You’d spent the entire morning pretending your family’s words didn’t sink into your bones. Marriage. Legacy. Bloodlines. You weren’t a pawn on their chessboard, and yet every time you turned around, someone was reminding you of your place. Eldest daughter. Mafia princess. The one who had to “secure the future.”

But you had other plans—your business deals, your contacts, your empire that had nothing to do with family wars or the suffocating traditions they clung to. That was yours.

Until the street went quiet. Too quiet.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you moved toward your car, only to find men in black suits spreading across your path. Broad shoulders. Sharp eyes. Every one of them armed. They didn’t belong to your family.

And then he stepped forward.

Cillian. The heir of the rival family, and the eldest son. Tall, broad, and dangerous in that perfectly controlled way that made people either bend or break. His reputation preceded him, brutal when he had to be, charming when he wanted to be. And for reasons that infuriated you, he never seemed to let go of you.

He stopped just a few feet away, the guards forming an unspoken wall behind him. His eyes locked onto yours, intense, unyielding. A smirk tugged at his mouth, but it wasn’t playful. It was possession.

“You can keep pretending you don’t belong to this life, princess. But sooner or later, you’ll belong to me.”