Secrets beneath the vows

The last time I saw Luca De Luca, he was kissing another woman at my father’s funeral. Now, he was sitting across from me at a private table in the back of a champagne-soaked rooftop bar in Manhattan, staring at me like I hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth three years ago. “Marry me,” he said, like it was nothing. I blinked. “Excuse me?” “I said marry me, Aurora.” The ice clinked in my glass. I hadn’t touched my drink. “You don’t call. You don’t write. And now you come out of nowhere and propose over overpriced gin?” I scoffed. “I should throw this in your face.” “I’d deserve it,” he said with a half-smile that made me want to slap him. Or kiss him. God, I hated that he still looked like sin dressed in silk perfectly tailored navy suit, the dark stubble along his jaw, the same storm-gray eyes that once saw too much and never enough. “What do you want, Luca?” “A contract. One year. Public marriage. In exchange, you’ll get ten million dollars wired to your account. Tax-free. No questions asked.” I laughed. Sharp and hollow. “You think I need your money?” “No. I think you want revenge.” My pulse flickered. He leaned forward. “I know you blame me for what happened to your father. And your family’s company.” “You don’t get to talk about my father,” I snapped. “You crushed his legacy. Stole our clients. You watched us fall and smiled while doing it.” He nodded once, like he didn’t disagree. “And yet you’re still here. Alive. Successful. Holding your own name like a loaded weapon.” I rose from my chair. He slid a thick envelope across the table. “Thirty-day clause in my grandfather’s will. If I don’t marry, I lose everything. Billions. Gone. And it has to be someone with a clean record, no connection to the De Luca empire, no criminal ties or PR scandals. That narrows the list to one woman.” I stared down at the envelope. “And you just happened to think of me?” I asked. “Not quite. I never stopped thinking about you.” I scoffed, but the way his eyes dipped to my lips told me he meant it. Or was a master at pretending. This was a man who destroyed empires. Lied for a living. Weaponized silence. I had no reason to say yes. And every reason to agree. Because Luca De Luca didn’t know everything. He didn’t know about the night three years ago. Or what it left behind. I didn’t open the envelope until I got home. The apartment was dark, silent except for the faint hum of the baby monitor. Not a baby anymore, I reminded myself. She was almost three. I walked down the hallway to the nursery, barefoot on cool marble, and peeked in. Ivy was curled up in her crib, one tiny fist clutching the edge of her blanket, her dark curls sprawled across the pillow. She looked nothing like me. She looked exactly like him. My daughter. His daughter. I backed away slowly and shut the door, chest tight. The contract was short. Clean. Brutal. Just like him. Marriage of convenience. One year. Appearances to be kept for the public, but no obligation of intimacy. That part made me laugh. Penalty clause: if either party violates the terms or files for divorce early, the wronged party inherits half of De Luca Global’s shares. So this wasn’t just about marriage. This was a war disguised as a wedding. The next morning, I called him. “I’ll do it.” A pause. “You’re sure?” “Send your lawyer. I’ll sign it.” “You haven’t even asked why I chose you.” “I don’t care.” That was a lie. And he knew it. Two days later, we were married. It was on a yacht off the Amalfi Coast, attended only by his legal team and a few strategically placed paparazzi. I wore white. A lie in itself. He wore a three-piece suit and a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t try to touch me, not even for the kiss. We posed. Cameras flashed. Then we stepped away like strangers who had just signed a lease, not vows. The media ate it up "Enemies-to-Lovers: The Shocking De Luca Wedding That’s Shaking Wall Street." No one knew the truth. Not yet. The night of the wedding, I sat in the massive hotel suite, staring out at the sea, wondering what kind of hell I’d just agreed to. He entered without knocking. Of course. “Nice dress,” he said. “You wore it better than I imagined.” “You imagined this?” “Often.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed me one. I took it but didn’t drink. “Why now?” I asked. “After all these years?” He looked at me for a long moment. “Because I owe you something.” My throat tightened. “You owe me a lot.” “I know.” I waited for an apology. It didn’t come. “I never meant to hurt your family,” he said. “But business is business.” My fingers clenched around the glass. “Then let me make something clear, husband. This may be a game to you, but it’s life to me. I’ll play your little marriage. Smile for your cameras. But the second you slip up, I’ll tear your empire to the ground.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell the cologne he used to wear back then. Dark amber and something sharp beneath it. “I look forward to it,” he said, low. And then he walked out. He didn’t know. About Ivy. About the hospital in Paris. About the blood test I took while sobbing in a doctor’s office, watching the sonogram and cursing the night I let him touch me. He didn’t know that the only reason I was still alive was because of her. Or that I’d protected her for three years, living under different names, until now. Now I was back in his life. Now I had a ring on my finger. And now… I had a plan. But as I looked out the window, I felt something twist in my chest. Because even I couldn’t predict what would happen when Luca De Luca found out the truth. Or what he’d do to me when he realized… I was never just playing.