Chapter 1: The Scars Beneath the Lace
The final pearl rolled across the hardwood floor and struck Enzo’s shoe.
He did not move.
Harper remained on her knees, clutching the torn wedding dress against her chest. Her exposed back rose and fell with shallow, terrified breaths. Old scars crossed her skin from shoulder to waist—thin cuts, thick welts, and deep marks shaped by something narrow and cruel.
A belt.
Enzo knew exactly what a belt could do when it was swung hard enough.
“Who did this?” he asked.
Harper curled tighter.
“Please don’t make me answer.”
Enzo removed his tuxedo jacket.
She flinched when he stepped closer.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The promise sounded strange in his mouth. Men did not come to Enzo DeLuca for comfort. They came to bargain, confess, or die.
He slowly placed the jacket over Harper’s shoulders without touching her skin.
She stared at it as if kindness were another kind of trap.
“Stand up,” he said more gently.
“I’m sorry about the dress.”
“I don’t care about the dress.”
Her eyes lifted.
For the first time, she seemed genuinely confused.
Enzo held out his hand.
Harper did not take it.
Instead, she pushed herself upright using the bedpost, keeping the jacket tightly wrapped around her body.
“Did Preston do this?” Enzo asked.
Her face emptied instantly.
That was answer enough.
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“How long?”
Harper looked toward the locked bedroom door.
“All my life.”
The words landed harder than any bullet.
Enzo remembered Preston kneeling in the private dining room, crying about his reputation and offering his daughter as payment.
He had thought the man was sacrificing something precious.
Now he understood.
Preston had been disposing of evidence.
“Why?” Enzo demanded.
Harper’s breathing changed.
“I embarrassed him.”
“How does a child embarrass a man like Preston Whitcomb?”
“By crying when guests were present. By asking about my mother. By getting bad grades. By getting good grades and sounding proud of myself.”
Her mouth twisted into a small, broken smile.
“Sometimes he didn’t need a reason.”
Enzo turned away before she could see the violence in his face.
He walked to the bar, poured water instead of whiskey, and set the glass on the nightstand.
“Drink.”
Harper obeyed immediately.
Too immediately.
Enzo watched her take three careful sips.
“You don’t have to obey every word I say.”
She lowered the glass.
“My father said I did.”
“I’m not your father.”
“No.” Her eyes met his. “You’re the man he said would finish what he started.”
Enzo’s blood went cold.
“What exactly did he tell you before you left the reception?”
Harper’s fingers tightened around the glass.
“He said you would use me until you had control of the Whitcomb holdings.”
“That part is true.”
Her face paled.
Enzo did not soften the lie into something kinder.
He had married her for power and revenge. Pretending otherwise would insult them both.
“But he said something else,” Enzo continued. “What was it?”
Harper stared at the water.
“He said once you had everything, you’d kill me.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“And if you didn’t,” she added, “he would.”
A knock struck the bedroom door.
Three hard taps.
Enzo instantly reached beneath his jacket before remembering it was around Harper’s shoulders.
“Boss?” Luca Marino called from the hallway. “We caught someone near the east gate.”
“Who?”
There was a pause.
“One of Whitcomb’s men.”
Enzo looked at Harper.
Her glass slipped from her fingers and shattered.
May you like
“He found me,” she whispered.
Then a gunshot exploded downstairs.
