Chapter 1

On my wedding day, I slept for six hours inside my own dressing room.

By the time I reached the DeLuca family chapel in the Hudson Valley, Matteo had already completed the entire ceremony with his childhood friend, Sofia Rinaldi, the daughter of one of the DeLucas’ oldest allied families.

She wore the gown I had spent six months designing and the pearl tiara passed down through generations of DeLuca women. Allies from New York, Chicago, and Sicily had witnessed everything. No one had saved a place for the real bride.

Matteo looked at my pale face and explained calmly.

“Sofia put the sedative in your tea. She only wanted one wedding. The dose was small, so there is no reason to make this into something bigger.”

Everyone waited for me to cause a scene.

I only let out a quiet sigh and looked at Matteo with disappointment.

My family had given me one final chance to marry for love.

Now that the wedding had failed, I had to return to Sicily, obey their decision, and inherit the family.

Chapter 1

I left the chapel while the reception continued. Guests gathered in the garden with champagne, as though the real bride had never arrived.

The DeLuca driver opened the car door without asking why the wedding had ended early. Everyone knew what had happened, and no one believed I deserved an explanation.

As we entered Manhattan, the sedative made the nausea worse. My hands turned cold.

Matteo knew I could not take sedatives. Two years earlier, I had suffered a severe reaction to anesthesia, and the doctor had warned him that similar drugs could cause breathing problems.

Today, he had only said the dose was small.

When I returned to the Upper East Side townhouse, the housekeeper looked surprised to see me alone.

“Miss Vale, is the reception over?”

“Matteo still has guests to entertain.”

I went upstairs and rushed into the bathroom. I vomited until my stomach was empty, but the cramping continued and red marks spread along my arms.

My phone kept vibrating.

Someone had posted a photograph in the private group used by younger DeLuca members and allied heirs. I stood at the chapel entrance, pale and unsteady. Sofia stood beside Matteo in my wedding gown, wearing the pearl tiara meant for me.

“She didn’t even say a word.”

“Matteo trained her well.”

“She was an orphan on a scholarship. Where could she go without the DeLucas?”

Someone reminded them that I was in the group.

Another message appeared.

“So what if she sees this? Does anyone think she would dare leave Matteo?”

I closed the chat without replying.

Matteo returned at ten. He entered the bedroom smelling of whiskey and leaned down to kiss me. When I did not move toward him, he stopped.

“Still angry?”

He sounded as though he were calming a difficult child.

“No.”

Matteo removed a velvet box from his coat. Inside was an antique sapphire necklace.

I had never liked sapphires.

Sofia did.

“It came from the DeLuca vault,” he said. “I planned to give it to you after the ceremony. Take it now, and let today end here.”

I thanked him quietly.

He fastened the necklace around my throat.

“There was no marriage license, and nothing was legally filed. Sofia only wanted to experience the ceremony in the family chapel. We will register our marriage next week.”

“She drugged me.”

“She used a very small amount.”

“You woke up and came home safely. Sofia was emotional today, and I will not humiliate the DeLuca and Rinaldi families over this.”

I met his eyes in the mirror.

“What if I hadn’t woken up?”

Matteo frowned.

“There were doctors at the estate. Nothing would have happened.”

He leaned closer, bringing the smell of whiskey with him. I raised a hand between us.

“You’ve been drinking. You know the alcohol on your breath makes me sick.”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. His expression softened when he saw Sofia’s name.

She was crying. Several elders had criticized her for wearing my gown and remaining within the DeLuca family.

“No one is sending you away,” Matteo told her.

He walked toward the study.

“Get some rest. I’ll come back after I deal with her.”

The lock clicked.

I removed the sapphire necklace and returned it to the box. The group chat was still discussing whether Sofia would spend the night at the estate and whether my registration with Matteo would proceed next week.

They all believed I would stay.

Matteo believed it too.

In his eyes, I had no parents, no family, and nothing that had not come from the DeLucas. He believed I would accept every humiliation to keep the life he had given me.

I called a number I had not used in years.

The phone rang once.

“Isabella.”

My aunt’s voice came from Sicily.

I removed my engagement ring and placed it beside the sapphire necklace.

“The wedding failed.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Are you certain?”

“Prepare the inheritance documents.”

I looked at myself in the mirror.

“I’m coming home to Sicily.”

Chapter 2

Not long after the study door closed, Matteo sent me a message.

“I’ll take you to City Hall on Monday morning.”

“All right.”

I pulled a suitcase from the dressing room and began packing what I intended to take: my passport, several private documents, and the Venturi family seal hidden beneath my jewelry box.

My aunt had already sent people to New York. I had to leave the townhouse before the Venturi plane arrived the following morning.

In the innermost wardrobe drawer, I found a silk robe that did not belong to me.

The dark blue fabric had been shoved inside in a wrinkled heap. Sofia’s initials were embroidered on one cuff, and a pearl garter from the wedding was tangled around the belt. Dried champagne and her familiar iris perfume clung to the silk.

The bedroom door opened.

Matteo saw the robe in my hands, paused, then took it from me calmly.

“One of the bridesmaids probably put it in the wrong room while clearing the bridal suite.”

My fingers were trembling. The rash caused by the sedative had spread to my wrists, and nausea tightened my stomach again.

Matteo mistook my reaction for heartbreak. He touched my hair with unexpected tenderness.

“Isabella, do you know what I like most about you?”

I said nothing.

“You never create trouble.”

He had praised me that way for years.

Quiet. Sensible. Gracious.

To Matteo, those words meant I would not question his decisions, embarrass him before his family, or demand that he choose between Sofia and me.

“Whatever existed between Sofia and me ended years ago,” he said, tossing the robe aside. “Today’s ceremony was only compensation. Once we register the marriage, you will be the wife recognized by the DeLuca family.”

He patted my head as though rewarding an obedient pet.

He had treated me the same way at boarding school.

Everyone believed I was an orphan admitted on a scholarship. Matteo occasionally intervened when the others went too far, but the moment Sofia cried, he left with her. Then the heirs of old families locked me in storage rooms, cut my uniforms, or poured wine over my head.

He never called it bullying. In his world, cruelty among wealthy children was only a joke, and I was expected to endure it.

“Sofia cut her hand while removing the tiara,” he said. “I’m taking her to the private medical center.”

I caught his wrist.

“Can you stay?”

It was the final chance I was willing to give us. Had he stayed for one night, I might still have believed I had once held a place in his heart that truly belonged to me.

Matteo looked surprised, then mildly helpless.

“I promised her.”

He had promised me things too: my first public speech, one evening for my birthday each year.

Every promise had eventually yielded to Sofia’s call.

“All right.”

I released him, but Matteo caught my hand.

“I’ll bring back the dessert you like.”

I had never liked sweets.

“Thank you.”

He did not return that night.

Near midnight, Sofia posted a photograph from the DeLuca family’s private clinic.“Like a rabbit, don’t you think?”

The comments appeared quickly.

“Was she injured on her wedding night?”

“Did Matteo stay with you all night?”

Sofia replied:

“He has always known how to take care of me.”

I closed the page and booked a medical appointment.

By morning, the rash had spread to my neck, and I had scratched thin lines into my skin. The doctor examined me, gave me an injection, and warned me sternly.

“Your reaction to sedatives is serious. You cannot be exposed to them again. Next time, your throat may swell and block your airway.”

“I understand.”

I left with my medication and found Matteo in the lobby.

Sofia had one arm linked through his while he held her other hand. He looked surprised to see me but did not let go.

“What are you doing here?”

“Drug allergy.”

Matteo glanced at the rash on my neck.

“Did the doctor treat it?”

“Yes.”

He nodded without asking how serious it was, then looked down at Sofia’s finger.

“She cut herself removing the tiara. I brought her back to change the dressing.”

The tiny cut had already closed.

Sofia leaned against him with a smile.

“It was your fault for rushing me. That tiara had so many pins.”

Matteo answered indulgently.

“My fault.”

Then he looked at me.

“Go home and rest.”

I turned away.

A few steps later, Sofia spoke behind me.

“Her face and neck are covered in rashes. What if it is contagious? She should have a full examination before next week’s registration.”

“She has been examined before.”

“That was before. I’m thinking about the DeLuca family.”

After a brief silence, Matteo agreed.

“Fine. I’ll send a doctor to the house tomorrow.”

He spoke as though arranging an inspection for something about to enter the DeLuca household.

I did not look back.

My phone vibrated. An encrypted message from Sicily appeared.

The inheritance documents are ready.

The Venturi family plane will arrive in New York tomorrow morning.

I deleted it and kept walking.

Chapter 3

After leaving the medical center, I had the driver stop at a private bank near Fifth Avenue. I placed several private documents inside a secure vault.

It was already dark when I returned to the Upper East Side townhouse.

Sofia opened the door herself, carrying herself like the true mistress of the house.

“Isabella, the staff couldn’t find another pair of slippers. You can wear the disposable ones.”

I looked down.

She was wearing my Venetian velvet slippers, custom-made for my smaller feet and embroidered with silver vines. Her heels hung over the edges, yet she deliberately walked past me in them.

Matteo sat at an antique card table with several heirs from allied families. Chips, whiskey, and unopened cigars covered the surface.

He glanced at me, then returned to his cards.

I changed into the disposable slippers and entered the drawing room. Cold air immediately swept in from the terrace.

The fireplace had been extinguished, and every French door stood open. December air cut through the room. I sneezed several times, and the rash that had only just settled began itching again.

I moved to close the doors, but Matteo caught my hand.

“Sofia feels overheated. The fresh air helps.”

“Cold air triggers my rhinitis.”

“Put on a coat.”

His tone sounded reasonable, but he pushed the door open again.

Sofia sat beside the head of the table with my cashmere wrap around her shoulders. She lifted her champagne glass toward me.

“Sorry. I felt dizzy earlier, and the doctor said the room should stay ventilated.”

The tiny cut on her finger had already closed. Matteo still ordered a servant to bring another blanket for her legs.

No one had asked whether my allergic reaction had improved.

“How long will the doors stay open?” I asked.

The card game fell silent.

Matteo set down his chips, irritation appearing between his brows.

“Until the game ends. Two hours at most. You can stay upstairs.”

“My rhinitis can’t tolerate this.”

“Then don’t stay in here.”

He picked up his cards again, ending the discussion.

One of the men gave an awkward laugh.

“Go rest upstairs, Isabella. We’ll leave after this round.”

I nodded and walked toward the staircase.

The laughter resumed behind me.

“Why are you being so polite? Matteo clearly doesn’t care.”

“She does look a little pathetic.”

“If she were truly offended, she would have left already. A scholarship orphan who entered our circle through Matteo would never give up the DeLuca name.”

“Sofia wore her wedding gown, and she still didn’t say a word. Women like that know exactly how to make themselves stay.”

They made no effort to lower their voices.

Matteo never stopped them.

Their words probably reflected what he believed. He loved me, but he had never respected me. In his mind, everything I possessed came from the DeLucas. No humiliation could outweigh what he believed he had given me.

I returned to the bedroom and packed the last of my belongings.

The gowns, jewelry, and handbags purchased by the DeLuca family remained untouched. Only my passport, private documents, and the Venturi family seal were missing from the bedside cabinet.

The family plane would arrive tomorrow morning.

I no longer needed to remain in this house until then.

When I returned to the drawing room with my suitcase, the laughter around the table slowly died.

Matteo’s expression darkened.

“You’re creating this scene over a few open doors?”

“I’m staying somewhere else.”

“Because I wouldn’t let you close them?”

He rose and approached me, impatience restrained beneath his voice.

“Sofia was humiliated at the wedding and injured herself today. I asked you to accommodate her for two hours.”

Sofia immediately set down her glass, her eyes turning red.

“This is all my fault. Isabella, you don’t need to leave. I’ll go.”

She had barely stood when Matteo pressed a hand to her shoulder.

“You stay.”

Then he looked at me.

“If she wants to leave, let her.”

The others abandoned their false politeness.

“Packing a suitcase over something this small is exhausting.”

“This is a DeLuca house. Does she honestly think she owns it?”

“She has no family, yet she behaves as though she were the heir.”

They laughed.

They had no idea that the person without an inheritance had never been me.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle and walked toward the door.

Matteo’s voice followed me.

“Isabella, if you walk out tonight, Monday’s registration is canceled.”

I stopped and looked back.

He stood beneath the chandelier, entirely certain that the threat would make me stay. For years, he had used marriage, shelter, and the DeLuca name as rewards, believing I would always lower my head to receive them.

“All right.”

I opened the door.

His face hardened.

“Once you leave, don’t come back.”

I dragged my suitcase down the steps without answering.

An unmarked black sedan waited at the curb. The driver took my luggage and opened the rear door with a respectful bow.

The townhouse door slammed behind me.

A second later, glass shattered inside.

Matteo had swept a Baccarat crystal decanter into the fireplace.

By then, I was already inside the car.

Chapter 4

Matteo stared at the closed door, his anger still rising. He cursed under his breath, grabbed his coat, and followed me outside.

The street was already empty.

The black sedan had disappeared. The guards had not seen its license plate. They only remembered that the driver spoke with a European accent and treated Isabella with unusual respect.

One of the young heirs from the card game followed Matteo onto the steps.

“Should we send someone to bring her back?”

“Bring her back?”

Matteo looked down the street and laughed coldly.

“She has no family in New York and nowhere of her own to stay. Give her three days. She’ll come back herself.”

He returned to the drawing room and kicked aside the chips scattered across the carpet.

“Monday’s registration will not wait for her. If she misses it, there will not be another date.”

A faint smile appeared on Sofia’s face.

Soon after I reached the hotel, she sent me a voice recording. Matteo’s restrained anger could be heard in the background.

“Give her two days to calm down. If she returns before Monday, I’ll pretend none of this happened.”

Several messages followed.

[If you truly have any pride, never come back.]

[But I know you too well.]

[You cannot give up Matteo or the life the DeLucas gave you.]

[Even when no one wants you there, you will still return to him.]

She believed she could provoke me into fighting for Matteo again.

I blocked her without replying.

My aunt was waiting in the hotel suite with a stack of documents.

She glanced at my suitcase.

“Is that everything?”

“I left behind everything the DeLucas bought.”

“Good.”

She pushed the inheritance papers toward me.

“The family council has approved your return. Once you sign this acknowledgment, the formal transfer will be completed in Palermo.”

I signed the final page.

Isabella Venturi.

I had remained in America under my mother’s surname because my family had allowed me one chance to choose love for myself.

I had not hidden my name to test Matteo.

For once, I wanted something that belonged only to me—a home I had chosen, a man I had chosen, and a future that had not been negotiated by my family before I was old enough to understand it.

The condition had been simple.

If the wedding failed, I would return to Sicily and accept my position as the Venturi heir.

I had once considered that fate a punishment.

That was why losing Matteo still hurt.

I had not lost a game.

I had lost the life I had once believed was mine.

But as I looked down at Isabella Venturi written across the inheritance documents, returning home no longer felt like surrender.

It felt like freedom.

The following morning, Venturi personnel escorted me to a private airport.

A jet bearing the family crest waited on the runway. I put the Venturi signet ring back on my hand and allowed one photograph to be taken before boarding.

At the DeLuca townhouse, the card game had still not ended.

Matteo sat in silence, the drink before him untouched.

Sofia placed a cup of coffee beside him.

“She only wants you to give in. Once you truly cancel the registration, she’ll come back and beg.”

Matteo ignored the coffee.

“She took the engagement ring?”

“That ring was worth a fortune. Of course she kept it.”

Matteo remembered my empty hands as I left, and his expression changed slightly.

Across the table, one of the men suddenly sat upright.

“Matteo, you need to see this.”

A photograph from a private airport filled his screen.

I stood before a jet marked with the Venturi crest.

Matteo barely glanced at it.

“Where did she rent the plane?”

The others laughed.

“She certainly created an impressive scene while waiting for you to chase her.”

“Maybe she still thinks this will make you propose again.”

The tension in Matteo’s face finally eased.

“Let her wait. When I’m no longer angry, I’ll decide whether to give her another chance.”

Before he finished speaking, the page refreshed.

A report from a European financial publication appeared beneath the photograph.

The laughter stopped.

The man holding the phone stared at the headline as the color drained from his face.

“Matteo, that plane isn’t rented.”

Matteo’s eyes fell on the official portrait beneath the headline.

It was my face.

But the name printed beside it was not Isabella Vale.

It was Isabella Venturi.

SOLE HEIR OF THE VENTURI FAMILY RETURNS TO SICILY.