The Bride Who Chose Her Own Kingdom

After I washed my face, my phone began to buzz nonstop.

Lucas sent video call after video call, as if he was sure I would soften by the tenth ring.

"Little shadow, pick up. I want to see you."

I did not answer.

Then he texted, "The usual place. Raven Club. Everyone's here. Have your driver bring you."

Once, one word from him would have put me in a dress. Tonight, I looked at my red-rimmed eyes and felt only exhausted.

"Not coming. I'm tired."

His reply came at once. "Are you sick? I'll come over."

"No. Don't."

The moment I sent it, Vivian's message arrived.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry. I was the one who begged Lucas to bring me. I didn't know you would be upset. I'll leave right now. As long as you come, I don't matter."

I stared at the words and almost choked on the fake sweetness coming through my phone.

Before I could answer, the family group chat went mad.

"Evelyn, what is your problem? Lucas can't have any woman near him?"

"Vivian just wanted to have a good time. Stop using your fiancee title to bully her."

"Jealousy has limits."

For one insane second, I wanted to explain. Then Lucas's message popped up.

"I invited Vivian. If you're angry, take it out on me. Don't make trouble for her."

"Forget it. Come or don't. We have more fun without you anyway."

Then came the photos: wine, cigars, poker tables, and Vivian sitting beside Lucas in his jacket, smiling like a rescued stray.

Someone added, "Dinner tastes better without all the vinegar."

A bunch of lunatics.

I left the group, deleted Lucas, and blocked him in one smooth motion. It felt as neat as taking apart a gun.

No matter how badly we fought, he had always been pinned at the top of my contacts. Now he could rot in the blacklist.

The funny thing was, when Vivian was first brought to New York, I was the one who took care of her. Her father had betrayed the West Side Alliance and died owing everyone. She arrived at the Rossi estate in a washed-out black dress and ugly glasses, saying she only wanted to survive.

Back then, Lucas warned me, "Her eyes are too clean. So clean it looks rehearsed. Stay away from her."

I ignored him. I brought her to dinners, chose gowns for her, and shielded her from the nastier tests. Then, at a charity auction, she took off the glasses and stood under the lights in burgundy velvet, fragile in the exact way men love to protect.

Lucas never told me to stay away again. Soon he had given her guards, friends, and a place at his side. By the time I noticed, my fiance had become her personal shelter.

Once, I fought with Lucas so hard that we did not speak for three months.

I told him, "If you like her, I'll step back."

He held me with red eyes and said, "The person I care about most is you. Vivian has no family behind her, and she has trauma. I just pity her. I'm helping her."

I believed him.

Looking back, I was an idiot.

Friendship was their cleanest cover. Protection was the prettiest excuse for betrayal.

At ten, my father's underboss knocked.

"Miss Rossi, the Council wants every heir at the old chapel to confirm their trial seals. Last step before the list locks."

I changed into black and went. Countless alliances had been sworn there under stained glass saints, roses, and guns. Beside the DeLuca seat was an empty chair. It had always been mine.

When I walked in, Vivian was already sitting in it.

She handed her clutch to Lucas. He took it naturally, like he had done it a hundred times.

He only glanced at me, waiting for me to storm over, waiting for me to lower my head, waiting for me to free him from the blacklist.

Too bad he had misread me.

I turned and sat at the other end of the table.

Noah Winter sat there. Heir to Winter Biotech, and the outside research lead hired for the Marseille lab. He looked up at me, his gaze calm and clear.

"Miss Rossi. See you in Marseille?"

I heard myself laugh softly.

"See you in Marseille."

Across the long table, Lucas's face darkened inch by inch.