Diego Sartori was supposed to marry your sister, until she secretly married Marcus Reed and left you to take her place. Forced into a marriage you hate, you move into Diego’s luxurious mansion and discover the arrogant heir is nothing like you expected. As resentment turns into attraction, Miriam begins regretting her choice—and Diego becomes dangerously unwilling to let anyone take his wife from him.
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@karkaroffThe dining room of the Sartori mansion was a study in controlled elegance. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light across a mahogany table long enough to seat twelve, though only eight chairs were occupied. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling and oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors, their gazes following every movement with silent judgment.
Y/n's parents sat rigidly on one side, their postures betraying the discomfort their expressions refused to show. Amanda's smile was fixed, polite, and entirely unconvincing. Sebastian's jaw was tight, his hands clasped so firmly around his wine glass that his knuckles had gone white.
Across from them, Massimo Sartori presided over the table like a man who had never once doubted his place in the world. He cut into his steak with unhurried precision, chewing thoughtfully before setting down his knife.
Massimo Sartori
dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin The beef is excellent. Diego, remind me to thank the kitchen staff.
Diego Sartori
not looking up from his plate Already done, Father.
Diego sat at his father's right hand, a study in composed indifference. He hadn't spoken more than a handful of sentences since dinner began. His dark suit was immaculate, his expression unreadable, and his attention seemed fixed on the meal in front of him.
But Y/n noticed the way his gaze kept drifting—brief, assessing glances that swept across the table before returning to his plate. He was watching. Cataloging. Waiting.
Miriam, seated beside Marcus, had spent most of the meal pushing her food around her plate. Her jaw was set in defiance, her hand resting possessively on Marcus's forearm as if daring anyone to comment.
Miriam Olsen
under her breath This is ridiculous. We've been sitting here for an hour and no one's actually said anything.
Sebastian Olsen
sharply Miriam.
Marcus Reed
quietly, placing a hand over hers Let's just get through dinner.
Marcus's voice was calm, but there was a tightness around his eyes that suggested he was far more aware of the tension than he let on. He was the only person at the table who seemed genuinely uncomfortable with the fine china and the silverware, not because he lacked polish, but because he knew he didn't belong here.
Y/n sat at the far end of the table, close enough to observe everything, far enough to feel like an outsider. No one had explained why they were really here. The official story was a dinner to "discuss the future." The unofficial story was written in the tense lines of her parents' faces.
Dessert arrived. A delicate chocolate tart, plated with precision. The silence stretched.
Massimo Sartori
setting down his spoon Sebastian. I believe we've enjoyed enough pleasantries.
The shift in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Sebastian Olsen
clearing his throat Yes. Of course. We—we appreciate your hospitality, Massimo. And your patience, given the circumstances.
Massimo Sartori
Patience is a virtue I've cultivated over many years. a pause But even patience has its limits.
He folded his hands on the table, his dark eyes moving deliberately from Sebastian to Miriam, then to Marcus. He studied them the way a chess player studies a board before making a decisive move.
Massimo Sartori
The original arrangement was clear. Your daughter was to marry my son. The debt would be settled. The families would be united.
Miriam Olsen
interrupting I never agreed to that arrangement. You and Dad made it without asking me.
Amanda Olsen
voice tight Miriam, please—
Miriam Olsen
No. I'm tired of everyone acting like I did something wrong by choosing the man I love. gesturing at Marcus Marcus is my husband. That's not a crime.
Marcus's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. His hand remained on Miriam's, steady and supportive.
Massimo Sartori
unperturbed No one is accusing you of a crime, Miriam. You made a choice. Choices, however, have consequences.
He let the words hang in the air. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. Y/n watched her parents exchange a look she couldn't quite read.
Sebastian Olsen
quietly Massimo, we understand the gravity of the situation. The Olsen family is prepared to discuss alternative arrangements.
Massimo Sartori
Alternative arrangements. he repeated the words slowly, as if tasting them Such as?
Sebastian Olsen
hesitating We have assets. Properties. We could negotiate a payment plan—
Massimo Sartori
cutting him off Your assets are already leveraged, Sebastian. We both know that.
Sebastian's mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked, for the first time, genuinely cornered.
Massimo Sartori
The debt was never about money. It was about trust. About honoring an agreement between two families. a pause Your daughter's decision has created a problem that money alone cannot solve.
Miriam Olsen
defensively Then what do you want? You can't force me to marry Diego. I'm already married.
Massimo Sartori
his gaze shifting slowly across the table No. You're right. We cannot force you.
He paused. His eyes landed on Y/n.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Massimo Sartori
But the agreement must still be honored.
Y/n felt the weight of every gaze in the room settle on her. Her parents' faces were unreadable, but there was something desperate in the way her father looked at her. Miriam's expression flickered with confusion, then dawning realization.
Diego's fork paused halfway to his mouth. For the first time all evening, he looked directly at Y/n—really looked, not the brief assessing glances from before. His dark eyes swept over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
Massimo Sartori
calmly The arrangement was for an Olsen daughter to marry my son. The name on the contract was never specified.
The words landed like a stone in still water.
Amanda Olsen
barely above a whisper Massimo, please. She had nothing to do with—
Massimo Sartori
raising a hand, silencing her I am not punishing your younger daughter, Amanda. I am offering her a solution. One that protects her family's reputation, settles their debt, and secures her future.
He turned to Y/n, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
Massimo Sartori
Y/n. You understand what I'm asking.
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. The arrangement was simple. The choice was not.
Across the table, Diego set down his fork. His smirk was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a flicker of amusement at the corner of his mouth as he watched Y/n process exactly what was happening.
Diego Sartori
low, almost amused Well. This should be interesting.