Rafael Moretti refused to look at any woman’s face, because he said beauty had lied to him once before. But when the white sheet was finally removed from the woman he chose, the millionaire froze as if the past had walked into the room breathing 😨

Dawn broke over the Moretti estate, casting long, bruised shadows across the manicured gardens. Inside his private study, Rafael poured two glasses of aged scotch, handing one to Leila without looking at her. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the estate guards patrol the perimeter.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Leila," Rafael said, staring into amber liquid. "Valeria is not a woman who leaves loose ends. If she finds out you remember everything—if she realizes you know she threatened your life—she will strike again."

"Let her try," Leila replied evenly, turning to face him. "I'm not the terrified girl you left in Marrakesh three years ago. I've spent the last thirty-six months learning how the corporate underworld operates. I know where the Moretti skeletons are buried, Rafael. Some of them have Valeria's signature on the bones."

Rafael narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father’s sudden stroke right before he signed the international holdings over to Valeria?" Leila walked over, setting her glass down with a sharp clink on the mahogany desk. "Not natural. I found the medical receipts, the offshore shell companies routing payments to his private physician. Valeria didn't just steal my future, Rafael. She stole your inheritance, your family, and your peace of mind."

The revelation hit Rafael like a physical blow. His father's death had always felt wrong, a sudden, tragic punctuation to a strong man's life. But grief had blinded him, and Valeria had stepped into the vacuum with practiced efficiency.

Before Rafael could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the study door.

"Come in," Rafael commanded, his voice freezing cold.

The heavy door creaked open, and Valeria stepped inside, draped in a midnight-blue velvet robe. Her eyes darted between Rafael and Leila, calculating, assessing, and searching for weaknesses.

"Rafael, we need to discuss the morning press releases," Valeria said smoothly, pretending Leila was nothing more than an unpleasant piece of furniture. "The board is already questioning your choice of bride. Bringing a common art restorer—who apparently rose from the dead—back into the public eye will tank our stock values before the merger."

Rafael slowly set his glass down, walking around the desk until he stood directly between his aunt and Leila.

"The merger can wait, Valeria," Rafael said softly, a terrifying edge to his tone. "Right now, I'm more interested in auditing the family archives. Specifically, the medical files from the week my father died."

Valeria’s face didn't flinch, but her pupils dilated—a microscopic tell that Rafael caught instantly.