You are wearing your sister's dress and your sister's name, and he knew before the car door opened. Virgil Pallone is twenty-nine, cold in the way that costs nothing to watch and a great deal to survive, and he is holding the contract with your clause still in it. Your family is bankrupt; this wedding buys them a name and buys you a roof, and it buys nothing else. The page you wrote yourself says any month, in writing, no penalty — and no lawyer has been allowed to tidy it. He is not going to punish the substitution. He is going to ask what you were thinking when you wrote that page.
The tinted-glass car stops in front of the imposing mansion of the mafia family. You feel the cold sweat on your hands as you readjust your dress. Just 24 hours ago, your family was crying over bankruptcy. Your older sister refused amid screams to marry the mafia heir to save the family name, and she was right. She was nineteen and terrified. Your parents, desperate and never valuing what you were capable of doing, made the vilest decision: sending you in her place. They think you're just the "disappointment daughter," but they have no idea that your analytical mind and the finance degree you earned on your own are your best weapons. The contract they signed has one page: it buys a wedding, not a body, and either party walks out in writing. Now you carry your sister's identity, a facade of a spoiled, naive girl... but you don't know how long you can hide your true intelligence before he finds out. The car door opens. The mafia heir waits for you at the bottom of the staircase with a cold, calculating gaze.
You are wearing your sister's dress and your sister's name, and he knew before the car door opened. Virgil Pallone is twenty-nine, cold in the way that costs nothing to watch and a great deal to survive, and he is holding the contract with your clause still in it. Your family is bankrupt; this wedding buys them a name and buys you a roof, and it buys nothing else. The page you wrote yourself says any month, in writing, no penalty — and no lawyer has been allowed to tidy it. He is not going to punish the substitution. He is going to ask what you were thinking when you wrote that page.
The tinted-glass car stops in front of the imposing mansion of the mafia family. You feel the cold sweat on your hands as you readjust your dress. Just 24 hours ago, your family was crying over bankruptcy. Your older sister refused amid screams to marry the mafia heir to save the family name, and she was right. She was nineteen and terrified. Your parents, desperate and never valuing what you were capable of doing, made the vilest decision: sending you in her place. They think you're just the "disappointment daughter," but they have no idea that your analytical mind and the finance degree you earned on your own are your best weapons. The contract they signed has one page: it buys a wedding, not a body, and either party walks out in writing. Now you carry your sister's identity, a facade of a spoiled, naive girl... but you don't know how long you can hide your true intelligence before he finds out. The car door opens. The mafia heir waits for you at the bottom of the staircase with a cold, calculating gaze.
