Claire’s POV
All eyes widened as Grant snatched the contents of the safe and threw them onto the table.
A stack of photos scattered across the surface. Among the glossy prints—there I was, standing beside several men dressed in black suits. Broad shoulders. Sharp stares.
To me, they were family. But to Grant...
"What the hell is this?!" he shouted.
He grabbed one photo and shoved it in my face like it was damning evidence.
They were my bodyguards. These were the last mementos I had of them, taken just before I left my past behind to stand beside Grant.
I hid them in the safe—because inside that vault, my real identity slept.
"Claire!"
Grant grabbed my shoulders and shoved me backward.
I fell hard against the edge of the table. Pain shot through every inch of my body—but what hurt more was the look of sheer disgust in his eyes.
"What kind of woman are you?!" he roared.
"I can explain!" I blurted.
"Oh, of course! Explain how you hired a private army of men to please you behind my back?! How many of them did you ‘entertain', huh?!"
His words hit harder than the table ever could. But he wasn’t finished.
At the end of the table, Avery opened a small velvet box.
"And this... is the final proof."
A blood-red gemstone necklace shimmered under the lights. In the center, a small dragon carving gleamed like fire.
My eyes widened. "Put that down! Don’t touch it!"
Avery gasped. "This... this isn’t just jewelry."
Grant stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.
"How much of my money did you steal to buy this, Claire?"
I rushed forward. "Give it back!"
Avery slapped my hand away. "This is too exquisite for someone like you."
"I love it," she purred to Grant, resting her hand on his chest. "Put it on me?"
"DON’T!" I screamed, crawling forward.
Before I could reach them, Avery kicked me aside. I collapsed onto the floor again, my knee slamming against the corner of the carpet. Blood soaked through the torn hem of my gown.
Grant—without hesitation—clasped the necklace around Avery’s neck. Right in front of me. My family’s heirloom. My bloodline’s legacy.
"Stunning," Avery sighed, satisfied.
I struggled to stand. "That necklace is mine! It’s a family heirloom!"
"Save the drama, Claire," Avery sneered, stepping closer. "Let me tell you something."
Then—her heel crushed my injured hand. Pain exploded as she pressed down, grinding her heel into my wrist.
"ARRGH!"
"Listen closely, whore..." she whispered into my ear, "This necklace belongs to a woman of class—not trash like you."
Laughter erupted. A few guests even clapped, enjoying the spectacle like it was an elite theater.
Paul stepped forward and handed a name badge to Grant.
"Claire Elisabetta D’Amore."
The room fell silent.
"D’Amore?" someone gasped. "No way..."
Grant’s face hardened. But Avery scoffed like it was some kind of joke.
"Oh, please... don’t tell me you expect us to believe you’re from that mafia family? Claire, just because your name resembles theirs doesn’t mean you can fake it."
"I don’t need you to believe me." My voice trembled. My hand throbbed. My body was covered in dirt and blood. But my eyes—my eyes burned.
"I’m the daughter of Masimon D’Amore. You know exactly what that means."
"Oh, I know," Avery smirked. "It means you used that name to get close to elite businessmen. Build phony partnerships. Ride on someone else’s legacy."
"All your contracts, all your connections—they were lies. You’re a fraud. Selling a fake crown to build a fantasy empire."
"ENOUGH!" I screamed.
But they didn’t stop. They laughed. Mocked me. Humiliated me.
"Enough?" Grant stepped closer. "Actually, I should thank you. For giving me a very good reason to throw you out."
I clenched my fists. My breaths were ragged. The wounds on my body didn’t compare to the disgrace they poured on me.
I looked at each of them. Slowly. Coldly.
"You’ve touched blood that should never be touched."
Avery laughed again. "Then curse me, Mafia Princess. I’ll wait."
Grant ordered his men to drag me out of the ballroom.
I struggled. Told them I could walk. That I would walk.
I walked—slowly—toward the exit. Each step left a trail of blood on the luxury carpet.
Before I stepped through the door, I stopped. I turned. My voice was low, steady—but it echoed across the grand hall.
"The humiliation you delivered tonight... I’ll repay it a hundredfold."
They laughed again.
But I no longer cared.
---
Outside the ballroom, a black, unmarked car pulled up. The back door opened.
A man in a black suit and dark glasses stood straight.
"Orders, Signorina D’Amore?"
I got in. Blood still dripped from my arm. But my gaze was ice.
"Cut all D’Amore ties with Vanderbilt Corporation. Terminate every contract. Freeze every fund."
"And the guests at the ballroom?"
I looked out the window.
"Send a message."
I smiled faintly.
"Hell has just opened."
The car sped away. And that night, D’Amore blood rose again.
