By the end of the week, Sarah Windsor had become both a scandal and a legend.
Every gala, every luncheon, every social feed whispered her name like a secret sin.
> "She's sleeping with Moretti."
"You mean that Moretti?"
"The one whose family owns half of Europe's black market?"
"No wonder Dominic lost his mind."
The whispers followed her like perfume — intoxicating and suffocating all at once.
---
Sarah stood at the balcony of her office that Friday afternoon, watching the city below. Her reflection in the glass looked composed, but her phone buzzed nonstop — news alerts, gossip blogs, PR managers begging her for statements she refused to give.
It didn't matter what she said.
The world had already written her story.
She'd gone from betrayed heiress to mafia's mistress in less than a month.
The old her would've hidden.
This version didn't.
She slipped on her sunglasses, stepped into her car, and let the cameras flash.
If they were going to talk — she would give them something to talk about.
---
Across the city, Dante watched her on a muted news screen.
A glass of whiskey dangled from his hand as Luciano muttered something about the stock market.
Dante wasn't listening.
He was watching Sarah — calm, poised, walking through the storm as if she owned the thunder.
"You're smiling," Luciano noted.
Dante didn't look away. "She's learning."
---
Meanwhile, Dominic Vale was unraveling.
The man who once posed for magazines and corporate covers now sat in dim clubs, drowning himself in liquor and anger.
He'd lost the woman who made him look respectable — and the scandal made him a joke.
The tabloids said Dante had "claimed" what Dominic discarded.
That Sarah had upgraded from a CEO to a kingpin.
Dominic smashed the screen showing the headline.
"Moretti thinks he can take everything," he slurred. "He has no idea what I can take back."
Vanessa sighed beside him, brushing her perfect curls. "Then maybe do something about it instead of drinking yourself into pity."
His glare burned. "You're part of this mess too."
"Correction," she said smoothly. "I'm surviving it."
She leaned closer, her perfume sweet but sharp. "You forget, Dominic, I know what hurts Sarah more than you ever did."
---
The next evening, Sarah attended a private art auction — one of those glittering events where everyone smiled while trying to ruin someone.
Dante appeared halfway through the night, dressed in black-on-black, as though he'd stepped out of a secret she couldn't stop remembering.
Whispers ignited the room like sparks.
> "He's here."
"They're not even hiding it."
"Look at the way he watches her…"
Sarah pretended not to notice, though her pulse betrayed her.
Dante joined her at the balcony between bids.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he said, "You wear chaos well."
She smirked faintly. "It seems to follow me."
His gaze lingered — dark, assessing, too close. "You've stopped running from it."
"Maybe I'm learning from the best."
A pause.
"You think I'm the best?"
"I think you're dangerous," she murmured. "And that's usually the same thing."
Dante smiled, slow and deliberate. "Careful, Sarah. Compliments sound a lot like surrender."
Her eyes met his. "Then maybe you should stop making surrender look so tempting."
---
Inside the ballroom, cameras flashed.
Whispers turned to stories.
By midnight, they'd be headlines again.
> The Heiress and Her Devil.
Sarah Windsor's Dangerous Romance.
Moretti's Mistress or Mastermind?
And as the night deepened, one woman watched from the shadows — Vanessa.
Her nails dug into her glass as she watched Dante touch Sarah's waist, whisper something that made her laugh — a sound Vanessa hadn't heard since before the betrayal.
Jealousy twisted through her like poison.
Dominic's rage had burned out into bitterness.
But Vanessa's envy — that still had teeth.
She turned to the man beside her — a journalist she'd been "charming" for weeks.
"Do you want an exclusive?" she asked.
He blinked. "About what?"
She smiled — sweet, venomous. "About the night Sarah Windsor stopped being perfect."
---
Later that night, Sarah returned home to silence.
Her phone buzzed again — unknown number.
She almost ignored it, until she saw the attachment.
A photo.
Her stomach dropped.
It was from months ago — the night she'd found Dominic and Vanessa in her bed.
The sheets, the wine, the heartbreak frozen in flash.
But there was something else — something new.
In the corner of the photo, a shadow in the doorway.
A silhouette she'd never noticed before.
And beneath it, a caption:
> You think you know what happened that night? Think again.
Her hand trembled.
She dialed Dante without thinking.
He answered on the first ring.
"Sarah."
Her voice was unsteady. "Someone just sent me a photo. From that night."
"Show me."
She forwarded it. Silence followed.
Then his voice, low and sharp. "Where did you get this?"
"An unknown number. But it had to come from someone who was there."
Dante exhaled, long and quiet — the kind of sound that came before a storm.
"Sarah," he said finally. "There's something you need to know about that night."
Before she could answer, her screen lit again — another message, same sender.
This one wasn't to her.
It was to Dante.
And it read:
> We both know what she doesn't, Dante. — V
---
Sarah stared at the message, confusion mixing with dread.
"V," she whispered.
Vanessa.
Her stepsister.
The one person who wasn't supposed to know anything about Dante.
But somehow — she did.