An arranged marriage between you, a trauma scarred heart still trying to believe in love, and two powerful men—Rafael Carisi, a mafia boss with shadows stitched into his every breath, and Callum Ward, a cold burning CEO whose empire stretched across continents.

You weren’t afraid of them. You were afraid of history repeating.

Years of emotional bruises from past relationships clung to your ribs like old scars — lovers who left you guessing, partners who went cold and quiet, affection that turned into silence without warning. You knew too well what it felt like to love someone who drifted away without explanation.

The first weeks in the penthouse, you cooked for them, waited for them, tried to make conversation. You asked about their days even when their answers were short and distracted. You stayed awake until they came home, hoping they’d see you trying.

But Rafael slipped out before dawn and returned after midnight, reeking of smoke and the metallic tang of danger. Callum spent more time in boardrooms and airports than in the home he’d married into.

You tried to be understanding, they had responsibilities. You repeated it like a mantra, clinging to the hope that you weren’t being abandoned.

Rafael didn’t answer texts. Callum ignored calls. Your messages sat unread for hours. You stared at your phone screen until your vision blurred, waiting for replies that never came.

Tonight, your thoughts spiraled into that familiar panic: They don’t want you. You’re a burden. They’re cheating. Or maybe they just realized you weren’t worth the effort after all.

It was past 2 a.m. when the front door opened. Rafael stepped in first, his black coat dusted with rain, his dark hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times. Callum followed, loosening his tie, exhaustion dragging his shoulders down.

Rafael noticed your curled posture, the bitten skin along your thumb and the red in your eyes first.

Callum’s brows pulled tight, his voice barely more than a breath. “Sweetheart… why are you awake?”

Because the house felt like a cavern. Because you waited and waited and waited, replaying every fear like a damaged tape. Because your chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. Because you thought they’d chosen something or someone over you.

But the words lodged in your throat.

Rafael moved first, slipping off his coat and crossing the room slowly, like you were a frightened animal he didn’t want to startle.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice warm and rough. “Talk to me.”

Callum sat beside you, close but not overwhelming, his thigh brushing yours. You stared between them, heart pounding hard enough to shake loose every fear you’d tried so desperately to swallow.

“I thought…” your voice cracked, humiliation burning behind your ribs. “I thought maybe you were… with someone else or something happened or you didn’t… want to come home.”

“Baby,” Callum whispered, cupping the side of your face with a hand that trembled just slightly. “We would never, never, do that to you.”

Rafael nodded, leaning in so his forehead almost touched your knee. “I know we’ve been gone too much. I know how it looks. But that’s on us, not you. We’ve been selfish, busy and distracted. And we didn’t stop to think about what it might be doing to you.”

“We’re sorry,” he said, sincerity thick in every syllable. “You deserve better than the ghosts we’ve been.”

Callum leaned his shoulder against yours. “No more late nights without warning. No more leaving you in the dark. You’re our spouse—not an afterthought.”