The whiskey burned his throat as it slid down in a harsh gulp, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste that clung to his tongue. Caius set the glass back onto the polished oak desk with a dull thud, his dark eyes fixed on the glittering sprawl of the city beyond the towering glass windows of his office. Neon lights bled across the night, vibrant and alive, mocking him with their beauty. Yet his gaze remained cold, detached—filled with a simmering rage at the failed business deal earlier that night.

But even that fury paled in comparison to the sharp, suffocating worry that gripped him when his phone vibrated with a message.

PEARL’S NANNY: The Young Miss refused her meal again.

Caius’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen. His grip around the device tightened, veins standing out against his skin.

Another message appeared.

PEARL’S NANNY: Miss Pearl refuses to let anyone near her.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. For a man like him—whose name alone was enough to make seasoned criminals tremble—his empire could collapse and he would rebuild it without hesitation. But when it came to his daughter… that was a wound no amount of power, blood, or money could heal.

It had been two years. Two agonizing years since that night. Since the blood, the screams, the fire that had stolen away his beloved wife and shattered the fragile world of his little girl.

Pearl—his princess, once a bundle of laughter and sunshine—had withered into silence. She barely ate, barely looked at anyone, her tiny frame shrinking into shadows. She refused the warmth of touch, recoiled from others as though the world itself had betrayed her.

And she had stopped speaking altogether.

A knife twisted inside him as the memories surged. He remembered her voice, high and sweet, giggling as she called him Papa. That voice had been silenced the night tragedy claimed their home. Now, the only sound he heard from her was her muffled cries echoing through the mansion walls each night.

During the day, she locked herself away in her room with her sketchbook clutched tightly in her hands, as though it were her only lifeline. Caius had made the mistake of flipping through those pages once. He wished he hadn’t.

Dark, jagged strokes of black and red filled the paper—twisted, chaotic depictions of that night two years ago. Flames. Blood. A woman’s broken silhouette. A child screaming in the corner.

His hands had trembled as he closed the book. Trembled—not from fear, but from a pain so raw it clawed at him from the inside. No child should carry such torment. Not his Pearl. Not at five years old.

He had tried. God, he had tried. He had poured every ounce of his power into fixing her, healing her. He had hired therapist after therapist, specialists with gilded reputations. None could reach her. None could even come close. Pearl lashed out at them all—screaming, clawing, hurting anyone who dared step too near.

And each time, Caius’s heart shattered a little more.

What kind of father was he if he couldn’t even protect his daughter from her own nightmares? From the ghosts of the past that still haunted her?

He shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a sharp breath, trying to bury the storm of emotions under layers of steel. But the weight of failure pressed down on him, heavier than any enemy’s blade.

The sudden knock at his office door snapped him back.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice sharp, void of the weakness that gnawed at him moments ago.

The door opened, and Luciano stepped inside. Calm, composed, as always. Caius’s most trusted right hand. He stopped a few feet away from the desk, a sleek tablet in hand.

“Speak,” Caius ordered.

Luciano inclined his head slightly before delivering the update. “The failed business deal has been… resolved. Leif handled the matter personally after identifying the spy. Let’s just say the issue has been taken care of—discreetly.”

The faint hesitation in Luciano’s tone at the word discreetly did not go unnoticed.

Caius arched a brow, his interest piqued. “Leif, hm?”

Even the mere mention of the man’s name carried weight.

Leif—the infamous Psycho Executor. Among Caius’s men, his reputation was both legend and nightmare. While most would simply execute a traitor quickly and dispose of the body, Leif… savored the process. His victims were his canvas, their suffering his art.

Some were strung from chandeliers, others left dismembered and boxed neatly like grotesque gifts. Blood was his ink, screams his symphony. His cruelty was unmatched, his results undeniable. Enemies feared him. Allies dared not question him.

And yet, Caius tolerated him. More than that—he valued him. To Caius, Leif was not a madman but a necessary blade, honed and loyal. Efficient in his own way. Terrifying, yes, but effective.

“What of the delayed shipment?” Caius asked, his tone smooth, measured.

Luciano was prepared. “I personally oversaw the arrangements. An elite team ensured its safe delivery. The goods arrived on time. The client is satisfied.”

Caius leaned back in his chair, nodding once. “Good. Well done.”

But even as he said it, his mind drifted—unbidden—toward another matter. A softer memory. A certain woman he had noticed three weeks ago at one of his clubs. The Crimson Luxe, his most prestigious legitimate front.

She had been a waitress, nothing more, yet something about her had caught his attention. A spark, a defiance, or perhaps simply the light she carried in her smile.

He had ordered Luciano to dig into her life, to strip her down to her secrets.

“What about the woman?” Caius asked, his tone lowering.

Luciano’s expression remained unreadable, though he clearly knew who his boss meant. “She will arrive in fifteen minutes. The necessary contract is prepared.”

He stepped forward, placing a file on the desk. “Her background, her details. Everything you asked for.”

“Leave it,” Caius dismissed, already reaching for the file.

Luciano bowed slightly, then left the office in silence.

When the door shut, Caius opened the folder. A photograph stared back at him. A woman, smiling brightly, her eyes alight with warmth that seemed foreign in his cold, desolate world.

His lips moved, barely above a whisper.

“Noelle Marshall.”

Her name rolled off his tongue like a promise. Or perhaps… a warning.

And for the first time that night, something stirred within him. Something dangerous.

She tried to steady her breathing as she was escorted down the long hallway by the man named Luciano. His tall figure walked in silence beside her, each step echoing faintly against the marble floors.

The quiet stretched too long, gnawing at her nerves. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Excuse me, Mr. Luciano…”

“Just Luciano is fine, Ms. Marshall,” he interrupted, his voice calm, steady—almost too composed.

The correction startled her, but she quickly recovered. “Alright then… Luciano.”

Her lips pressed together in hesitation. She wasn’t the type to pry, but curiosity burned inside her. She had heard enough whispers about Caius Grivano to form an image of him—a ruthless man with a heart of stone, an employer known more for his indifference than kindness. And yet, he had extended a hand to help her in her darkest moment.

Why?

That was what she couldn’t understand.

In this world, no one gave without expecting something in return. No one came rushing to help unless they had a reason—hidden or otherwise. She knew that much.

And still… she wanted to believe he wasn’t as heartless as the rumors painted him to be.

“If it isn’t too much…” she finally said, her voice softer now, careful. “May I ask… what kind of man is Mr. Grivano? Is he… always this generous with his employees?”

Luciano paused mid-step, clearly not expecting her to ask such a question. Most women who caught Caius’s attention never cared about his character—they only cared about the power, the wealth, the danger that surrounded him. They never asked what kind of man he truly was.

Luciano exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

“…You could say that,” he replied after a long moment, though his tone was far too vague to satisfy her.

She frowned at his hesitation, sensing there was more he refused to say. He could have told her the truth—that Caius Grivano did nothing without purpose, that every gesture was calculated, intentional. But Luciano held back, unwilling to let her glimpse that side of his employer.

“One thing I will say,” he continued, voice firm but not unkind. “Please, don’t think badly of him. He… isn’t what he seems on the surface. If you want the truth, you’ll need to look deeper.”

His words left her unsettled. What truth was he hinting at? And why did it sound like a warning?

Still, she nodded politely. “Alright.”

Luciano gave a small, satisfied nod, and silence settled between them once more.

Not long after, they reached the tall, imposing door of Caius’s office.

“We’re here,” Luciano said as she straightened her posture, trying to calm the sudden flutter in her chest.

Just as Luciano raised his fist to knock, the door burst open. A stunning woman stormed out, her heels striking sharply against the floor.

“You’ll regret this, Caius!” she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

She shoved past Luciano, bumping into his arm without so much as an apology. His expression didn’t change—cold, detached—as he brushed off the spot where she had touched him, as though she’d left behind something dirty.

The woman’s perfume lingered in the air, cloying and heavy.

Inside the office, tension still burned from the confrontation that had taken place only minutes earlier…

---

Fifteen Minutes Before

Caius sat behind his massive desk, flipping through the freshly prepared contract Luciano had delivered. The office was silent but for the faint rustle of papers.

Then—BANG!

The door flew open. A furious woman stormed inside without permission.

Caius lifted his head slowly, his dark eyes narrowing in irritation.

“Tiana.” His tone was flat, unimpressed.

“Are you fucking serious with me, Caius?!” she snapped, her voice shrill with outrage. “Breaking up with me over a damn text? What do you take me for?!”

Her beauty was undeniable—flawless features, a body sculpted to perfection—but Caius felt nothing. Only annoyance.

His jaw tightened. He despised scenes like this the most.

Their relationship had never been about love, only convenience and mutual gain. And once she became unbearable, he had ended things without hesitation.

“I never said you were welcome in my office, Tiana,” he said coldly, his gaze dropping back to the papers in his hands.

His lack of reaction only fueled her fury. She stormed forward, slamming both palms against his desk with a thunderous bang.

“Go to hell with that attitude! Answer me first!” she hissed, her face flushed crimson. “Why would you throw me aside like this? We had chemistry, Caius! I even met your—your mentally ill daughter—”

The words slipped out, and in that instant, she knew she had gone too far.

Silence fell, thick and suffocating.

Caius’s head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers with a darkness so sharp it cut the air between them. His stare alone made her knees weaken.

She had stepped onto dangerous ground, and instinct screamed at her to back down. But her pride chained her in place.

“I dare you,” Caius’s voice dropped, low and lethal, each word carrying the weight of a death sentence, “to say that again.”

Her mouth went dry. Her body trembled, sweat prickling her skin. “T-that’s not what I meant, I swear!” she stammered, panic creeping into her voice.

But he wasn’t moved.

“You want to know why I ended things?” His words were calm, almost conversational—yet more terrifying than a shout. “The answer lies with you.”

He opened his desk drawer, pulling out a small stack of glossy photographs. With one smooth motion, he tossed them across the desk. They scattered at her feet, fanning out like cards.

Her eyes dropped. And the color drained from her face.

The photos didn’t lie.

There she was, in hotel rooms, pressed against men she thought she’d kept hidden—the mayor’s son, the wealthy heir, the senator. All powerful. All influential. And all proof of her betrayal.

“How…” she breathed, voice trembling, before he cut her off sharply.

“I warned you, Tiana. Fail me, and you’d regret it.” His tone was matter-of-fact, cold as ice. “I don’t care if you want to spread your legs for every man in the city. But you will not do it while standing at my side.”

His words struck like a blade.

“I don’t need a shameless woman to play wife. And I sure as hell won’t let someone like you near my daughter.” His eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze burning through her. “You think I didn’t know it was you who made her cry last week?”

Her body jolted. She had thought no one would find out.

“You… you spied on me?” she whispered, horrified.

Caius’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Spy on you? No. You misunderstand.” His voice dropped lower, colder, sharper. “Did you really think I’d allow an outsider near my daughter without watching their every move? You were naïve to believe I could ever be that careless.”

His words cut deeper than any blade. It was no longer just a breakup. It was a warning. A demonstration of the power he wielded—and a reminder that anyone who crossed him would not walk away unscathed.

And in that moment, Tiana finally realized she had picked a fight with a man she could never win against.

The silence that followed his words was heavier than steel.

“The door is that way. If you want an escort, I can call my security team.”

His voice was cold, his warning sharper than glass.

Her pride snapped in half. No one had ever dared reject her—much less humiliate her so openly. Heat burned her cheeks as her hands clenched into fists.

“Fine!” she hissed. She spun on her heel, storming toward the door. The hinges shrieked as she flung it open. “You’ll regret this, Caius!”

The slam echoed like thunder.

Caius finally lifted his gaze from the desk, his eyes dark and unreadable. Luciano stood near the doorway, unfazed by the outburst, his calmness only accentuating the chaos that lingered in the air. Beside him was a young woman Caius immediately recognized.

Noelle.

Her body stiffened the moment his piercing eyes landed on her. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat nearly choking her. She hadn’t meant to walk in on his storm of rejection, but now there was no escaping his gaze.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run. This man radiated danger. He looked every bit the predator people whispered about. This is a bad idea, she thought, her palms damp with sweat. I should leave. I should run. But…

Her brother’s face came to mind, frail and pale in a hospital bed, tubes keeping him alive. His surgery. The mounting bills. Her empty pockets.

She drew in a shaky breath, steeling herself. I can’t afford to walk away. Not this time.

Luciano cleared his throat, breaking the thick silence. “Sir, I’ve brought Miss Marshall. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

Noelle’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. Leave? You’re leaving me with him?! Panic welled in her chest as she looked at Luciano, silently begging him not to abandon her in this suffocating office.

But Luciano only gave her a small, encouraging smile.

Her face twitched. I wasn’t asking for encouragement, damn it!

She wanted to cry, but her face remained composed. She had learned long ago never to show weakness.

“Alright,” Caius said with a curt nod, dismissing Luciano.

The click of the door shutting behind him felt like the lock of a prison cell. Noelle’s heart hammered, her body frozen.

Caius’s voice cut through the silence. “Sit down. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

He didn’t try to soften his tone. He didn’t need to. His aura commanded obedience.

Noelle sat quickly, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.

“Your brother’s medical bills cost you around two thousand dollars every month,” he began without preamble. His words were sharp, deliberate, and merciless.

Her face paled. He was peeling back her life as if it were a file on his desk.

“The Rosetti family, whom you owe money, charges you thirty percent interest.”

His tone was flat, but each fact he laid out cut into her like a blade.

“At this rate, you’ll spend the rest of your life drowning in debt. You won’t make it out.”

Her hands curled together on her lap, knuckles whitening. Every word was the truth. Brutal, unvarnished truth. There was no defense. No excuse. Just a suffocating weight of reality pressing down on her chest.

She forced herself to look up, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m well aware of my financial troubles, sir. So please—get to the point.”

Caius’s eyes narrowed, his gaze like a predator appraising prey. For a heartbeat, she swore she could feel the sharp edge of his aura press against her skin, suffocating her. Then, just as suddenly, it dissipated.

“Impatient, are you?” His lips twitched, almost into a smirk.

She steadied her voice, meeting his eyes. “No. Just saving us both time.”

His brows lifted, ever so slightly. Few dared to talk back to him. He let his expression fall back into indifference.

“Feisty,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her longer than she liked.

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied smoothly, though her pulse was racing.

He studied her in silence, noting the strange contradiction in her demeanor. For a woman with debt shackled to her throat, she carried herself with startling composure.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Back to the matter at hand. I’m offering you a solution.”

He slid a contract across the desk, the crisp shuffle of paper loud in the quiet room.

Her eyes widened as they scanned the words. “This is—”

“Three years,” he interrupted. “You’ll become my wife. Share my bed. Care for my daughter. In return, your brother will be treated in the best hospital available. His life guaranteed. Your debts erased. You will live in my mansion, and my wealth will be at your disposal.”

His voice was calm, detached, but his gaze sharpened as he continued.

“And if my daughter accepts you after three years, the contract extends until she turns eighteen. If not…” His eyes locked on hers, unyielding. “You’ll leave with enough money to start over—wherever you choose.”

Her throat went dry. His terms were clear. Too clear.

But his expression shifted as he spoke again, his tone cutting colder than ice.

“Know this—my late wife’s pictures remain on the walls. Her memory remains untouched. You are not her replacement. Pearl had a mother—perfect, beautiful, irreplaceable. You will not be her mother. You will be her stability. Nothing more.”

For the first time, she saw a flicker of something raw beneath his mask—grief, sharp and unhealed. She didn’t dare question it.

Her hands tightened in her lap as she weighed his words. It was a deal wrapped in chains, but it was salvation all the same.

Still… one thought nagged at her.

“Why a wife?” she asked carefully. “Why not just hire me as her nanny?”

He didn’t hesitate. “A nanny has boundaries. Distance. My daughter doesn’t need an employee. She needs someone with the freedom to be close to her. As my wife, you’ll have that freedom.”

The logic was brutal, but it made sense. She nodded. “I understand.”

Her mind whirred. Then, a thought struck her. Her lips quirked faintly.

“You said earlier… as your wife, I’d have access to your money?”

“Yes,” he replied flatly. “What’s mine is yours.”

Her head bobbed quickly. “Okay. I agree.”

For the first time, his composure slipped. His brows rose, surprise flickering across his face.

“That’s… faster than I expected,” he murmured.

Inside, he mused to himself. At least she’s honest.