Chapter 2

Of all the wild things my cousin had bragged about in that back-room clinic where I patched up soldiers who couldn't be seen at any legitimate hospital, two of her "tricks" left me horrified.

As the Family's made doctor, I knew the dangers better than anyone. We're not just talking about the kind of infection you can't explain to the Doc twice—this stuff could tear muscle, leave long-term damage, even cause internal scarring. When I warned her about the risks, she just laughed at me like I was some convent girl.

"Relax. We used protection," she said with a roll of her eyes, like that magically made it safe.

Not long after she and Nico got tangled up, Donna Ashford introduced her to some heir she'd been grooming her for—an alliance she'd been clawing toward for years, a chance for the Ricci household to marry into a ruling bloodline.

He had one requirement. His pledged bride had to be a "pure" woman. Untouched. Worthy of the name he'd give her.

Donna Ashford practically knelt to me for the procedure. She wanted me to "restore" Alessia. Build the illusion of an untouched bride. I tried to explain the risks—loss of sensation, scarring, complications the Doc himself couldn't fix—but she didn't care. She saw legitimacy within reach, and I was the instrument to seize it.

I pulled Alessia aside and told her the truth. Every detail.

Surprisingly, she backed off. She was convinced her seduction alone could land the heir. Said men of the ruling Families didn't care about natural births anyway—half of them arranged for others to carry the bloodline. This way, she could keep her figure and still bind herself into the name. A win for everyone.

Or so she thought.

Turns out, the alliance night didn't go as planned. No matter how she tried to please him, the man went perfectly still, and his voice dropped to almost nothing. The moment he understood the fraud, he called off the pact—right there, in the marriage bed. In front of two bloodlines.

Humiliated. Rejected. Dishonored before an entire dynasty.

And somehow, she decided I was the one to blame.

That night, she lit the fire that killed me.

Thinking about it now, I knew what I had to do.

If I couldn't stop her, I'd at least make sure she and Nico were bound together. Let the faithless associate and the scheming climber wreck each other, too busy with their own ruin to burn anyone else's life down.

"Don't worry, Alessia," I said sweetly. "Your secret's safe with me. Donna Ashford will never hear it from me. Omertà."

Once the door clicked shut, I pulled out my phone and texted my darling man.

[Miss you, babe.]

Along with it, I sent a few choice photos. Lingerie, props, the whole nine yards.

Nico took the bait instantly, replying with drooling emojis like some starving stray. I didn't answer. I let him stew.

By the time I finished my shift patching up a soldier's split knuckles, I had dozens of unread messages waiting. Nico was clearly on fire, thinking I'd finally changed my mind.

That night, I went all in—copying every flirtatious line I could find and sending them one by one, building the heat until he was begging.

[Babe, can we video chat? Please?]

His voice was thick with lust.

I turned him down with a laugh, claiming I had to shower.

Not long after, I heard Alessia's bedroom door click open. She slipped out into the dark of the household like a girl sneaking to a hookup.

She came back at dawn, legs wobbling.

Over the next few days, I checked Nico's online cart.

Sure enough, he'd ordered a stack of toys. Expensive ones.

Every time he wanted her, he leaned on the excuse of being "out of town on Family business." This latest "trip" had stretched a whole month—and my cousin's gait had gotten noticeably strange. She was taking forever in the bathroom, too.

Donna Ashford finally sensed something was off. She pounded on the bathroom door, straightening the string of costume pearls at her throat, shrieking through the wood.

But Alessia brushed her off with a casual, "Just an upset stomach."

Then one day, she showed up at the clinic, pale as a ghost.

"S-something's wrong," she muttered.

I had her lie down on the exam table and did a quick check.

The results weren't good. Her muscles were showing early fatigue and loss of tone. Classic wear and tear. Nothing was holding up well.

"You and your man really need to stop. Or at least ease off, or it's going to cost you—"

Before I could finish, she snapped.

Her fingers dug into her own forearm, hard, leaving pale crescents behind. "You're just jealous because I actually know how to enjoy life, while you're trapped in your miserable little cage!"

She wasn't going to let go of Nico. That much was clear. She never could stand the idea of me being happy. Over the years, any time a man showed the slightest interest in me, she'd swoop in like a hawk, flaunting herself until he forgot I existed. It wasn't about love. Not for her. It was about winning. Always proving she was somehow above me.

I gave her a sweet little smile. "Suit yourself. I'll prescribe you something for the pain."

She left with a tube of medicated ointment, and sure enough, after a few applications she said things felt much better. Which only made her bolder. She doubled down, slipping out more often, chasing that high like it was oxygen.

But the party didn't last.

Donna Ashford eventually caught on. Maybe it was the way Alessia kept vanishing in the dead of night. Maybe it was the excuses stacking up thin. Either way, one night the game was up. Donna Ashford laid down the law and put her on lockdown, guarded like a debt she couldn't afford to lose.

With his playmate under house arrest, Nico had no choice but to come crawling back to me.

He texted that he was "back from Family business."

What a shame.

I replied with a breezy, "Oh no, what a coincidence! I just took a job out of the city—a beachside retreat this time!"

And every single day on that beach, I kept the game going. Flirty messages. Double-meaning photos. And just for fun, I signed him up on every mailing list and dating site I could find.