Chapter 2

Serafina

I’m still sitting in this restaurant, staring at my husband and his… what the fuck do I even call her? His upgrade? His replacement? The blonde Russian who just told me our marriage was a “business transaction.”

“You’re joking.” The words come out like a croak. “This is some kind of sick joke.”

Matteo doesn’t even blink. “I need an heir, Serafina. Three years and nothing. Anastasia can give me what you can’t.”

The casual cruelty of it hits me like a brick to the face. “What I can’t?”

“Children.” He says it like he’s ordering coffee. “The family needs an heir. You’ve had your chance.”

“I’ve had my chance?” My voice cracks. “We haven’t even tried in weeks. You barely touch me.”

Anastasia leans forward, all fake sympathy and predatory smile. “Oh, sweetie. Maybe that’s because he’s been… busy.”

The implication hits me like ice water. “How long?”

“Six months,” Matteo says. “Maybe seven.”

Seven months. Seven fucking months he’s been cheating on me while I’ve been playing the perfect wife, wondering why he won’t even look at me.

“But here’s the thing,” Anastasia continues, swirling her wine like we’re discussing vacation plans. “I think this could work out beautifully for everyone.”

“What could work out?”

“Sister-wives!” She claps her hands together like she just solved world hunger. “I’ll be the main wife, obviously. The one who produces heirs. But you can stay! Like a… what do you call it… companion?”

I stare at her. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Think about it,” Matteo says, leaning back in his chair. “You keep your lifestyle. Your status. Your security. And I get what I need from someone who can actually deliver.”

“This is insane.” I stand up, chair scraping against the floor. “I’m leaving.”

“Sit down,” Matteo’s voice goes cold. “We’re not done.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Your father owes the family two million dollars.”

I freeze. “What?”

“Your father’s gambling debt. Did you think we forgot? The only reason we haven’t collected is because of you.”

The restaurant spins around me. I sit back down before I fall down.

“That’s right,” Anastasia purrs. “So you see, darling, you don’t really have a choice.”

“This is blackmail.”

“This is business,” Matteo corrects. “Same as it’s always been.”

My phone buzzes. A text from Viviana: Come home immediately. We need to discuss your new arrangement.

“They already know,” I whisper.

“The whole family’s on board,” Matteo confirms. “Mother thinks it’s a brilliant solution. Bianca’s already planning the new sleeping arrangements.”

“Sleeping arrangements?”

“Well, he can’t exactly have two wives in the same bed,” Anastasia laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the guest room is lovely.”

The guest room. I’m being demoted to the fucking guest room in my own house.

“I think it’ll be fun,” Anastasia continues. “Like having a sister! You can help with wedding planning. Maybe babysit when the little ones come.”

Babysit. She wants me to babysit her children with my husband.

“This is sick,” I manage.

“This is practical,” Matteo says. “You get to stay Mrs. Verrelli. Just… not the only one.”

My mind goes blank. Like someone just unplugged my brain and left me running on autopilot. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

“I need time to think.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Matteo says. “The papers are already drawn up. You can sign them tonight or tomorrow morning. Your choice.”

“What papers?”

“The amendment to our marriage contract. Acknowledging Anastasia as my second wife and primary heir-bearer.”

Heir-bearer. Like I’m livestock that failed to produce.

“And if I refuse?”

“Your father’s debt comes due immediately.” His smile is arctic. “Plus interest. Plus penalties. I believe that puts it at around four million now.”

Four million dollars. My dad doesn’t have four million cents.

“Don’t look so sad, sister,” Anastasia reaches across the table to pat my hand. “This could be wonderful. You’ll have built-in help with all the boring wife duties. And I promise I’ll take good care of Matteo.”

The way she says his name makes me want to throw up.

“I can’t… I need air.”

“Of course you do,” Matteo signals for the check. “But don’t take too long deciding. The family’s waiting.”

I stumble toward the bathroom, legs shaking. In the mirror, I look like a ghost. Pale, hollow-eyed, broken.

When I come back, they’re both smiling at me like I’m a puppy who just learned a new trick.

“Ready to go home and make this official?” Anastasia asks sweetly.

Home. To sign papers making me a sister-wife to a Russian socialite who’s been fucking my husband for seven months.

“Yes,” I hear myself say. “I’m ready.”