~ FIVE YEARS AGO ~
The grand halls of Plaza Planet Hotels shimmered like a cathedral of wealth. Crystal chandeliers dripped with light, scattering diamonds across the polished marble floor. Laughter soared between gilded columns, champagne flutes clicked in endless rhythm, and the air itself seemed drenched in the perfume of roses, cigars, and money.
It was a wedding, and joy—at least for the guests—hung heavy in the air. For them, it was music, celebration, the dawn of new love.
But for Sebastián Moretti, seated in a leather chair far from the orchestra and the dance floor, it was chaos.
He lifted his glass and swallowed bourbon in one brutal gulp. The liquor scorched his throat like fire, but he welcomed the burn. It grounded him, reminded him that beneath the finery and applause, he was still a man who had bled to build his empire. He set the glass down with a muted thud, already reaching to fill it again.
He told himself he was here for his son. That today was Vincent's day, not his. He had to at least look it. Smile when greeted, nod when congratulated, carry the aura of the untouchable Moretti patriarch. And he did. When men approached him, their eyes dripping with reverence, he nodded. When business associates hovered near, hoping for favor, he raised his hand in dismissal. He knew their type too well. They were wolves in suits, watching for the first crack in his kingdom—so they might wedge their claws in and rip it away.
A year ago, Sebastián would not have cared. A year ago, there were no cracks.
But sitting here tonight, watching his son hold his new bride by the waist, Sebastián felt the fissure. A small fracture that somehow exposed the whole world. He saw in her the seed of his empire's undoing, and in Vincent—the dangerous naiveté of a man in love.
He drowned the thought with more bourbon.
"Drinking yourself into an early grave, Sebastián?"
The voice was silk over steel. Sebastián did not have to look. He hissed under his breath, jaw tightening.
"Murphy Donovan."
He extended his hand reluctantly. Two titans of different worlds, shaking hands for form's sake. Donovan's grip was smug, his smile too polished, his presence unwelcome. They sat side by side, not in fellowship, but as enemies trapped in the same pew at church.
Sebastián despised every moment of it. He grunted when the man spoke. He hissed when the man laughed.
"Why are you here, Murphy?" Sebastián's tone cut like a blade. "Surely you have better things to do than loiter at my family's table."
"Ah," Donovan chuckled lightly, sipping his own glass. "Can't I share a drink with my newfound family?"
"You are no kin of mine," Sebastián growled. "I am tolerating you because my son insists upon it. Nothing more."
The smile slipped from Donovan's lips. His eyes darkened, flashing a tempered rage.
"Your son is not better than my daughter," Donovan spat.
Sebastián's head turned sharply. His gaze burned like a forge. "He is not. But your daughter…" He leaned in, voice a dangerous whisper. "…your daughter is a serpent. And if you forget what a serpent did to the first man, look to your daughter and remember."
Donovan's composure snapped. "How dare you!" His roar cracked like thunder, drawing curious glances from the nearest tables.
Sebastián did not flinch. He only reached for his glass again, swallowing calmly, his eyes never leaving Donovan's.
"What do you want from me tonight of all nights?" he asked, low and lethal.
Donovan exhaled heavily, reigning in his temper. He reminded himself of promises made to his daughter—that he would not make a scene, that he would play the part of the dutiful father. His knuckles whitened around the file in his hand.
"I bring greatness, Sebastián," Donovan said finally, sliding the folder across the table. "And you insult me before I even show you."
Sebastián's eyes flickered to the folder. He opened it. And like lightning on a storm-dark night, his expression transformed. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared.
"What is this?" His voice was thunder.
Donovan mistook his fury for resistance. He leaned closer, lowering his voice, trying to sell the dream.
"It's opportunity. Expansion. A merger. Together, our names would—"
The folder slammed back onto the table with a crack. Sebastián's hand lingered on it for a moment, trembling with contained violence.
"How dare you bring this to me?" His words cut through the din of violins and chatter. Heads turned again, whispers flickering like sparks.
"This shall be the last I hear of it," Sebastián commanded, voice low but deadly.
"You haven't even considered the limits of our reach," Donovan pressed, desperate.
"There is no we. There is no our." Sebastián rose to his full height, towering, his tailored suit cutting the figure of a monarch among courtiers. "There is only Sebastián Moretti. And Moretti Homes."
Donovan's face hardened, but Sebastián did not stop.
"You think a merger would strengthen us?" Sebastián's voice dripped contempt. "If you believe that, you are no different from a little girl who believes in unicorns."
With that, he turned, straightened his cuffs, and strode back into the crowd—leaving Donovan with his file, his fury, and his delusions.
The orchestra swelled. Champagne glasses clinked again. The guests laughed, unaware that two empires had just collided in the shadows.
And the crack Sebastián had seen in his kingdom widened.
***
The Present.
The storm began with a headline.
"Moretti's Mistress? Struggling Waitress Snags Billionaire."
Jennifer read it twice before she realized her name was printed beneath the glossy photo — a photograph of her outside Veloura Models, hair tousled, clutching her bag like a girl caught stealing bread. The caption carved through her chest like glass:
Jennifer Lawrence, 23, former waitress, now rumored to be living under the roof of billionaire Vincent Moretti. Sources question if her new modeling career is genuine or bought with Moretti's influence.
She wanted to throw the magazine across the room, but it was already too late. By noon, her phone lit with messages. Some from unknown numbers, others from strangers on social media. Comments, all venom.
Gold-digger.
Sleeping your way up.
Jennifer shut the phone off, but the voices lingered in her skull.
By evening, the media was everywhere. Paparazzi loitered outside Veloura's polished glass doors, cameras clicking like the sound of cicadas in heat. Even the tabloids that once praised Vincent's stoic brilliance now dragged his name through the mud.
Tracy Donovan had struck again.
Vincent stormed into his study when the first broadcasts aired. He ripped the remote out of Carlos's hand and snapped the television off mid-sentence. For a moment, silence wrapped the room like ice.
Carlos watched him carefully. He had seen Vincent angry before, but never this kind of anger. This was quiet. Contained. Dangerous.
"She wants Jennifer broken," Vincent said, voice like gravel. "She wants me distracted. She won't stop until she destroys everything I've built."
Carlos exhaled through his nose. "She's drawing blood where it hurts most. And she knows you can't strike back in public."
Vincent's eyes flickered, molten steel. "Public or private, she'll learn there are places she should never step."
Yet when Jennifer entered timidly with a tray of untouched tea, he forced that steel back into silence. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched. He even offered her a smile, though his eyes betrayed how frayed he was.
"You shouldn't read anything today," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"I already did." Her voice cracked, shame thick in it.
He sighed, touched her hand, and pressed it briefly. "Then forget what you saw. They're lies."
But lies, Jennifer thought, had a way of feeling truer when the whole world shouted them.
The next day she went to work determined. But the day dragged her like an anchor. Cookie tried to veer her mind off the slanders to get her to focus. It was difficult, reporters swarmed the complex outside.
She was done for the day by four in the evening. She stepped out, oblivious to the waiting storm.
Cameras swarmed outside Veloura, snapping at her as if she were some rare animal on display. "Jennifer, are you using him for fame?" "Are the wedding rumors true?" "Did you sleep your way into Veloura?"
She pushed through, face burning, every step heavier. Inside, the whispers followed her like shadows.
And then — Tracy.
Waiting just beyond the building's glass doors, wrapped in an elegant cream coat, sunglasses perched like a crown. Her smile was venom dressed in silk.
"Well, if it isn't the star of the week," Tracy drawled.
Jennifer froze. "What do you want?"
"Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd congratulate you on your headlines. Quite the debut." Tracy circled her like a predator toying with prey. "You do realize, don't you? You'll never escape this. You'll always be the gold-digger. Even if you marry him, even if you bear his children… that stain will never wash off."
Jennifer clenched her fists. "You're lying."
Tracy leaned in close, her perfume sharp, intoxicating. "I don't have to lie. The world believes me already. And Vincent? Poor Vincent… he doesn't realize you're the very thing that will ruin him."
Jennifer's chest heaved. For a moment, she wanted to strike her, to scream. But Tracy only gave a pitying smile and glided away, heels clicking like the punctuation to her cruelty.
By nightfall, Jennifer sat at her vanity in the guest wing, staring at her reflection.
The mirror did not comfort her. It accused her. The girl looking back wasn't a survivor, or a fighter, or a woman deserving of love — she was the caricature Tracy painted. A manipulator. A liability. A scandal wrapped in silk.
Her hand trembled as she touched the glass, tears threatening but refusing to fall. "Maybe she's right," she whispered to herself. "Maybe walking away is the only way to save him."
Downstairs, the estate breathed with quiet power — Vincent pacing somewhere, the threat of another court hearing coming, Carlos standing guard, the world still spinning. But in that moment, Jennifer felt utterly still, trapped in a cage made of words sharper than knives.
And for the first time since meeting Vincent, she wondered if loving him might destroy them both.