That same day, late evening, Jamie came down in a dark silk robe, hair still damp from the shower, looking for the only thing that still made sense: the Yogi tea. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard laughter. Real, loud, belly-deep laughter. And it was coming from Silas.Jamie froze. In all the period Silas had worked for him, he had never heard the man laugh like that. Not once. Was it because Guseppe refused to leave him 'alone'? Or was it just the 'Guseppe effect '? Shrugging, he stepped into the kitchen doorway.Guseppe was perched on a bar stool, gesturing wildly, half Italian, half English. “…and then Nonna grabs the wooden spoon like a sword and screams, ‘Guseppeeee, you come here or I come to you!’”Kofi, sitting beside him, actually had tears in his eyes.Jamie’s gaze dropped. Guseppe’s collar had shifted. A dark, unmistakable hickey the size of a euro coin sat just above his clavicle.Guseppe turned, spotted Jamie, and the laughter died into a sheepish grin. He

Jamie stepped out of the Mercedes in a midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo that cost more than most people’s cars. The gala was exactly what his mother had promised: the kind of room where presidents and governors pretended they were just “passing through.” Flashbulbs popped the second he appeared. Kofi, black suit, earpiece, silent mountain, stayed two steps behind.Always two steps behind while he scanned the room. Just precautions, Not like Jamie wasn't scanning the room too Just In case he gets bored early.Eleanor Luther spotted him instantly. She was draped in silver silk, diamonds flashing at her throat like warning lights. She waved him over with the imperial flick of two fingers.At first, Jamie wanted to ignore her but he couldn't. She was his mom and whether he liked it or not, making a scene would not help their ongoing public saga.“Darling,” she said, air-kissing both cheeks, “come.”She steered him toward a silver-haired man in a navy suit. “Jamie, Congressman Hargrove. Richa

The elevator doors slid open into the penthouse kitchen and Jamie knew, before a word was spoken, that something was wrong. The silence.Guseppe was gone. Gone with his usual chaos —half-eaten pastry on the counter, espresso cup still spinning in the saucer, leather jacket slung over a bar stool like a dead animal—was absent. The air felt too still."Okayyy" Jamie thought aloud.Jamie perched on the marble island, legs dangling, scrolling nothing on his phone while he waited for Kofi to bring the car around. Silas appeared silently, wiping his hands on a towel the colour of storm clouds.“Mr Guseppe left at dawn,” Silas said, voice low. “His father called. Sounded… urgent.”Jamie only nodded. He could already picture the scene in Italy: marble hallways, raised voices, Nonna clutching rosary beads like a weapon. If not that, it could be something at the family company. Both him and Guseppe had been wondering when they wanted him to rake his position as a responsible son, especially

Francesca sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in Fred’s penthouse bedroom, knees drawn to her chest, phone clutched in both hands like a lifeline she didn’t trust. No matter how she tried to pretend, she knew something had gone wrong amidst the mess she had been running.The room smelled of his cologne—something sharp and expensive—and the faint trace of the jasmine candle he’d lit last night when he thought romance could fix her mood. Well, it did fix it with naked bodies rolling beneath the sheet It had been two days since she sent Jamie the envelope.Three days since that particular one had landed on her own doorstep like a bomb with no timer. Counting, this seems to be the third package now.Jamie hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t even let his lawyer leak a single quote to the press.Just silence after he told her "your wish".She hated silence. Silence meant someone else was thinking.Her phone pinged. An email notification. She opened it with fingers that wouldn’t stop tre

“…marrying the man who actually loves me. And I’m leaving that toxic family behind forever.”The clip from Francesca's live video, now two days old, ended. Jamie's thumb lingered on the screen, a beat too long, before he set the phone face-down on the balcony table. Rage simmered beneath his usually cool surface. He wanted to break something, maybe someone, but he ruthlessly tamped it down. Years of discipline fought against the raw, primal urge.He glanced at Tom Hopper, seated opposite him. Since they were on the penthouse balcony of his mansion, the evening breeze—late December, sharp enough to bite—carried the faint scent of pine from the gardens far below. Jamie didn’t feel the cold his shimmering anger was enough heat.Mary, one of his housekeepers, appeared silently with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Her movements were almost hesitant, her eyes filled with a concern she couldn’t quite mask. She retreated almost immediately after pouring, but a small, tentative smile fla