The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Luca POV:

The midday sun beat down on the Magnificent Mile, reflecting off the pristine glass storefronts, but I felt nothing but a cold, heavy dread sitting in the pit of my stomach.

Sofia had a death grip on my arm. She was dragging me down the busy sidewalk, her heels clicking aggressively against the pavement. She was trying to walk with her head held high, desperate to erase the humiliation of last night by doing the one thing that always made her feel powerful: spending money.

She pulled me through the heavy glass doors of the Hermès VIP boutique. The air conditioning hit my face, smelling of expensive leather and polished wood.

Sofia marched straight past the regular displays and pointed a manicured finger at a glass case. "That one," she demanded, her voice loud and arrogant. "The Himalayan crocodile Birkin. Box it up."

The sales associate, a tall woman with perfectly styled hair and a practiced, tight smile, unlocked the case. She carried the bag to the polished marble counter with gloved hands. "An excellent choice, madam. That will be one hundred and five thousand dollars."

Sofia didn't even blink. She turned to me, holding out her hand expectantly.

I reached into my wallet. My fingers brushed against the thick, heavy metal of the Centurion Black Card. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I had stared at the cancellation text all night, but a part of my brain desperately clung to the hope that Elena was just trying to scare me. She wouldn't actually cut me off. She loved me too much to leave me with nothing.

I pulled the black metal card out and handed it to the clerk. I rubbed the side of my nose, trying to hide the cold sweat breaking out on my upper lip.

Matteo stood near the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring intensely at the cash register, his face pale. He had that look he got right before a shootout.

The clerk took the card with a respectful nod. She slid the magnetic strip through the heavy POS machine.

A sharp, high-pitched *beep-beep-beep* echoed in the quiet store. A bright red light flashed on the screen of the machine.

The clerk's professional smile froze. She looked down at the screen, then back up at me. Her tone dropped a fraction of a degree in warmth. "Sir, your card was declined by the issuer."

Sofia gasped loudly. She slammed her hand on the marble counter. "Impossible!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the walls and drawing the stares of the wealthy women browsing nearby. "That is a no-limit black card! You did it wrong. Swipe it again!"

The clerk's jaw tightened. She gripped the card and ran it through the machine a second time, slower.

*Beep-beep-beep.* Red light.

The clerk let out a small, barely audible sigh. The respectful deference vanished from her eyes completely, replaced by the cold, assessing glare reserved for frauds trying to play dress-up.

I felt the stares of the other customers burning into my back like physical needles. The heat rushed up my neck, turning my face a dark, humiliating red. My pride, the only thing I had left, was being shredded in public.

I snatched the black card from the counter. My hands were shaking. I dug into my wallet and pulled out my personal Visa card, the one tied to my actual bank account. I slammed it onto the counter. "Use this one."

The clerk swiped it. The machine beeped instantly. *Declined: Insufficient Funds.*

The bag cost over a hundred grand. The limit on my personal card was exactly five thousand dollars. Without Elena's money, I was nothing. I was just a street rat standing in a palace I couldn't afford.

Matteo saw the panic in my eyes. He gritted his teeth, walked over, and pulled out his own credit card. "Try mine," he muttered, trying to save whatever dignity we had left.

The clerk swiped his card. Red light. Declined.

The clerk picked up both of our cards and pushed them across the marble counter toward us. She didn't bother smiling anymore. "Gentlemen," she said, her voice raised just enough for the entire store to hear. "If you cannot afford the merchandise, please do not waste our time. We have paying clients waiting."

A group of older women standing near the silk scarves let out a collective, poorly hidden laugh. One of them pointed at Sofia's shoes and whispered to her friend.

Sofia's face crumpled. The illusion of her high-society life shattered into a million pieces. She let out a loud, humiliated sob, covered her face with her hands, and ran out of the boutique.

I glared at the clerk, my vision swimming with rage. I snatched our useless plastic cards off the counter and sprinted out the door after her.

I caught up to them at the corner of the street. The cold wind whipped off the lake, chilling my sweat-soaked shirt. Sofia was leaning against a brick wall, crying hysterically, her makeup running down her cheeks.

"She's trying to kill us!" Sofia sobbed, pointing a finger at my chest. "Elena is a vicious, evil bitch! She's doing this to humiliate me! She wants to ruin us!"

Listening to her cry, the crushing guilt I felt last night mutated into a twisted, defensive rage. My mind flashed back to Elena's cold, dead eyes on the steps of the club. She looked at me like I was garbage. She threw me away without a second thought.

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles popped. "I'm going to get an explanation," I snarled, my voice vibrating with anger. "She owes us for ten years of loyalty. I'm going to get back what's ours."

Matteo stared at me, his eyes wide. "Luca, are you insane? Going there now is suicide. You saw the guards."

"I don't care!" I shouted. "I'm not letting her treat us like dogs!"

Matteo closed his mouth. He knew it was a death wish, but he didn't argue. He just followed me.

We dropped Sofia off at the cheap, cramped apartment Matteo rented under his own name. Then we got into my beat-up Ford sedan—the only car I actually owned. I slammed the gearshift and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared, struggling to accelerate as I sped toward the Vitiello estate.

Back at the apartment, Sofia stood by the dirty window, watching our taillights disappear. She stopped crying. She wiped the black mascara off her cheeks, her eyes turning hard and calculating.

She reached into her purse and pulled out an old, cracked burner phone. She scrolled past the empty contact list and dialed a number she hadn't called in years.

"Since you won't give me a way out," she whispered to the empty room, a cold smile stretching across her face, "then none of us will live."