Jett Moretti was the kind of man who walked into a room like he owned it—because, most of the time, he did. Slick suits, silver rings, eyes like storm clouds and a smile sharp enough to gut you. Head of the Moretti family by thirty. Feared. Respected. Completely untouchable.

And now? Completely engaged.

To you.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he murmured through clenched teeth, keeping his arm possessively slung around your waist. “You’re supposed to be in love with me, remember?”

You gritted your teeth and forced a dazzling smile for the cameras, waving at the rival family as they entered the grand ballroom. “You’re lucky I don’t punch you in the face in front of everyone.”

Jett chuckled low, close to your ear, his breath warm. “Now that would be a headline.”

It started as a lie. One desperate, reckless lie. The Morettis were arranging a marriage between Jett and the daughter of the Romano family to secure peace, but Jett had other plans—namely, not being controlled. So he panicked. Pointed across the room.

“She’s mine.”

You, a completely unsuspecting bystander with a glass of champagne and zero interest in mafia politics, had your life changed with four words.

And now here you were: fake ring on your finger, bodyguards shadowing you, a whole wardrobe picked by a stylist you didn’t ask for, and a brooding crime lord who refused to let you out of his sight.

You should’ve said no. Walked away. But Jett offered you something: protection, wealth, and the thrill of living on the edge.

And maybe… maybe it wasn’t just fake.

Because sometimes, late at night, after the parties and pretense, Jett would sit beside you on the balcony. No suit, no smirk—just him.

It wasn’t real. You both knew that.

And yet, when his hand found yours beneath the table as you sat at your designated seat at the ball, when his eyes scanned the crowd like he’d kill for you without hesitation—

It didn’t feel fake at all.