his head, slowly. The other side of the mattress was cold, the covers tugged back, the imprint already fading.

No sign of the man from last night. No name. No note.

Exactly what he expected.

Exactly what he told himself he wanted.

And yet, he stared at that hollow space like it had something to say.

You should feel relieved, he thought. This was never supposed to be anything.

But he didn’t feel relieved.

He felt... hollow. Stripped bare in a way the sex hadn’t done. Like the parts of him that mattered most had been laid open, touched once, and left behind.

Luca forced himself upright, wincing as a dull pain throbbed behind his temple.

He caught his reflection in the hotel mirror, hair disheveled, shirt wrinkled, the faintest red mark on his neck where the stranger had kissed too hard.

His own gaze startled him.

He looked alive.

Hungover, yes. But not numb. Not empty.

That terrified him more than the hangover.

His phone buzzed again. He picked it up, finally.

Six missed calls.

Two dozen texts.

All from Serena, his assistant, and his father’s people.

Serena: Everything set for tonight? Dress fitting confirmed. Let me know when you’re back.

Andrea - Publicist: Press arrivals begin at 6PM. You’re needed for a pre party shoot at the estate. Hair by 3. Do NOT be late.

Paolo Virelli: Don’t embarrass me today. Remember who you are.

Luca laughed.

Dry. Bitter. A sound that felt too loud in the quiet room.

Remember who you are, he repeated in his mind.

As if he hadn’t been doing that every single day since he was twelve.

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

The Virelli estate loomed like a kingdom untouched by time.

As Luca’s town car pulled up to the wrought iron gates, security scanned the license plate without a word.

The driver, Luca’s since college, didn’t glance back. They all knew the protocol. They all knew today wasn’t about love or joy or even family.

It was about ownership.

He stepped out, sunglasses on, jaw clenched, tie straight.

The cameras hadn’t arrived yet, but the staff had. A dozen people moved with quiet urgency, arranging floral displays, rolling out champagne carts, instructing caterers, lining the cobbled path with gold dusted roses.

Every inch of the grounds had been transformed into something cinematic.

Beautiful.

Hollow.

“Mr. Virelli,” one of the coordinators chirped. “You're expected upstairs. Miss Hartwell has just arrived.”

Luca blinked. “She’s early.”

“She wanted time to rehearse the first look. There’s a photographer waiting to capture the moment.”

Of course there was.

He climbed the marble staircase slowly, footsteps echoing in the high ceilinged atrium.

The house smelled like white lilies and money. Always had. He’d grown up here, in this mansion that never once felt like home.

Outside the parlor, he paused.

Took a breath.

Then pushed the door open.

Serena Hartwell stood by the window, back straight, arms folded neatly in front of her. Her champagne colored gown shimmered in the sunlight, hair curled into perfect waves. She looked every inch the billionaire’s bride, elegant, untouchable.

When she turned and saw him, she smiled like they’d just finished exchanging vows.

“Luca.”

He offered a polite nod. “Serena.”

“You’re late.”

“I overslept.”

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

There was a moment’s silence, not awkward, just… transactional.

Then the door opened behind them.

And the air shifted.

Luca turned slowly.

And forgot how to breathe.

Standing there, one hand on the polished doorknob, was him.

The man from the club.

The man from the hotel.

Black suit. Crisp white shirt. Tie loose. Hair pushed back like he didn’t care about perfect. The same dark eyes that had watched him from across the bar now watched him again, calm, unreadable.

Serena beamed. “Luca, I’d like you to meet my brother. Asher.”

Luca stared.

He couldn’t move.

His heartbeat was a cannon blast behind his ribs.

Asher’s lips curved. Just slightly. Amused. Cruel.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice smooth, low. “For the first time.”

Luca didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

The world had gone still,  like someone pressed pause on a film reel and left the screen frozen on the moment his sins came home to meet him.

The air felt tighter. Thinner. Each breath came with a fight.

Asher stood there, impossibly real. His hands were tucked into his pockets now, body relaxed like he hadn’t just ripped a hole through Luca’s carefully curated reality.

He’s Serena’s brother.

Of all the people in the city, in the country, he had kissed her brother. Had undressed him. Had moaned his name last night, loud enough for hotel walls to remember.

And now he was here. Smirking. As if the universe didn’t just split in half.

Serena, oblivious, tilted her head between them. “Luca?”

His gaze snapped to her. “Sorry,” he said, forcing his voice not to shake. “Just.. surprised. I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Asher’s brow twitched. Just enough for Luca to catch it.

“I tend to keep a low profile,” Asher said smoothly. “Serena didn’t mention me?”

“I… no. She didn’t.”

“Interesting.”