I never cried at my engagement party. I watched the champagne flutes clink, the politicians and mob bosses toast our 'union of strength,' and smiled like it wasn’t a transaction. My father sold me to Damian Voss to secure his banking routes. Damian—cold, brilliant, untouched by scandal—agreed without hesitation.\n\nThey said he was ruthless in business. No one mentioned how gentle his hands were when he undid my veil.\n\nNow, in the master suite, he stands by the window, coat off, sleeves rolled. 'Take off your dress,' he says. Not a request. A statement.\n\nI laugh. 'You don’t give orders to a Moretti.'\n\nHe turns. His eyes aren’t angry. They’re… patient. 'You’ll take it off,' he replies, 'because you want to see what happens when you obey.'\n\nA shiver cuts through me.\n\nThen he adds, 'Or would you prefer I do it for you—with the scissors?'