I Signed Her Name Instead

I stood in the doorway of the study.

Marco was hanging up the phone, a flush on his face from the tenderness of his call with Isabella.

When he saw me, it vanished. Replaced by an icy guard.

“Samara. What are you doing here?”

His tone was for an unwelcome stranger.

The old me would have cried. Would have asked him why he was so cold.

Now, I just wanted to laugh.

“This is my house, Marco. Or did you forget?” I let the words hang in the air.

Until Marco finished devouring the Romano family business, I was still the one in charge here.

A flash of anger crossed his face.

“I meant you should have knocked. I’m handling important family business.”

“Is plotting my murder part of ‘family business’ now?”

My voice was dead calm.

The color drained from Marco’s face. “What did you hear?”

“I heard enough.” I strolled to my father’s whiskey bar and poured a drink. “It was all very touching.”

Just then, the study door swung open.

Isabella walked in, wearing the one-of-a-kind Valentino wedding dress.

My wedding dress.

And now, she was wearing it.

Isabella feigned innocence, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my! Samara, I didn’t know you were here.”

She turned to Marco, her eyes full of pouty charm. “Darling, you didn’t tell me she was still here.”

Marco’s expression softened instantly. “Isabella, you don’t have to apologize. This will all be ours soon enough.”

I felt the room spin.

A scene from my past life flashed in my mind.

Me, in this same dress, crying in front of the mirror.

Because Marco had said Isabella looked better in white.

“White is too pure for you, Samara. Don’t you think red suits you better?”

In the end, I wore a blood-red dress to my own blood oath ceremony.

Like an animal for slaughter.

And now, Isabella was here, wearing my wedding dress, parading her victory.

“That dress is beautiful,” I said with a light laugh.

Isabella froze, clearly not expecting that.

“Is it? I thought you’d be angry,” she said, feigning concern. “It was made for you, after all.”

“Angry?” I shook my head. “Why would I be? It suits you perfectly.”

I stepped closer, looking the dress over.

“You know, I always thought this dress was a bit much. Too heavy for me.”

Isabella’s smile was a little tight. “Really?”

“But on you, it’s perfect.” My own smile grew wider. “After all, a woman like you needs a good costume to play the part.”

The air in the room went still.

Marco’s face was like stone. “Samara, what are you saying?”

“I’m complimenting Isabella,” I said, turning to him. “Don’t you think she looks beautiful in it?”

Marco’s gaze snapped to Isabella, his eyes full of a fierce need to protect her.

“Of course she’s beautiful. Isabella is beautiful in anything.”

The words were a clean, sharp knife in my gut.

In our past life, he never once called me beautiful.

Even in our wedding photos, he looked like he was at a funeral.

“Well, since you two are a perfect match, I won’t disturb you.”

I turned to leave, but Marco stopped me.

“Wait.” He took my favorite whiskey from the cabinet.

“Have a drink?” He tried to make his voice gentle. “We need to talk.”

I looked at the bottle. I remembered this from before.

Every time Marco hurt me, he’d pull out the whiskey to ‘make peace.’

As if a glass of liquor could wash away the wounds.

“No, thank you,” I said, sharp and final. “I don’t drink.”

Marco frowned. “You never used to be like this.”

“People change, Marco.” I met his eyes. “Sometimes, you change to survive.”

Isabella cut in. “Perhaps Samara just needs time to adjust to the new arrangement.”

She sounded considerate, but her eyes were gleaming with triumph.

“Speaking of arrangements,” I said, as if I’d just remembered. “Marco, I need my mother’s trust fund.”

The color drained from Marco’s face.

“What trust fund?”

“Don’t play dumb,” my voice turned cold. “My mother put fifty million dollars in a trust for me before she died. For my future. I need it now.”

Marco and Isabella exchanged a look.

I saw the panic in their eyes.

Marco scrambled for an excuse. “That money… it was repurposed. For a critical family investment.”

“What investment?”

He couldn’t meet my eyes. “The Tear of Sicily. I bought it for Isabella. It was a… gesture of goodwill. To the Falcones.”

The Tear of Sicily.

Auction price: forty-eight million dollars.

My mother’s blood money, used by this man to buy a trinket for another woman.

I felt a wave of dizziness and almost collapsed.

Isabella proudly held up her left hand. The pink diamond glittered under the light.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Marco said only I was worthy of it.”

I stared at the diamond, remembering my mother’s hand in mine as she was dying.

“Samara, I earned this money with my life. If you ever need to escape, don’t hesitate.”

Now, the money she’d earned with her life was a decoration on another woman’s hand.

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to scream.

“I see.”

I turned and walked to the door.

Marco called out from behind me.

“Samara.”

He came to my side, his voice low and laced with a threat.

“Don’t forget your place, Samara. You’re a Romano heir. Your weakness is our weakness. And right now, we need the Falcones.”

He slammed the study door shut behind me. The sound was like a gunshot.

I stood in the hall, feeling more alone than ever.

The home I grew up in now felt more suffocating than a prison.

But I had the key.

The name on the blood pact was changed.

Soon, Marco would discover he hadn't gotten a tool, but the woman he truly wanted.

And I would finally be free of this hell.