

I stared at the Vercetti marriage contract my father pushed across the table. Without hesitation, I wrote my half-sister’s name, Demi, and slid it back. My father froze. Then his eyes lit up with ridiculous excitement, like he’d just won the lottery. "How can you give such a perfect chance to your sister?" Last life, my marriage was a joke for everyone around me. I was the red-haired, untamed little witch who dared to climb into the orbit of Cassian Vercetti, heir and leader of the old-blood Vercetti crime family. I was never perfect nor obedient. He loved goddess gowns. I wore mini skirts and danced on tables. He demanded missionary, traditional, orderly intimacy. I wanted to climb on top, ride him, lose myself completely. At a gala, society wives laughing at my hair, my dress, my “wildness.” I thought he would at least pretend to defend me. He didn’t. “Forgive her. She’s not…properly trained.” Trained. Like a dog. I spent my entire last life suffocating under his rules, bending myself bloody to fit the shape he wanted, until the night our house caught fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I learned of the arranged marriage. I looked at the contract in front of me. This time? I think the nightclub boys suits me better. But the moment Cassian realized the bride wasn’t me, he shattered every rule he’d ever lived by.

Marco, an appliance dealer who rose from the bottom, returned to his old apartment building and paid out of his own pocket to install air conditioners for every household, as a way of repaying the kindness he had received years ago. However, his neighbor Marina took the lead in filing claims under various pretexts and engaging in moral blackmail. Without arguing, Marco dismantled all the air conditioners overnight and took them away. When the scorching heat arrived, the old building suffered terribly, while the new building across the street remained cool and orderly. After enduring heatstroke, shortages, and failed extortion attempts, the neighbors finally broke down and had no choice but to turn to Marco for help. Marco presented them with a business contract and insisted that things be done according to the rules. In the end, the neighbors paid to have the units reinstalled—except for Anna, the only one who had stayed clear-headed back then, and who received Marco's free, special care.

The night before our 17th wedding attempt, my mafia husband, Rafaeal Holloway, looks at me and promises an uninterrupted wedding. He solemnly swears. "Gianna, I promise you. I told Natalia that even if the sky falls, she'll deal with it alone." I am five months pregnant by then. After three years of dating and five months carrying his child, we've never managed to make it down the aisle because he's canceled the past 16 weddings. Every single time, it's for his sworn sister, Natalia Sullivan. The first time, she claims she has a fever. I spend the whole night at the hospital, still in my wedding dress, just to find out she has a mild cold. The second time, she claims her chest hurts. Rafael abandons me mid-wedding and rushes to her side, while she's out laughing over afternoon tea with friends. The third time, she cries for fear of thunder. He bolts mid-vows and leaves me alone in a hall full of staring guests. But everything's different now. Three days ago, a letter arrived from Northern Silenzio. My father, the Don of the Rossetti family, has finally summoned me home. If Rafael walks away for Natalia one more time, I'll leave for good.

Yulia is sent by her father to the bed of her family's creditor, Yvan. What appears to be an orchestrated honey trap is, in fact, a calculated move by Yvan, a young CEO. Playing along with the scheme, Yvan pressures Yulia's father behind the scenes while playing the innocent victim in front of the clueless girl. His endgame? To trick her straight into marriage.