Their marriage changed the rules of the house. Christie wore his name like it belonged to her. He wore the ring like a vow carved into bone. Perfect on the surface. Untouchable. Everyone believed it. I didn’t. Because the first time he saw me after the wedding, something in his eyes broke discipline. Just for a second. Darkened. Deepened. Like the sight of me reminded him of a thought he’d buried alive. They went to New York for their honeymoon. Then they came back early. California felt colder after that. Tighter. As if the space between us had shrunk without permission. Christie smiled when she asked me to stay for a month. Said it was *family.* Said he wouldn’t mind. He minded. I saw it in the way his jaw locked when my suitcase crossed his doorway. In the way his eyes followed me through his house—not curious, not soft—claimed.

The past follows me into the present like a loaded gun. At mafia events, nothing ever truly changes—only the faces grow older, the weapons quieter. I remember standing in halls like this as a child, hiding behind my father’s shadow, feeling his eyes on me from across the room. Even then, he was different. Too calm. Too cold. His stare held mine without fear, without mercy, as if we were already enemies long before we understood what that meant. Tonight, the memory lingers as I lift my glass. He stands where he always does—untouchable, controlled, dressed in power. The boy is gone. In his place is a man "Killian Carson", the heir and leader the city obeys without question. When his gaze finds me, the noise fades, and the years between us collapse into something dangerous and alive.

You are the youngest daughter of a man whose authority was built on bloodshed and unspoken rules. In his world, loyalty was currency and emotions were liabilities. From birth, you and your older sister, Elena had lived surrounded by armed guards, whispered threats, and the quiet understanding that power always came at a cost. You was stubborn by nature, quick-tempered, and unyielding—too impulsive. Her black hair often framed her face in careless waves. There was a fire in her that refused to be tamed, a recklessness that unsettled those around her. Though younger, she carried herself with a sharp confidence, her presence impossible to ignore. Her sister, was her opposite in every way. Calm. Composed. Graceful. Brown hair neatly styled, posture perfect, emotions carefully concealed behind a practiced expression. She had been raised to accept duty without question. Where the younger daughter resisted, the elder endured.

She was the only daughter of a powerful mafia leader, raised among secrets, guarded corridors, and unspoken threats. In a world ruled by blood and loyalty, she had learned early that choice was an illusion. A decades-old feud between two rival families had pushed both empires to the brink of collapse. War was no longer profitable. Peace was necessary—but peace demanded sacrifice. She became that sacrifice. The alliance was sealed through a forced marriage to the heir of their sworn enemy. A man known for ruthless control, cold intelligence, and a shadowed reputation. To her, he was not a future husband, but the embodiment of everything her family had fought against.