Luciano wasn’t in the house when it happened.

Serena was in his study, fingers brushing over the spines of old books he never read—until her. The fire crackled softly, rain drumming against the windows.

Then came the sound of stilettos.

Slow. Sharp. Measured.

Serena turned just as a woman stepped into the room, dressed in a black silk dress and a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You must be the muse,” the woman said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness.

Serena blinked. “And you are…?”

“I’m the reason Luciano stopped believing in happy endings,” she replied coolly. “Camilla De Rosa. Ex-fiancée. First love. Last betrayal.”

Camilla didn’t wait to be invited in.

She walked straight up to the desk and dropped a photo on it.

Serena froze.

It was a picture of her. In a bookstore. Weeks before she “died.” Her real name, Serena Vale, circled in red ink.

“Sweetheart,” Camilla drawled, “do you really think Luciano doesn’t already know who you are?”

Serena’s throat tightened.

“He said nothing.”

Camilla leaned in, voice soft. “Exactly. Because he’s waiting. Watching. Letting you write your little story so he can decide if it ends in love… or betrayal.”

Serena’s heart pounded.

“He’s changed,” she said, though her voice trembled.

Camilla laughed. “Men like Luciano don’t change. They just rewrite their endings.”

And with that, she walked out—heels clicking like gunshots.

Luciano returned that night and found Serena waiting.

Silent. Shaking. The photo still in her hand.

“She came,” Serena whispered. “Camilla.”

His expression turned to stone. “What did she say?”

“That you already knew who I was. That this was all a game to you.”

Luciano stared at her.

Then, slowly, said, “She’s right.”

The words shattered something inside her.

But before she could move, he stepped forward.

“She’s right—I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into your father’s house. The daughter of my enemy. The girl who faked her death. The writer.”

Serena’s chest rose and fell, fury rising.

“Then why play along?”

Luciano’s voice dropped.

“Because I was going to use you.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

“But then I made the mistake,” he added. “I read you.”

Silence.

“I knew the second I opened your manuscript, I couldn’t use you. Because you’d already started using me.”

Serena’s lip trembled.

“So what now?”

Luciano looked at her like he already knew how this story would end.

“Now?” he said softly. “We find out if we’re the heroes in this story—or each other’s final chapter.”