Emily didn't sleep after Liam's confession.
She lay awake, eyes wide in the darkness, hearing every creak in the penthouse, every tick of the wall clock like a countdown to something inevitable. She'd thought marrying Liam was a mistake. Now she knew it was something else—something deeper, something laced with danger.
She'd married into a war.
By morning, her nerves were frayed. The echo of Liam's words kept circling her mind:
> "I didn't expect to feel this. To care what happens—"
But he hadn't finished. He'd cut himself off, walked away, left her sitting in the library with a storm in her chest.
Now, dressed in a soft sweater and jeans, she sat alone in the breakfast lounge, pushing eggs around on a plate she had no intention of eating.
Liam walked in at exactly 8:00 a.m., as always—polished, composed, unreadable.
She studied him quietly. How could a man be so put together while falling apart inside?
He noticed her gaze. "Didn't sleep?"
Emily shook her head. "Did you?"
"No."
He poured coffee, added one sugar, no cream. The same ritual, same detachment. Like nothing had happened.
"I'm not bait," Emily said suddenly, her voice firmer than she felt.
Liam met her eyes. "No. You're not."
"But you're still using me."
He didn't deny it. "I never claimed to be a good man, Emily."
She rose from her chair, trembling just enough to make her grab the table for balance. "Maybe not. But you're a man I married, and whether we meant it or not, that comes with responsibility. You said you cared. Start acting like it."
A flicker of something crossed his face—shame? Regret?
"I'll protect you. That's a promise," he said quietly.
"From what?" she asked. "The mafia? Your past? Or from yourself?"
He didn't answer.
---
Later that afternoon, Carmen whisked Emily away for a "media grooming session," which really meant learning how to behave like a billionaire's wife.
Emily sat in a glass-walled conference room while a stern woman named Deidra handed her a thick binder labeled "Public Persona Strategy."
"You'll need to learn how to handle questions, especially about your courtship," Deidra said. "The press is already suspicious. There are whispers about this marriage being rushed and… unconventional."
Emily bit her tongue.
> Because it was.
"Smile, don't answer too quickly, and remember your talking points," Deidra continued. "You met at a gala. Fell in love quietly. Eloped for privacy."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "You want me to lie."
Deidra smiled without warmth. "I want you to survive this world."
---
Back at the penthouse, Emily found Liam alone on the balcony, talking into his Bluetooth headset in a clipped, icy tone.
"No, I don't care how much they paid. I want that deal dead. Do you understand me?"
He hung up and turned toward her as she stepped out.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just business. One of my associates tried selling Rosselli stock options under a shell company."
"Is that dangerous?"
"Only if I let it slide."
The air between them shifted.
Emily stepped closer. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."
He looked at her, surprised. "You want to help me go after a mafia empire?"
"No. But I want to understand the man I married."
That made him pause.
"Most people just try to change me," he said softly.
"Maybe I don't want to change you. Maybe I just want to know what's real."
He took a breath and, for the first time, lowered his armor.
"I don't trust people easily. I've been betrayed too many times. Family, friends. Even lovers. That's why I control everything. It's why I keep people out."
Emily's chest tightened. She recognized the pain beneath his voice.
"I get that," she whispered. "But if you keep pushing everyone away, one day, there'll be no one left to care."
A gust of wind blew between them, cool and restless.
Then, for the first time since they'd been married, Liam reached for her hand.
Not possessively. Not for a camera.
Gently. Honestly.
"I don't want to lose this before it even begins," he said.
Emily's fingers curled around his.
"Then don't."
---
That night, as Emily stood in the hallway about to enter her room, Liam spoke from behind her.
"Stay."
She turned. "What?"
He nodded toward his door. "Just to sleep. Nothing else. I don't want to be alone tonight."
Her heart pounded. The vulnerability in his voice was like a thread pulling at her defenses.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
Inside, his room was colder than hers—sleek marble, silver decor, dark linen sheets. No softness. No warmth.
She curled up on one side of the bed. Liam lay beside her, the distance between them sharp and electric.
Minutes passed in silence.
Then:
"Emily?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not afraid of the Rossellis," he whispered. "I'm afraid of you walking away."
Emily turned to him in the dark.
"I'm not going anywhere ," she whispered .
Not yet .