CRIMSON IVY

​The rain over Blackwood University didn’t wash things clean; it only made the grime of the elite shine. Sloane Vitali sat in the back of the lecture hall, her fingers trembling as she tried to focus on her Constitutional Law notes. For three years, she had been a ghost—a girl with a heavy last name and a silent shadow. She had maintained a perfect GPA, thinking that if she became a lawyer, she could finally litigate her way out of the blood-stained legacy of the Vitali family. But at Blackwood, you didn’t just graduate; you survived. ​The heavy oak doors of the hall swung open with a bang that silenced the professor mid-sentence. Standing there was Dante Moretti, looking every bit the prince of a kingdom built on gunpowder and bone. He didn't look at the professor; his dark, predatory gaze swept the room until it locked onto Sloane. The air in the room curdled. Everyone knew who he was—the senior heir whose family owned half of Chicago and all of the local police. ​"Pack your bags, Sloane," he said, his voice a low, melodic threat that carried to every corner of the room. "The Dean has already approved your 'leave of absence.' You’re moving into the Moretti estate tonight." ​"I'm not going anywhere with you, Dante," she replied, her voice caught between a plea and a snarl. ​He walked down the tiered steps, his leather boots echoing like a heartbeat. He stopped at her desk, leaning over until she could smell the sandalwood and the cold metallic tang of the rain on his coat. He placed a single, blood-red envelope on her notebook. Inside was a copy of a contract signed by her father—a debt settlement that listed her as the primary asset. ​"Your father sold his soul to keep his head," Dante whispered, his eyes burning with a terrifying, hot-blooded intensity. "And he used you as the ink. You aren't a student today, Sloane. You're a bride. And I’ve come to collect."