LINA'S POV
I woke to silk sheets this time and the smell of jasmine.
For one blissful second, I thought I was back in my tiny room at the Hart estate. The cramped space under the stairs where they'd shoved me after Mother died. Cold in winter, stifling in summer, but mine.
Then I opened my eyes and saw a different kind of ceiling this time. Vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a city skyline I didn't recognize. Furniture that cost more than I'd seen in my lifetime. And my delicate, manicured hands were wrapped in soft bandages where the restraints had been.
Not my hands.
Seraphina's.
God.
It wasn't a dream.
I sat up too fast that the room spun. I gripped the sheets—Egyptian cotton, probably a thousand thread count—and tried to breathe.
This was real. I had been reborn.
A sick laugh escaped me.
My whole life, I'd been nothing. The bastard. The mistake. I wore Cassandra's hand-me-downs and ate after everyone else finished. I learned to be quiet, to take up less space, to apologize for existing.
And the one time someone chose me over her?
She killed me for it.
I didn't even know his name. The tycoon who'd visited that night. Father had been desperate to impress him, had forced me to serve tea even though Margaret protested. I'd kept my head down like always, poured with shaking hands.
He'd watched me the entire time.
When Father offered Cassandra's hand in marriage, he'd smiled politely.
"No. I want her." He'd pointed at me.
In that moment—
The door opened.
I flinched.
Dante De Luca walked in in yet another all black clothing.
He stopped at the foot of the bed. Those cold gray eyes swept over me.
"You're awake."
"Is this a joke?" The words tumbled out. "Is this—did my family pay you to do this? To mess with my head?"
His expression didn't change. "Excuse me?"
"This!" I gestured wildly at the room, at myself. "This body, this place, you—is this some sick game? Did Father put you up to it? Make me think I'm someone else before—before—"
"You think your father orchestrated this." His tone was flat.
"I don't know! I don't know anything anymore!" Hysteria crept into my voice. I could hear it and couldn't stop it. "I was Lina Hart. I lived in the Hart estate. And now I'm here and you keep calling me Seraphina and I look like her and—"
"Enough."
"—nothing makes sense and I just want to go home but I don't even know where home is anymore and—"
"I said enough!" His voice barked.
I jerked back, pressing against the headboard.
He moved fast I could process, he was there one knee on the bed, hand gripping my jaw. Not gentle but hard enough to hurt.
I froze.
"Let me make something very clear." His face was inches from mine. His breath was warm. His eyes were ice. "I don't know what game you're playing. I don't know if this is another suicide attempt, another cry for attention, or some elaborate scheme to escape our arrangement."
"I'm not—"
His grip tightened. "I. Don't. Care."
I stopped breathing.
"I have had enough of your theatrics, Seraphina. Enough of your tantrums and your manipulation and your desperate need to be the center of attention." His voice dropped lower and more deadly. "You agreed to this marriage and I will not repeat this ONE. MORE. TIME."
"I didn't agree to anything—"
"Then the woman in this body did. And you're wearing her face now, aren't you?" Something vicious flashed in his eyes. "So you'll honor her commitments. Whether you remember making them or not."
Tears burned but I refused to let them fall. Why can't he just believe me?
"If you think throwing a fit will get you out of this, you're wrong." His thumb pressed against my cheek. Not a caress but a warning. "If you think playing crazy will make me call off the wedding, you're wrong. And if you dare—so help me God—if you dare try another stunt like the overdose, I will end your life myself and make it look like an accident. Do you understand me?"
My heart slammed against my ribs.
He meant it. Every word.
"Do. You. Understand?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Good." He released me, stepped back and adjusted his cuffs like he hadn't just threatened to murder me. "The wedding has been moved up."
I blinked. "What?"
"We're getting married tomorrow morning. Eight AM. I'm not giving you another opportunity to embarrass me or put our families' arrangement at risk."
"Tomorrow? You can't—"
"I can. I have." He headed for the door. "Dr. Mateo will check on you this evening. You'll have a mild sedative tonight to ensure you sleep. A stylist will arrive at six AM to prepare you."
"Wait—"
"Your dress is already chosen. The ceremony will be private. Immediate family only. Non-negotiable."
"Stop!" I scrambled out of bed. My legs shook but I stood. "You can't just—I don't even know you! I don't know this life! I don't—"
He turned back. The look he gave me could've cut glass.
"You have two choices, Seraphina." His voice was soft. Lethal. "Walk down that aisle tomorrow as my wife. Or I'll drag you down it. Either way, by tomorrow night, you'll be Mrs. De Luca."
"Why?" My voice broke. "Why do you even want this? You hate me. I can see it every time you look at me."
A strange look flickered in his eyes too fast to read.
"This was never about want," he said quietly. "This is about power, alliances and a legacy. Your family needed mine. Mine needed yours. We're both fulfilling obligations."
"I'm a person. Not an obligation."
"Then you should've thought of that before you tried to kill yourself." He opened the door. "Get some rest, cara. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"Please—"
"Beg all you want." He paused in the doorway. Didn't look back. "I learned a long time ago that mercy is weakness. And I didn't build this empire by being weak."
The door closed.
I stood there, shaking, in a stranger's body,
in a stranger's life.
I was getting married tomorrow.
To a man who'd just threatened to kill me.
And there was nowhere to run.