Evangeline POV:
The word hit my chest like a physical blow.
Fiancée.
I forced my facial muscles to form a polite, detached smile, though they protested the falsehood.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," I managed to say.
Sienna looked down at my wheelchair, her sharp eyes scanning my faded, threadbare dress.
She offered a dismissive smile.
"The engagement is just a strategic marriage dictated by the Commission. There is no real affection here," she said casually, as if discussing a mundane business transaction.
Killian looked at her, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"A syndicate contract still makes you mine in the eyes of the underworld, Sienna."
They bickered with the cold familiarity of mob royalty.
They belonged to a ruthless world of blood and power that I was no longer fit for.
Killian turned his attention back to me.
His gaze was heavy, pinning me to my chair like a butterfly to a specimen board; even the trembling of my hands was arrested by the cold weight of his stare.
"Have you belonged to anyone else over the last ten years?"
My breath caught in my throat.
I looked away from his intense stare, unable to bear the weight of it.
"I have had romances," I lied smoothly. "But I prefer my independence."
Killian remained silent, but his clasped hands tightened so abruptly that the friction of his knuckles made a faint, sharp sound, as if he had just warped the solid gold of his cufflinks.
I nodded to them both, murmuring a quiet farewell, and rolled my chair toward the exit.
The armed soldiers opened the heavy double doors for me.
When I reached the street outside the venue, a torrential downpour had already begun.
The freezing rain soaked my dress instantly.
I shivered, desperately trying to flag down a cab, but the rain-slicked streets were completely empty.
A massive, armored black SUV pulled up to the curb, splashing dirty water onto my wheels.
The back door swung open.
Killian stepped out into the storm, completely ignoring the bodyguards who rushed forward with umbrellas.
"Get in."
I shook my head. "I can find my own way."
Sienna leaned out from the back seat, looking annoyed.
"Just accept the Don's offer, Evangeline. You will freeze out here."
Killian did not wait for my answer.
He bent down and effortlessly lifted me out of my chair.
His large hands wrapped firmly around my waist and under my knees, leaving me helpless against his strength.
His touch burned through my wet clothes, sending a treacherous shockwave of memory through my body.
He placed me gently onto the plush leather seat of the SUV.
A bodyguard quickly folded my chair and put it in the trunk.
Killian slid in beside me, bringing the scent of rain and expensive cologne into the confined space.
The car's sound system was playing a haunting piano melody.
It was a song I had never heard, yet the chord progression felt intimately familiar.
"Give my driver your address," Killian ordered.
Panic seized my chest.
I lived in a decaying safehouse in a rival territory's slum.
If Killian saw where I truly lived, he would know my entire life was a lie.
I gave the driver the address of a heavily guarded, wealthy estate across the city.
It was the affluent neighborhood I had grown up in before my father ruined us.
Sienna poured herself a drink from the car's illuminated minibar.
"When your injury heals, you must send us tickets to your ballet troupe."
I stared out the rain-streaked window, swallowing the bitter irony.
"I will."
The SUV eventually pulled up to the massive iron gates of the affluent estate.
Killian watched me closely as the driver retrieved my chair.
I wheeled myself up the paved driveway to the front door of a random mansion.
I knocked on the heavy wood, pretending to call out for my mother.
I kept my back to the street until Killian's convoy finally drove away into the night.
As soon as the red taillights disappeared, my tense shoulders collapsed.
I was shivering violently now.
I wheeled myself back to the main road and called a cheap cab.
It took forty agonizing minutes to reach my actual home.
The slum was pitch dark, smelling foully of garbage and wet concrete.
I unlocked the deadbolt to my tiny, freezing apartment.
The place was an absolute disaster.
My mother, Clara, was sitting on the floor in a manic state.
She had taken a pair of scissors to a pile of black-market designer clothes she compulsively hoarded.
Scraps of expensive fabric covered the linoleum floor.
Beside her was a torn, empty envelope.
She had found the cash I meticulously saved for our groceries and completely shredded it.
I closed the door and locked the deadbolt behind me.
I did not yell at her. I simply did not have the energy left.
I wheeled myself to the edge of my small, lumpy bed.
I reached down under the hem of my wet velvet dress.
I unbuckled the heavy leather straps.
I detached the cold, agonizing metal prosthetics from my residual limbs.
I placed the metal legs carefully on the floor and buried my face in my trembling hands.
I wept silently in the dark.
Killian and I existed in entirely different universes now.
Three days later, my cheap burner phone rang.
It was a blocked number.
I answered cautiously, and the crisp voice on the other end unmistakably belonged to Killian's Consigliere.
"The Boss invites you to a class reunion dinner tonight at eight. A car will be waiting. Do not be late."
I stared at the dead phone, the Consigliere’s polite, clipped order a far more terrifying threat than any screamed curse. He was calling to measure my weakness, and I had just been summoned to walk the plank.
