The world met me before I was ready.
The morning began with people.
Too many people.
Stylists moved through the bedroom like a quiet storm—hair, makeup, dresses laid out across the bed like choices I didn't remember earning. Everything was black, red, or gold. Power colors. Valerio's colors.
"You'll wear this," one woman said, lifting a sleek black gown with a daring slit.
I touched the fabric. It felt dangerous. Expensive. Like something a woman with confidence—not fear—should wear.
"Mr. Knight wants you ready in forty minutes," another added.
Not your husband.
Mr. Knight.
The reminder grounded me. This marriage was still a performance, and today was opening night.
When Valerio entered the room, the chatter stopped instantly.
He looked… lethal.
A dark suit hugged his broad frame, his expression unreadable as his eyes swept over me. When they finally settled, something shifted—slow, intense, possessive.
"Leave us," he said quietly.
The room emptied.
He circled me once, slowly, his gaze taking in every detail. "You look like you belong beside me," he said.
"I don't feel like I do."
"That will change," he replied. Then, softer, "Stay close today. Smile when required. Speak only if you must."
"And if someone disrespects me?" I asked.
His eyes darkened. "Then they disrespect me."
The event was held in one of the city's most exclusive hotels. CEOs, politicians, socialites—wolves in tailored suits and dresses sharp enough to cut. The moment Valerio stepped out of the car, the air shifted.
Cameras flashed.
Gasps followed.
And then there were whispers.
"That's his wife?"
"When did that happen?"
"She's beautiful…"
"Poor girl."
Valerio's hand settled firmly at my lower back, grounding, claiming.
"This is Valerio Knight and his wife," the announcer declared.
His wife.
I felt every eye on me as we moved through the room. Men watched too long. Women measured me with practiced smiles. And Valerio noticed everything.
When a man approached—tall, smug, confident—Valerio's grip tightened.
"Knight," the man said, eyes lingering on me. "Didn't know you collected art now."
Valerio smiled without warmth. "Careful," he replied. "Art is priceless. And protected."
The man laughed nervously and retreated.
"Does that happen often?" I murmured.
"Only once," Valerio said. "They learn."
Then the room went quiet.
A man had entered from the opposite side—older, scarred, his presence heavy with something dark. Valerio's posture stiffened instantly.
"Stay beside me," he whispered.
The man stopped in front of us, his eyes locking onto mine with unsettling interest. "So this is the wife," he said. "Didn't expect her to be so… soft."
Valerio stepped closer to me, his voice low and lethal. "Look at her again," he said, "and I'll remove your eyes."
The tension was suffocating.
The man laughed slowly. "Careful, Knight. Love makes men careless."
"Touch her," Valerio replied, "and you'll learn how careless I can be."
The man's smile faded. "This isn't over."
When he walked away, my heart was racing.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"A mistake," Valerio said. "One I haven't corrected yet."
He led me outside to the balcony, his hand still firm on my waist. "You did well," he said. "But this world will test you."
"I'm not weak," I said quietly.
He turned to face me fully, eyes intense. "I know," he said. "That's why they'll try to use you."
The idea chilled me.
"I won't let them," I said.
Something dangerous and approving flickered in his gaze.
"You're learning," he murmured. "And that makes you very dangerous, mia moglie."
The way he said it—my wife—sent heat down my spine.
Inside, the crowd continued to whisper.
But out there, beneath the city lights, Valerio Knight held me like something precious.
And for the first time, I realized—
This deal wasn't just about survival anymore.
It was about power.
And I was standing right beside it.