My Fiancé Confessed He’d Loved My Sister for Eight Years—So I Threw His Ring Back, and the Mafia King Across the Table Offered Me Something Far More Dangerous

Forty-eight hours later.

The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a glittering sea of tuxedo-clad billionaires, high-society heiresses, and corrupt politicians. It was the annual Chicago Commerce Gala—the premier event of the city’s elite social calendar.

Arthur Dalton stood near the champagne tower, flanked by Caleb Vance and his father, Richard Vance.

Arthur looked exhausted, dark circles bruised under his eyes. Over the last two days, three of his primary commercial credit lines had been mysteriously frozen by European intermediary banks, and his legal team was frantically trying to locate Mireia to sign the emergency power-of-attorney documents required for the pending merger.

Caleb stood beside him, drinking heavily, a faded yellowish bruise still marking his cheek where Mireia had slapped him.

“Have you found her yet?” Richard Vance demanded in a hushed, furious tone. “The press is already asking why Mireia isn't here! If the board finds out the engagement is off, the stock price will drop ten points by morning!”

“She’s hiding at a hotel somewhere,” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth. “She’s acting like a dramatic child. Once she runs out of cash, she’ll come crawling back to apologize.”

“She won't need your cash, Arthur.”

A cool, melodic voice echoed from the grand staircase.

The entire ballroom went silent.

Every eye in the room turned toward the top of the marble stairs.

Standing at the landing was Mireia Dalton.

She was staggering, breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a bespoke floor-length gown of liquid obsidian silk that clung to every curve of her body, revealing a high leg slit and an open back. Around her neck sat a heavy vintage necklace of black diamonds and platinum—a piece from the private Villano vault worth five million dollars. Her dark hair was styled in glamorous, old-Hollywood waves, and her pale blue eyes swept over the crowd with calm, sovereign disdain.

Beside her stood Darius Villano.

He wore a pristine black tuxedo, his hand resting possessively around Mireia’s waist. His broad, dangerous frame complemented her breathtaking elegance, projecting a terrifying image of absolute power and royalty.

Alyssa, who was standing near the edge of the crowd with her mother, gasped softly. “My god... Mireia...”

Arthur Dalton dropped his champagne flute. The glass shattered against the marble floor, spraying sparkling wine over his leather shoes.

Caleb stared at Mireia, his eyes wide with a horrific mixture of shock, sudden regret, and blinding jealousy. She looked nothing like the quiet, docile girl he had belittled for six years. She looked like a goddess who had descended to claim a realm.

Mireia and Darius descended the marble stairs in synchronized, effortless grace.

The crowd instinctively parted for them, whispering frantically behind their gloved hands.

Mireia walked straight up to her father and Caleb, stopping three feet away. Darius stood at her side, his arm firmly around her waist, his hazel eyes locking onto Arthur with a predator’s silent promise.

“Mireia!” Arthur stammered, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple. “What is the meaning of this outrage?! How dare you show up here with... with this man!”

Caleb stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes fixed on Darius’s hand resting on Mireia’s waist. “Mireia, stop this crazy game! I know you’re angry about what I said at dinner, but running off with a criminal to make me jealous is pathetic! Come back home right now!”

Mireia looked at Caleb as if he were an annoying bug buzzing near her ear.

She let out a soft, beautiful laugh that carried across the quiet ballroom.

“Make you jealous, Caleb?” Mireia said, her voice rich with mocking amusement. “You flatter yourself. I don't look back at trash once I’ve thrown it away.”

Caleb’s face flushed dark crimson. “Mireia—!”

“Shut your mouth, Vance,” Darius interjected quietly. His baritone voice was so laced with absolute danger that Caleb instantly froze, taking an instinctual step backward.

Darius reached into his interior pocket and pulled out a gold-embossed document, holding it up for Arthur, Richard, and the surrounding journalists to see clearly.

“I believe congratulations are in order, Arthur,” Darius announced smoothly to the entire ballroom. “Forty-eight hours ago in Zurich, Switzerland, Miss Mireia Dalton became Mrs. Mireia Villano.”

A collective gasp swept through the ballroom like a wild gust of wind. Journalists frantically snapped photos, the camera flashes blinding the room in white bursts of light.

Arthur staggered back, grabbing the edge of a table for support. “Married?! You... you can’t be married!”

“We are legally, officially, and permanently wed, Arthur,” Mireia said, stepping closer to her father, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper meant only for him, Caleb, and Richard. “And as of three o'clock this afternoon, the Crescent Trust has officially assumed controlling ownership of sixty percent of Dalton Enterprises’ foreign debt.”