Exiting the Valentino mansion, I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly.
"Hello, Matheo," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
"I'm fine with your terms. Can we meet tomorrow to finalize it?"
"Sure." His cold, magnetic voice rumbled through the receiver, sending a shiver down my spine.
A sudden gust of wind brushed past me, as if the universe itself was reminding me of what I'd just agreed to.
Marrying Matheo won't be that bad, I told myself. At least he respected me. He understood what I'd accomplished—and unlike my father, he was proud. Supportive, even. Maybe that was enough.
I dialed Marcus, my assistant.
"Come pick me up."
I couldn't just stand at the gates of the Valentino estate with my thoughts clawing at me. I started walking, hoping the movement would untangle my mind before Marcus arrived.
He pulled up fifteen minutes later—earlier than I expected.
"Where to, boss?" he asked.
"My apartment." My voice was flat, tired.
The drive was quiet, and before long I drifted into a light sleep.
"Boss, we're here," Marcus said gently.
I dragged myself into my apartment. Too exhausted to reach my room, I collapsed onto the couch, letting sleep consume me.
The next morning, determination jolted me awake. I reached for my phone and dialed Matheo.
"Good morning."
"Good morning," he replied, his tone unreadable.
"I'll get straight to it. Where do we meet?"
"The civil registry. Nine o'clock."
"Shouldn't we… get some paperwork done first? A prenup or—"
"Just meet me there." He hung up.
For a moment, I just stared at my phone. He was impossible. But I didn't have time to dwell—I had less than an hour to get ready.
I dressed quickly, choosing something sleek but simple. Instead of calling Marcus, I headed to the garage and slid into my black Maybach truck—my favorite. It wasn't flashy, but it was powerful. Reliable. Like armor.
At the civil registry, Elias was waiting. Of course. He'd always been Matheo's shadow. Some people whispered about their closeness, but I knew better—it was loyalty, nothing more.
"Miss Aurora," Elias greeted, giving me a polite nod before leading me inside.
Matheo sat there like he owned the place—relaxed, composed, an emperor holding court. My breath hitched despite myself. I didn't even notice the other man at first—the registry official, balding with a bloated belly, looking painfully out of place beside him.
I sat down, my pulse racing. Why did I feel like I was on trial? Why did his presence always reduce me to this trembling state? He was just a man… wasn't he?
The official finally cleared his throat after an eternity of silence.
"We'll need both parties to fill these forms and… a picture, which will serve as your wedding photograph."
I blinked. "No IDs? No proof of residence?"
"There's no need for that," Matheo's voice cut in—sharp and final. "I've already taken care of it."
My stomach twisted. Of course he had.
We filled out the forms—my hand steady only because I refused to let him see me falter. Then came the picture. It was awkward, cold, more like a passport photo than a wedding portrait. No smiles, no warmth. Just two names, two signatures, and one certificate that now bound us.
The official handed over the document with a nervous cough, but my attention snapped back to Matheo as his voice filled the room once more.
"I'll send someone to collect your things from your apartment. You'll be moving into my residence. Since we're married now, we need to make it believable."
He rose smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and walked out without another word.
Elias gave me a respectful nod before following.
"Matheo… that prick," I muttered under my breath, staring at the certificate in my hands.
My phone buzzed. Aria calling.
Of course.
"Hey girl, want to grab coffee?" she chirped the moment I answered. "Meet me at the café downtown. Don't say no—I'll order your usual."
Classic Aria—calling the shots, not waiting for answers.
I sighed, staring at the wedding certificate still in my hands. Coffee sounded like exactly what I needed.
"Fine. I'll be there."
Sliding into my Maybach again, I drove to the café downtown. The city felt strangely louder that morning, like the world knew I had just tied myself to a man whose name carried more weight than most empires.
The café didn't have a garage, so I parked in the street. As I crossed toward the entrance, heels clicking on the pavement, a voice sliced through the noise behind me.
"Rora."
I froze. That voice. Smooth, confident, with that fake bad-boy rasp he'd perfected over the years.
Slowly, I turned.
And there he was.
Diego.
Diego fucking Gonzalez.
Leaning against a sleek black car like he owned the sidewalk, smirk plastered on his face, eyes locked on me as if he had every right to be there.
Of course he'd show up now.