The sound was wrong.
Too soft. Too intimate.
Sarah Windsor froze in the doorway of her penthouse suite, her fingers still curled around the keycard.
The light spilled from the half-open bedroom door — golden, flickering, careless.
She had come home early to surprise Dominic. Her fiancé. Her almost-husband.
She'd imagined champagne, laughter, maybe the way he'd lift her off her feet like he used to.
But the laughter she heard wasn't his alone.
A woman's laugh — breathy, familiar — sliced through the silence.
Vanessa.
Sarah's stepsister.
Her vision blurred as she pushed the door open.
And there they were.
Dominic, tangled in white sheets.
Vanessa on top of him, her hair spilling over his chest.
Their gasps turned into shock when they saw her.
No one moved for a full heartbeat.
The room smelled of perfume and betrayal.
Sarah's engagement ring caught the light as her hand trembled.
For a moment she couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.
Vanessa smirked first. "You're early."
Dominic sat up, guilt flashing across his perfect face.
"Sarah, it's not what you think—"
"Don't," she cut in, her voice sharp, breaking on the edge.
Her throat burned. Her heart — that foolish, loyal heart — shattered clean in two.
"How long?" she whispered.
Dominic looked away. Vanessa didn't. "Does it matter?"
The words hit like a slap.
Sarah turned. Her heels clicked against marble.
Every step was heavier than the last, until she reached the door and tore off her engagement ring.
It rolled across the hallway and landed with a small metallic clink — the sound of something beautiful breaking forever.
Outside, rain poured against the glass city.
Sarah stood in it, letting the cold soak through her silk dress.
The streets blurred, the lights melting into the ache behind her eyes.
Her life — her future — had just turned into ashes.
---
She didn't remember how she ended up at the bar.
Only that her reflection looked like a stranger.
Mascara streaked. Eyes hollow.
Her phone buzzed with messages — gossip already spreading through London's elite.
Dominic Windsor caught cheating. With his fiancée's sister.
The world didn't wait for the truth. It never did.
Sarah gripped her glass tighter, her diamond bracelet glinting in the dim light.
Her anger rose slowly, curling warm and sharp in her chest.
She'd spent her life being proper. Polished. Perfect.
For her father's legacy. For society. For Dominic.
And look where that got her — broken, humiliated, pitied.
The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of her, but she didn't remember asking for it.
She glanced up — and froze.
A man sat two stools away. Dark suit. Brooding silence.
He didn't look like he belonged here. He looked like he owned the place.
When their eyes met, it was like a current running through her — cold and alive all at once.
He watched her, not like a stranger, but like someone reading a secret.
A dangerous calm in his gaze, a faint scar near his jaw, a ringless hand resting on whiskey.
"You look like someone planning a funeral," he said quietly.
His voice was deep, smooth, too confident.
"Maybe I am," Sarah replied.
He smiled — not kindly. "Whose?"
She didn't answer.
But her silence was enough.
He lifted his glass in a slow toast. "Good. They probably deserve it."
The man's eyes glinted under the bar light — silver, sharp, unreadable.
And for the first time that night, Sarah didn't feel weak.
She felt seen.
As he stood to leave, he leaned close enough for her to catch the faint scent of smoke and expensive danger.
"Don't waste your tears on a coward," he murmured.
"Revenge looks better on you."
Then he was gone — leaving only the ghost of his voice and the question burning in her mind.
Who was he?
She didn't know his name yet.
But soon, she would.
And that name — Dante Moretti — would change her life forever.
As Sarah stared at her reflection in the glass, rain streaking the city lights behin
d her, she whispered to herself,
> "They think they've broken me. But I'll show them what ruin really looks like."