Eva had studied every inch of the Moretti penthouse before the wedding—blueprints, floor plans, photos buried in old news articles. And yet, standing in the master bedroom now, she felt like a trespasser in someone else's skin.
The city glittered beyond the wall of glass, but her gaze settled on the man behind her.
Damian was unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, like he had all the time in the world to unravel her.
"You can relax," he said without looking up. "I don't plan to play the eager husband tonight."
She kept her voice neutral. "How noble."
He laughed softly. "Disappointed?"
Eva turned her back to him and reached for the zipper of her dress. "I'm exhausted."
"Good," he said, stepping closer. "Marriage is exhausting. You'll fit right in."
The zipper caught halfway down, trembling beneath her fingers. Before she could stop him, Damian's hands replaced hers—cool, steady, far too confident. He dragged the zipper down the rest of the way, his breath brushing the nape of her neck.
She held perfectly still.
"Wearing white," he murmured, "always seemed like a lie to me."
She stepped away before he could finish the thought. "You'd know all about lies, wouldn't you, Damian?"
He didn't answer. Just watched her slip into the silk robe waiting on the chair, like he was memorizing how she moved.
---
She waited until he disappeared into his study to open her laptop.
It was password-protected, and behind that were encrypted files buried under fake folders labeled tax documents and charity work.
She clicked open the newest one: ISABELLA – CASE NOTES.
Her sister's face stared back at her, all warm smiles and bright eyes. Eva's stomach twisted.
She hadn't cried on the wedding day. She hadn't cried when she signed the papers. But looking at that face now, she nearly broke.
She clicked on a voice memo instead.
> "If anything happens to me, it'll be because I was close to something I wasn't supposed to find. Don't believe what they tell you, Evie. Don't trust him. Please, promise me that…"
The audio cut off there.
That message had been left the night Isabella died.
Eva swallowed hard and deleted the browser history. Just as she clicked the screen shut, a voice said—
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Damian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
Eva pasted on a calm smile. "Habit. I like to read before bed."
"Must've been one hell of a book," he said, glancing at the laptop.
She closed it casually. "You wouldn't like the genre."
He studied her, then pushed off the wall and walked away. But something in his eyes had shifted.
He was watching her now.
Not just the way a man watches a woman he's just married.
But the way a predator watches another predator circling the same kill.
---
The next morning, Eva awoke alone. The other half of the bed was cold.
She found a handwritten note waiting on the pillow:
Breakfast is in the solarium. Don't be late. There's someone I want you to meet. – D
Someone I want you to meet.
The words were harmless enough, but they made her heart race.
She dressed carefully—soft blue blouse, minimalist makeup, no trace of the woman who'd spent the night with secrets under her skin.
The solarium was a greenhouse-like structure bathed in morning light. And in it sat a woman. Late thirties. Sharp eyes. Poised like a queen at the head of the table.
"Eva," Damian said smoothly, "meet my aunt, Celeste Moretti."
Celeste rose and offered her hand. "Congratulations. You're prettier than your photographs."
"And you're more intimidating than your reputation," Eva replied with a polite smile.
Damian let out a laugh. Celeste did not.
"I like you already," she said. "You'll need that sharp tongue where you're going."
Eva took her seat as the staff poured coffee.
Celeste leaned in slightly. "Tell me, dear. What's your take on loyalty?"
Eva blinked. "I suppose it depends who it's owed to."
Celeste's smile widened. "Exactly."
Damian watched the exchange in silence, but there was a flicker of something beneath his mask.
Was this a test?
Or a warning?
Eva buttered a croissant with steady hands. "And what about truth, Mrs. Moretti? Where does that rank for your family?"
Celeste took a slow sip of her coffee. "Truth is a matter of power. The powerful decide what's true."
Eva met her gaze with
out blinking. "Then I suppose I married into the right family."
The silence that followed felt heavier than steel.