Chapter One
Royal
My father’s summons never comes with a request. It comes as a command disguised as family obligation. And after thirty-five years of enduring Marco Madera, I’ve learned that ignoring him only creates more work for myself later.
That’s why I find myself steering my Aston Martin through the wrought-iron gates of the estate I grew up in, already feeling the familiar weight settle across my shoulders.
The sprawling mansion looks exactly as it always has, immaculate gardens trimmed to perfection, marble fountains illuminated by soft landscape lighting, and enough security cameras to monitor a small country. To anyone driving past, it looks like the home of a successful businessman.
To me, it has always been a gilded prison where appearances mattered more than people and obedience was valued above love. I kill the engine, pocket my keys, and remind myself that dinner won’t last forever. It never does, though somehow every visit manages to feel twice as long.
The front door opens before I can reach it. One of the household staff greets me by name and relieves me of my jacket. I step into the grand foyer, where polished marble gleams beneath a crystal chandelier.
My brother is already here, leaning casually against the staircase with a glass of bourbon in one hand, looking every bit the heir our father always wanted. Riccardo notices me first and lifts his glass in greeting.
“You look thrilled to be here.”
“I’d rather be getting tattooed with a rusty needle.”
He chuckles. “That bad?”
“It’s Dad.”
“Fair enough.”
Riccardo has always understood without needing an explanation. We grew up under the same roof, listened to the same impossible expectations, and watched our father become colder after our mother died.
The difference is that Riccardo learned how to navigate Marco’s world while I found every excuse imaginable to stay outside it. He runs family meetings, attends board dinners, and plays the role of devoted eldest son because one day he’ll inherit everything.
I spend my days tattooing at 4R Ink and my nights behind a bank of computer monitors helping my brothers hunt monsters the legal system refuses to touch. Dad calls the tattoo shop my hobby. I let him believe that because the less he knows about my real life, the better.
“I assume he didn’t tell you what this dinner is about.”
Riccardo shakes his head. “Just said it was important. And with our extended family here too, then it has to be like he said.”
“Everything is important to him,” I mutter.
Before my brother can answer, movement near the sitting room catches my attention, and every coherent thought disappears.
Sierra.
She’s standing beside her mother in a fitted emerald dress that somehow makes her brown eyes seem warmer than I remember.
Her blonde hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder.
And despite the polite smile she’s offering whoever she’s speaking to, there’s a distance in her expression that wasn’t there four months ago.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the charity gala. I still remember the way she challenged me without hesitation. The stubborn tilt of her chin, and the way she looked at me right before my phone interrupted us.
If River hadn’t needed surveillance updates on the operation we were running that night, I would’ve kissed her. The thought has replayed in my head more times than I’d care to admit. She notices me watching.
For a heartbeat neither of us moves. Then she looks away first. Interesting.
“So that’s why you’ve gone quiet,” Riccardo murmurs beside me.
“What?”
“You’ve been staring at Chase Thorne’s daughter.”
“No. I’m wondering why we’re having dinner with them.”
“Sure.”
I ignore him because Sierra glances back in my direction, and for the briefest moment our eyes meet again before our father’s booming voice echoes through the foyer.
“There you are.”
Marco strides into the room wearing another perfectly tailored suit, looking twenty years younger than his age thanks to expensive grooming and an ego large enough to sustain him indefinitely. People describe him as charismatic. They aren’t wrong. They simply don’t know what lies beneath the charm.
“Dinner is ready.”
We move into the dining room together, taking our assigned seats around a table long enough to host a small conference.
Conversation remains pleasantly superficial through the first course.
My father discusses business, Yvonne compliments the chef, and Riccardo contributes just enough to keep Marco satisfied.
Sierra barely speaks. Every now and then I catch her studying the room as though she’d rather be anywhere else. I know the feeling. By the time dessert is served, my patience is wearing thin, which usually means my father is preparing to reveal the real reason we’re all here.
He clears his throat. “I have an announcement.”
There it is. Yvonne smiles brightly beside him while everyone else looks toward the head of the table.
“Yvonne and I are engaged.”
Silence settles over the room for a moment before polite congratulations begin circling the table. I lean back in my chair. Of course, they are. My father collects wives the way some people collect expensive watches.
Since my mother died, neither of his two marriages after that lasted particularly long, though that has never discouraged him from searching for another. Yvonne certainly fits his preferred type. Attractive, elegant, considerably younger, and well-connected within the elite social circles.
What surprises me isn’t the announcement. It’s Sierra.
Every bit of color drains from her face before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral. But I’ve spent years watching people lie, so I recognize forced composure when I see it. She isn’t happy. That alone captures my attention more than the engagement itself.
Dinner ends shortly afterward, and people begin drifting into different rooms with after-dinner drinks. My father disappears into the library with Riccardo and a business associate, while Yvonne is quickly surrounded by friends eager to admire her engagement ring.
I should leave. Nothing is keeping me here anymore. Instead, I go looking for Sierra. I find her exactly where I least expect to.
She’s standing alone in my father’s study, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows with her back to the room. Moonlight spills across the polished wood floors, casting silver light over shelves filled with leather-bound books my father has probably never opened.
“You disappeared.”
She startles before turning toward me. “I needed a minute.”
“I gathered.”
She lets out a slow breath before looking back toward the gardens outside. “It’s... a lot to process.”
“I imagine it is.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
I shrug lightly. “My father has never stayed single for very long.”
She studies me for a moment. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“It stopped surprising me years ago.”
A quiet laugh escapes her, though there’s no humor behind it. “I envy that.”
“You don’t look happy.”
Her smile fades completely. “Yeah, well unlike you, I’m not used to all of this.”
Silence stretches between us. When she finally meets my eyes again, the guarded confidence she wore at the gala slips just enough for me to glimpse genuine uncertainty beneath it. And for some reason, I want to see the fiery, intelligent woman that attracted me.
“I’ve been catching you looking at me since the gala,” I point out with a smirk.
And just like I predicted, she folds her arms. “You’re impossible.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And full of yourself.”
“Only around you.”
She shakes her head, but this time the corner of her mouth twitches upward.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Your real smile.”
“I wasn’t smiling.”
“You almost were.” She rolls her eyes, and I continue, “I’ve missed arguing with you.”
“We’ve spoken exactly twice.”
“Quality over quantity.”
She laughs softly before realizing she has and quickly composes herself again. “I should go.”
“But you haven’t yet.”
Neither of us moves. The air changes, becoming quieter somehow despite the faint sounds of conversation filtering through the walls from elsewhere in the house.
“I’ve thought about you,” I admit.
She blinks. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know. But I can’t seem to help it.”
Her breathing changes almost imperceptibly. “This is a bad idea.”
“It probably is.”
She searches my face as though trying to decide whether I’m joking. “I’m not one of the women people write gossip columns about.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough to recognize that most people underestimate you.”
That catches her off guard. “What makes you think that?”
“The same thing that tells me the woman standing in front of me isn’t the spoiled socialite everyone assumes she is.”
For the first time since I walked into the room, she looks genuinely unsettled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe not.”
I step closer. She doesn’t retreat.
“I’d still like the chance to find out,” I say.
Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes, and that tiny movement is all the encouragement I need. I cup her cheeks and kiss her. It’s not gentle, not at first. It’s months of wanting, all the unspoken confessions and forbidden thoughts crashing together.
She kisses me back, hungry, desperate, and for one suspended moment, the rest of the world disappears. Leaving only the palpable current, racing heart as our tongues tangles, and the unmistakable realization that whatever has existed between us since that gala is very real.
Then she pulls away so abruptly that I almost lose my balance.
“No. We can’t do this.”
I frown. “Why not?”
She looks at me as though the answer should be obvious. “We’re going to be related.”
I laugh, low. “We’re not related yet. And even if we were, you think I care?”
Her brown eyes flash. “Well, I care.” She takes another step backward. “This can’t happen again.”
Before I can answer, she slips past me and walks out of the study without looking back. Leaving me alone in my father’s office wondering why the only woman who’s managed to occupy my thoughts in years has also become the one determined to stay out of my reach.