The black Rolls-Royce Phantom slid through the wrought iron gates of the Bianchi villa, its powerful engine humming like a predator on the prowl. Sebastian De-Santos, heir to the De-Santos empire and one of the most feared men in Italy, leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable.

Tonight, he was here to claim what his grandfather had brokered decades ago: the union of two powerful mafia families. It was a deal sealed in blood and ambition, meant to ensure dominance over a shared empire. Sebastian had resigned himself to this arrangement, ready to meet Laura Bianchi, his bride-to-be.

But as the car eased to a halt in front of the grand entrance, something gnawed at his instincts. He wasn't a man who trusted easily, and he could feel a storm brewing.

Matteo, his consigliere, opened the door for him. "We need to talk," Matteo said under his breath, his usually calm tone tinged with unease.

Sebastian stepped out, his towering frame casting a shadow over the polished stone driveway. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black suit and glanced at Matteo with piercing grey-blue eyes. "Talk about what?"

Matteo hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You're not marrying Laura."

Sebastian froze mid-step. The faint scent of spice and vanilla that followed him seemed to sharpen in the night air as his irritation flared. "Excuse me?"

"Laura refused," Matteo said cautiously. "They've replaced her with her younger sister."

Sebastian's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening. "And they thought they'd spring this on me now? Did Antonio think I'd simply roll over and accept a replacement like a dog given scraps?"

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Matteo replied carefully. "But it's Serena Bianchi you'll meet tonight."

Sebastian's laugh was cold, devoid of humor. "This night just became far more tedious than I imagined."

Upstairs, Serena Bianchi paced her bedroom, her breath shallow as she stared at the gown her father had thrust upon her. It was an exquisite piece of ivory silk, custom-made for Laura. But now it was hers.

Hours ago, her father had summoned her to his study, his cold eyes boring into her as he delivered the news that would change her life.

"You're marrying Sebastian De-Santos tonight," he'd said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She had stared at him, disbelief etched into every feature. "Laura is supposed to marry him. Everyone knows that!"

Antonio Bianchi leaned back in his chair, his expression unbothered. "Laura has refused, and unlike her, you don't have the luxury of disobedience. You will do this, Serena. You will uphold this family's honor."

"I don't want to marry him!" she cried, her voice trembling. "I've never even met him!"

"And you think he wants to marry you?" Antonio shot back, his voice is as sharp as a blade. "This isn't about what you want. It never was."

Her chest ached as she fought back tears. "Why me? Why not one of the others?"

Antonio's face darkened. "Because you owe this family. Your life has been nothing but a burden since the day you were born. It's time you served a purpose."

The words were a dagger to her heart. She knew her father resented her, blaming her for her mother's death during childbirth. But this level of cruelty? It still managed to cut deeper than she thought possible.

Now, as she stood before the mirror, her hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears, Serena swallowed her fear. She didn't want this. She didn't want him. But what choice did she have?

The grand hall of the Bianchi villa was a masterpiece of old-world opulence. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, their glow reflecting off the marble floors and gilded moldings. Yet, despite the splendor, the atmosphere was charged with tension.

Sebastian entered the room like a storm, his commanding presence drawing every eye. At 6'6, with broad shoulders and a chiseled face, he exuded power. His dark brown hair gleamed under the chandeliers, and his sharp grey-blue eyes swept across the room, searching.

He spotted Antonio first, standing near a petite young woman with long, waist-length hair and a figure draped in ivory silk. Sebastian's steps faltered slightly before he composed himself and approached.

Antonio greeted him with a thin smile. "Sebastian, welcome. Let me introduce my daughter—"

"I was told I'd be meeting Laura," Sebastian interrupted his voice low and controlled but laced with irritation.

Antonio's smile didn't falter. "Circumstances changed. This is Serena, Laura's younger sister."

Sebastian's gaze shifted to Serena, his expression hard and assessing. She lifted her chin, trying to hide the way her hands trembled.

"You're not Laura," he said flatly.

Serena met his gaze, her hazel eyes wide but steady. "No, I'm not."

Sebastian turned back to Antonio, his tone sharp. "You expect me to accept this without warning?"

Antonio shrugged. "The agreement was for a union between our families. Serena fulfills that."

Sebastian's lips pressed into a thin line. He looked back at Serena, his eyes cold. "Do you want this?"

Her breath caught, and she hesitated. She wanted to scream that she didn't, that she wanted nothing to do with him or this life. But with her father standing there, his judgmental glare burning into her, she could only muster a quiet, "Does it matter?"

Sebastian's expression darkened. "No, it doesn't."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Serena standing there with her father's hand tightening on her shoulder.

"Don't embarrass me," Antonio hissed in her ear before guiding her toward the dining room.

The dining table was long and ornate, set with fine china and crystal glasses. But the meal was anything but pleasant.

Sebastian barely touched his food, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the table. He hadn't looked at Serena once since the introductions, and the air between them was thick with tension.

Serena sat quietly, her appetite gone. She could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her, the whispers of the guests, the veiled glances in her direction.

Antonio carried the conversation, his voice jovial as he spoke of business and alliances, but Serena wasn't listening. Her thoughts were consumed by the man sitting across from her—the man who was now her fiancé.

He was everything she had feared: cold, ruthless, and entirely unapproachable. Yet there was something in his eyes, a flicker of something she couldn't quite name.

"Serena," Antonio said sharply, jolting her from her thoughts. "Answer Sebastian's question."

She blinked, realizing she hadn't heard a word. "I'm sorry, what was it?"

Sebastian's eyes finally met hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her breath hitch. "I asked if you always let others speak for you," he said, his tone mocking.

Her cheeks burned, and she straightened in her seat. "Only when what they say is worth listening to."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see about that."

After dinner, Sebastian didn't linger. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, and excused himself without so much as a glance at Serena.

Serena watched him leave, a mix of relief and anger swirling in her chest. She hated him already—his arrogance, his disdain, the way he dismissed her as if she were nothing.

But deep down, beneath the fear and anger, there was a flicker of curiosity. She wondered what kind of man he truly was beneath the cold exterior.

That night, Serena sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the moonlit gardens. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of expectations and the cold indifference of the man she was supposed to marry.

In another part of the villa, Sebastian stood by a window in his guest suite, staring out at the same gardens. His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger and confusion. He hadn't expected this—her.

"She's not Laura," he muttered to himself, his voice heavy with frustration. "But maybe that's not a bad thing."

Neither of them slept that night, their minds racing with thoughts of the future and the unspoken truths they were too afraid to confront.