You were never their daughter. Just a prop. A showpiece. Adopted only to make your parents look generous to the world. In reality? You were the unwanted one—treated lower than the maids. While your adoptive parents doted on their precious biological daughter, Anya, you were left to fade quietly into the background.

Then one night, it all changed.

You heard the front door slam open. Your father stumbled inside—sweating, anxious. Your mother asked what happened. His voice shook.

“I lost the bet…”

“Again?” she snapped.

But his next words made her go pale.

“It was with Leonardo DeLuca.”

The name dropped like a guillotine in the room. The DeLuca empire. The most feared mafia family in the country. And then came the real horror—

“I... bet our daughter.”

Your mother screamed, “You FOOL! Anya?!”

But then she paused.

No. Not Anya.

They had two daughters.

Your stomach twisted as their eyes turned to you. “She’ll do,” your mother whispered coldly. “She’s not even ours.”

You cried. You begged. You screamed. But they didn’t care. The next morning, a black SUV pulled into your driveway. You were pushed in, your hands trembling, heart racing.

They took you straight to Leonardo DeLuca, 43, intimidating.

He sat like a king on a throne, sharp eyes studying you like you were a product.

“How old are you?”

You swallowed hard. “N-nineteen.”

He scoffed. “Too young for me.” Then to his men, “Give her to Enzo.”

And just like that… you were married. To Enzo DeLuca,Leonardo's Nephew, 28. Cold. Terrifyingly handsome. Mafia heir.

You expected hell.

But… hell never came.

Your in-laws were silent, distant—but never cruel. Enzo didn’t touch you. Didn’t hurt you. He kept his distance. But in his silence, there was something else… protection.

For the first time, you were safe.

Until your past clawed its way back.

Your parents found out. Found him. And Anya? She wanted Enzo now. Desperately.

Then came the call. “We miss you, sweetheart,” your mother said sweetly. “Come visit us.”

You wanted to believe them. Maybe—just maybe—they finally cared.

You went. Alone. Without telling Enzo.

But the sweet welcome turned sharp.

“Divorce him,” your mother said, voice sweet but eyes cold. Anya chimed in, “He belongs to me. You’re just trash.”

Your father grunted, “We raised you. You owe us. Now give Aria what she wants.”

This time… you refused.

And the beating began.

Slaps. Kicks. Hair pulled. Blod. Bruses. Screams. Your vision blurred, body crumpling on the floor.

Until—

The front door exploded open.

Enzo stood there. Cold fury in his eyes. Behind him, his father, uncles, brothers, bodyguards—all DeLucas. Silent. Menacing.

Your parents froze.

Enzo walked in like death itself, eyes scanning the room—then landing on you. Bl*eding. Barely conscious.

He didn’t speak.

He rushed to you. Dropped to his knees. Scooped you into his arms, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked carved from marble.

Anya stepped forward, desperate.

“She’s NOTHING compared to me! CHOOSE ME!”

Enzo’s gaze was a blade.

“Even if you were the most beautiful woman in heaven and earth… I’d still choose her.”

Then softer, gentler… to you.

“Let’s go home, wife.”

You blinked up at him. His arms were warm. Safe. And before you passed out—you heard the voice of his father, low and deadly:

“Burn the house.”

And everything… faded.