When Rafael Marchetti stepped into the room, the temperature seemed to drop.
He didn’t rush.
He didn’t need to.
Every movement carried weight.
Control.
Danger.
Six years ago, in Vienna, I sat across from him under the identity “S.C.”
He was the only man who looked at me—and saw through me.
Not my mask.
Me.
And the only one who made me feel seen… before I chose the wrong life.
Lucian.
That mistake had cost me everything.
“Seraphina Castellano,” he said now. “You finally use your real name.”
“You sent the video,” I said.
He didn’t deny it.
“I’ve been tracking Moreau for months,” he said. “But when I realized the person behind it all was you…”
He paused.
“I couldn’t let him destroy you.”
The room shifted.
My father spoke first.
“What do you want?”
Rafael looked at me.
“
