Chapter 2: Memories of Betrayal

The moment his words left his lips, something inside her shattered.

Visions flooded her mind—painful, vivid, real. She was not Alessia Moretti. She was Isabella De Luca, the rightful heir to the De Luca empire.

And she had been murdered.

It had been a lavish evening, a grand ball in honor of her twenty-first birthday. The chandeliers dripped with crystals, casting a golden glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The scent of roses and champagne filled the air as the orchestra played a waltz, the melody a haunting lullaby of a night destined for betrayal.

Her father had stood at the head of the grand hall, his voice filled with pride as he raised a toast. “To my daughter, Isabella, the future of the De Luca empire. May she lead with grace, strength, and wisdom.”

Glasses clinked, laughter rang out, and Isabella had smiled, basking in the warmth of the moment. But envy is a poison more lethal than any blade. And hidden behind the smiles and applause was a darkness she had failed to see.

Her sister, Liliana, had always been envious. It was in the way she glared when their father favored Isabella, the way her lips curled into something bitter when Isabella excelled. But she had never thought her capable of murder.

Until the wine turned to fire in her throat.

The moment she sipped from her crystal goblet, a searing pain ripped through her chest. Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, her vision blurring. She gasped, but no sound came. Around her, the world carried on—unaware that she was dying before their very eyes.

Liliana was the last thing she saw. Standing there, her lips parted in a mockery of concern, but her eyes—those cold, dark eyes—betrayed her.

The realization struck Isabella in her final moments: her sister had done this.

Then, the world went dark.

Alessia’s body trembled as the memories clawed their way to the surface. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart hammering against her ribs. Dante watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing, something patient.

He had expected this reaction. Perhaps he had even anticipated the storm raging within her now.

“I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Dante leaned in, his presence a steady force against the chaos unraveling inside her. “Good.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Good?” Her voice was raw, laced with fury. “I was murdered. My own sister poisoned me. I lost everything—my family, my legacy, my life.”

Dante studied her, his expression as sharp as the knife strapped beneath his suit jacket. “And now, you have a chance to take it all back.”

A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something darker. The weight of injustice settled in her chest, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it, something began to burn.

Rage.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Liliana had stolen her throne. Stolen her future. And she had gotten away with it. Isabella had been erased from history, buried beneath the ashes of betrayal.

But not anymore.

Dante must have seen the shift in her eyes because his lips curled into something dangerous—something approving. “Revenge is a blade best wielded by those who have suffered,” he said. “You, Isabella, have suffered more than most.”

The name—her name—sent a fresh jolt through her. She was no longer Alessia Moretti, a nameless girl struggling to survive. She was Isabella De Luca.

And she was going to make them all pay.

Dante reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek black envelope. He slid it across the café’s worn counter, the contrast stark against the dull wood. “Inside, you’ll find everything you need—documents, names, places. Proof of what happened to you that night. Proof of what your sister has done since.”

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the envelope. Inside lay her past, her future, and her path to vengeance.

“You have a choice,” Dante said, his voice softer now. “You can walk away, forget everything, and live as Alessia Moretti. Or you can reclaim what was stolen.”

Isabella took a breath, steadying herself. There was no choice to be made. Her fate had been sealed the moment the poison touched her lips.

She met Dante’s gaze, steel in her voice. “Tell me what I need to do.”

His smirk deepened, a silent promise of destruction. “Good,” he said again. “Then let’s begin.”

And with that, Isabella De Luca stepped back into the world—not as a victim, but as a storm ready to tear down everything in her path.

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