Chapter 7
Lydia's POV
His voice was low and husky, laced with barely detectable amusement.
I met his gaze without flinching. "What, feeling bad for your childhood sweetheart?"
"No." Moretti slowly curled his fingers, wrapping my hand in his large, warm palm. His eyes burned into mine. "I was just thinking—what kind of dangerous work of art has the Spencer family been hiding? You're even more captivating than I imagined."
In my past life, Freya's gentle, docile nature earned her nothing but his coldness and indifference. But now I understood. A man like Moretti—someone who lived on the edge of a knife—didn't need a fragile flower that could only survive by clinging to him. He wanted someone who could stand beside him at the edge of the abyss. Someone who dared to bare their fangs.
"Since you're already my fiancée, you set the rules in this mansion." Moretti released my hand and pulled a dark gold family crest from his pocket. He tossed it into my hands. "Next month's wedding—do whatever you want. Brady will assist you fully."
He gave me absolute power and freedom.
I looked down at the heavy crest in my hand and sneered inwardly.
In my past life, Freya's wedding was a complete tragedy.
Pure white roses. A solemn church. Long, tedious vows.
She waited alone in front of the priest for a groom who never came. She was a pale joke.
This time, I wouldn't repeat that mistake. I had zero interest in those hypocritical traditions.
"Brady." I called out to the butler and spun the crest between my fingers. "Cancel the church reservation. I don't need white roses. I don't need a priest."
Brady blinked, but his professional composure kicked in immediately. He bowed his head. "Then what would you prefer, Miss?"
"I want a cyberpunk wedding." I looked out at the silent estate under the night sky, a wild smile curving my lips. "Rent out the largest abandoned underground factory in Sicily. I want holographic projections. I want blinding neon lights. I want heavy metal and electronic synthesizers. Tell everyone—the Vance family's bride doesn't believe in God."
Over the next month, the entire Vance Mansion worked at full speed to bring my insane vision to life.
Moretti didn't object to a single one of my outlandish ideas. He not only accepted everything—he indulged me completely, pushing the extravagance of this wedding to its peak.
One morning, a week before the wedding, I walked into the first-floor living room. Brady respectfully handed me a black velvet box.
"Ms. Spencer, this is one of Mr. Vance's wedding gifts to you."
I opened the box. My breath caught.
Resting on black velvet was a necklace called "The Eye of the Night." The centerpiece was an extremely rare fifty-carat pure black diamond, surrounded by intricate smaller diamonds. The cold, metallic texture perfectly matched the cyberpunk theme I'd requested.
This necklace had sold for a jaw-dropping price at last year's Sotheby's auction. I never imagined Moretti had acquired it.
"And this." Brady smiled and handed me a car key, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
Parked by the fountain was a brand-new custom Pagani Huayra. The body was a futuristic matte black, its edges outlined with glowing neon blue accents. It looked like a mechanical beast crouched in the night.
"Mr. Vance said only this kind of speed and edge could match your ambition."
I gripped the car key and stared at the supercar outside. A complicated ripple stirred in my chest.
Moretti was a dangerous man. But the favoritism he showed was equally lethal.
The fifteenth. The wedding day.
The abandoned industrial factory had been completely transformed into a cyberpunk dystopian cathedral.
Fluorescent liquid flowed through tangled metal pipes. Massive holographic projections wove shifting geometric patterns in midair.
Blinding magenta and electric blue lights alternated, flashing across the scene. Heavy bass vibrated through the steel plates beneath our feet.
I didn't wear a traditional white wedding dress. Instead, I wore a dark metallic mermaid gown with a faint cold blue sheen at the hem. The black diamond necklace rested against my collarbone, cold and heavy.
Moretti stood in front of the altar built from scrap gears and neon tubes.
He wore a sharply tailored black suit with subtle patterns. His collar was open, no tie. It gave him a lazy, wild look.
When he saw me walking toward him through the psychedelic lights, the possessiveness in his eyes nearly consumed me.
Just as we stood before the altar, about to exchange rings, a deafening "BANG" echoed through the factory. The heavy metal doors were forced open.
A shrill alarm briefly drowned out the bass-heavy music.
I narrowed my eyes and looked coldly toward the entrance.
Silhouetted against the light, a group of armed men in black poured in, quickly securing the entrance.
At the front was a burly man with a vicious scar across his face.
It was Falcone Sinclair—the head of another Sicilian mafia family and Moretti's longtime rival.
And standing beside Falcone was a woman I knew all too well.
Rose.
She wore an out-of-place white dress. The scar I'd left on her forehead hadn't fully healed. Her eyes glittered with vengeful madness.
"Moretti, long time no see." Rose clung to Falcone's arm, her smile sharp and triumphant. "I heard you were getting married today. So I brought Mr. Sinclair to give you a big gift!"
Falcone laughed arrogantly. His gaze raked over me lewdly. "Moretti, you've really gone downhill. You threw out your childhood sweetheart for some crazy woman with no background. Since you can't even protect your own turf, how about we turn this wedding into your funeral instead?"
The entire venue fell into a deadly silence. Moretti's bodyguards immediately drew their guns. The sharp click of safeties being released echoed through the air. The atmosphere was razor-sharp.
Moretti's eyes turned to ice. The killing intent radiating from him was palpable.
He instinctively moved to shield me behind him, his hand reaching for the gun at his waist.
"Don't move."
