Serena Sinclair POV
An ocean breeze whipped my hair across my face. I pulled my silk scarf tighter around my neck and adjusted my dark sunglasses.
Gabriel Romano sat across from me on the sun-bleached deck of the private yacht. He was dressed in a flawless charcoal suit. When he poured me a cup of tea, his movements were precise, almost gentle.
"I know your status in the Sinclair Family, Serena."
His voice was soft, but the tail end of his words scraped like sandpaper across the grain of the teakwood table.
I looked at him. "Then you know I have nothing to offer you. I am an illegitimate daughter. I have no political pull."
Gabriel set the teapot down. He leaned forward. "You have yourself. That is more than enough. I consider this match an absolute honor."
I studied his face. There was no mockery, no hidden current in his expression.
"I will send my Don to your father within five days to formalize the marriage contract," Gabriel said.
I nodded. "Thank you."
At length, the yacht docked at the VIP pier. Gabriel stood and offered me his hand. I took it, his palm warm and calloused.
As I stepped onto the wooden dock, the stiletto heel of my shoe caught on a loose plank. I stumbled forward.
Gabriel caught me by the waist. His grip was firm, anchoring me against his solid chest. The sudden movement caused the wind to catch my silk scarf, which tore from my neck as my sunglasses slipped down my nose.
"Are you alright?" Gabriel asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I looked up to answer him, but the words died in my throat.
Standing not ten feet away, surrounded by his heavily armed detail, was Xavier Falcone.
Xavier stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze, like a rusty nail, pinned itself to the nervous way I was wringing my hands—a habit the Canary had described to him in vivid detail. A visible ripple of confusion crossed his composed features.
"Who is she?" Xavier demanded, his voice a sharp sound that cut through the low thrum of the docks.
Gabriel stepped smoothly in front of me, completely blocking Xavier's line of sight. He tucked me behind his broad shoulders, a living barricade against the other man's presence.
"She is my future bride," Gabriel said, his tone dangerously calm. "She is shy around strangers. Let us go, Serena."
As Gabriel guided me away, I could feel Xavier's eyes burning into my back.
That night, back in the close air of my heavily guarded wing at the Sinclair estate, the nightmares returned.
I was locked in Xavier's penthouse. The door frame splintered as he kicked it down. He stood over me, his face twisted in rage. I was begging him to let my ashes be scattered far away from New York. I just wanted to be free.
He grabbed my face. "You will never escape this place, Serena. Even in death, you belong to me."
I woke up screaming, the sheets damp with a cold sweat.
My bedroom door was ajar, and there was a loud commotion in the hallway. A sharp ringing filled my ears, drowning out the other sounds as I rolled out of bed and pressed my back against the wall, hiding behind the heavy velvet curtains.
"Where is the scotch?" my half-sister, Natalie, was yelling at a maid.
"I gave the wooden box to the guard," the maid stammered.
Then, I heard heavy footsteps. A voice that made the marrow in my bones feel cold echoed in the corridor.
"Why are you in this wing, Natalie?" Xavier asked, and the sound of his voice seemed to lower the temperature in the corridor.
I stopped breathing. He was right outside my door.
"I was just checking on the staff," Natalie lied, her voice trembling slightly.
"You never mentioned you had a younger sister living here," Xavier pressed.
"She is a nobody, Xavier," Natalie said quickly. "An illegitimate mistake. She is not worth your time."
There was a long, agonizing pause in which I could picture with perfect clarity Xavier's dark, knowing smirk.
"Let us go, then," Xavier finally said.
Once their footsteps faded away, I stepped out from behind the curtain and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw my own sharp, defiant features looking back at me. I would marry Gabriel Romano. I would never let the Heir drag me back into the dark. But the way Xavier had looked at me on the dock—like he was trying to place a ghost—told me the dark wasn’t done with me yet.
