Worth The Sin, Claimed by my Fiancee's Brother

The lights were warm from the golden chandelier that glowed above. It was the kind of light that made your skin look prettier than it really was and soft. That was what it looked like that night.

People laughed around us, clinking champagne glasses and tossing fake compliments around like cheap glitter.

"Oh my goodness. You are so beautiful, darling."

"I'm sure Matteo knows how lucky he is to have such beautiful wife."

If you didn't know better, you'd think this was the happiest night of my life. After all, I was engaged to Matteo Valdrighi, the billionaire with the smile that could get a girl drunk and the last name that could open any door. He stood beside me, his hand loosely resting on the small of my back, fingers barely brushing against the zipper of my dress. His hold was not tight enough to feel like love but it wasn't loose either to raise brows.

"Smile, amore," he whispered near my ear, the scent of him drifting in like a slow fog. "Look radiant for the cameras."

I turned slightly and frowned.

"You smell different."

He tilted his head, eyes flickering with amusement. "Different how? What do you mean?"

I sniffed again, moving closer this time. "You usually smell like that dark chocolate. This doesn't smell like you."

Matteo shrugged, letting out a chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. "Probably hugged too many people on the way in. Not everyone has my type of perfume, you know?"

Yes. Like he hadn't done more than hug another woman before he even set a foot in the building. He arrived almost forty minutes into our engagement party, flustered and breathless, like someone who had run out of time. I had noticed the lipstick stain on his collar, barely there but enough to punch me in the gut. It wasn’t my shade as I wore nude gloss all night. But I said nothing, because marrying Matteo was my escape plan and my only way out. And in to get through with the plan, silence kept you safe.

I forced a smile and nodded like I believed him. Then I excused myself, muttering something about needing to use the restroom.

I weaved through the crowd, heels clicking against the marble floor, smiles thrown my way like confetti. Everyone looked so happy. Everyone except me. Inside the restroom, I found a corner and exhaled. My reflection stared back at me, brown curls pinned perfectly, lipstick still intact, eyelids a little too shiny.

Don’t cry, Mia.

As I moved to adjust the bodice of my champagne-colored dress, I heard two voices spill into the room. They were giggly and loud, sounding like teenagers or girls barely in their twenties.

"Did you hear Rafael Valdrighi is coming back?" one said. Her voice had that sorority-girl pitch, high and unnecessarily dramatic.

"No way," the other replied. "I haven’t seen him since that scar ruined his face."

"Right? He used to be the hottest of the Valdrighis. Now he looks... I don’t know. Angry and ugly."

I held my breath as I listened. Rafael Valdrighi. He was the older brother and the heir. The one nobody talked about unless you wanted to turn a conversation into an awkward competition fast.

"He got that scar from an assassination attempt or something," the first girl added. "Rich people drama. He disappeared after that."

They both laughed like it was funny, like someone getting hurt made them interesting. Pretty girls can be so cruel when they’re bored. I blinked away the sting in my eyes and stared at my reflection again.

Ugly, just because he had a scar? What kind of world was this? I fixed my posture and squared my shoulders. I wasn’t going to cry over Matteo. And some catty girls wouldn't send me spiraling over a guy I have never met.

With one last breath, I stepped back into the party and put my mask on.

My life hadn't always been like this. There was a time when I was loved. A time when I was safe and could act like myself.

My mother died when I was three. I don’t remember her face clearly, but I remember the way her hair smelled like jasmine and cookies. My dad, Jules Dennison, raised me alone for two years after that. Just him and me. We used to dance in the living room and we used to laugh. We went to the park together. Life was better.

And then Clara came with her twins. My father had introduced her as my new mother, a title I vowed to never give her. Her twins were fraternal sisters with eyes like sharks. Their names were Fiona and Lynn. They were only two years younger than me, but they walked in like royalty. I remember the day we moved them in. The girls looked like their mother, with their blonde hair and blue eyes. Except Fiona was taller, her hair was a darker shade and she was meaner. I was wearing a purple dress, eager to accept my new family even though I wasn't happy about the sudden change. But Clara looked at me once and never smiled.

That was the day I stopped being a daughter and became something else. The girl who cleaned, served and took the blame. The one who kept quiet, while they sat pretty. I did their chores and if I ever complained, Clara slapped the complaint out of my mouth.

Sometimes, I wonder if my dad noticed. Sometimes, I think he did but noticing meant doing something, and maybe that was too much work for a man who had already buried one woman. So I stopped asking for help. I just waited.

And when Matteo came along, all polished charm and expensive cologne, I thought: Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how I save myself. He offered me a way out that had nothing to do with love or passion. But I took it. As long as I stayed the perfect trophy wife who couldn't speak or stand up to him, I would be free.

And sometimes freedom is enough.

Back at the party, the music had shifted to something slower. Matteo was laughing with his friends, glass of wine in hand, like he hadn’t just come to the party after cheating on his bride.

I walked back to him with a smile stitched to my face.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Perfect," I lied.