Hey Fiancé, Guess Who’s Your Stepmother Now

Three days later, a convoy of five black SUVs swept through the gates of the Valachi estate.

I sat in the lead car, watching the familiar mansion grow larger. This time, I wasn't returning as a spurned fiancée, but as the mistress of the house, bringing my father's entire art collection with me.

"Donna Valachi, the moving trucks will arrive in five minutes," said the woman in the passenger seat. Her name was Claire, my newly hired personal assistant. Ten years at Sotheby's had made her an expert in law, finance, and discretion.

"Good." I smoothed the lapel of my black suit. "Remember, my father's entire collection goes directly into the vault in the master suite."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The car stopped at the main entrance, and Nico immediately strode forward to open my door. He was much more deferential than he had been three days ago.

"Welcome home, Donna Valachi."

Home. The word had an interesting ring to it.

Just as I was about to step inside, the roar of an engine shattered the peace. A red Ferrari screeched to a halt before the fountain.

Julian.

He stormed out of the driver's seat, followed by a blonde poured into a red dress with a neckline so low it was practically a declaration of intent.

Tiffany Adler. I recognized her—a model who'd made a name for herself with her figure, and the same woman from the hangar.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Aurora?" Julian's face darkened as he saw the movers unloading crates. "I warned you to stop pulling these stunts!"

"I'm moving in," I answered simply.

"Moving in? To where?"

"Here." I gestured toward the mansion. "To my husband's home."

"Husband?" Tiffany’s shriek was sharp enough to shatter glass. "Darling, what is this woman talking about?"

Julian's face flushed. "She's talking nonsense! Aurora, I am warning you one last time, cut the cheap tricks! This pathetic performance won't force me to marry you!"

An elderly maid nearby, seeing Julian was still in the dark, hesitantly started, "Mr. Julian, the Don has already instructed us that Donna Valachi is now..."

Before she could finish, several movers passed by, carrying a climate-controlled collector's case. The lid was partially ajar, revealing a miniature egg that shimmered with a soft glow.

Tiffany's eyes lit up.

"Wow, is that real?" She glided toward the case, ignoring the movers, and reached out to snatch the Fabergé miniature. "Oh my God, it's gorgeous!"

It was my father's wedding gift to my mother. A long-lost treasure, every diamond and sapphire meticulously set by a master craftsman.

A chill ran down my spine.

"Put it down," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

"What?" Tiffany was admiring her reflection in a car window, her fingers already caressing the egg's delicate enamel. "Put what down?"

"I said, put my mother's heirloom down."

"Your mother?" She scoffed. "Just some old thing from a dead woman. I'm just looking, not—"

A sharp, clean slap echoed as my hand connected with her cheek.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Tiffany clutched her face, staring at me in disbelief. "You... you hit me?"

"The next time you touch my things, it won't be just a slap." I carefully took the egg from its case and gently wiped it clean. "This egg is worth millions. Your lifetime earnings couldn't buy a single gem on its surface."

"Aurora!" Julian rushed to Tiffany's side, his face contorted with rage. "Are you insane? You dare hit her!"

"I was protecting my property."

"Property?" Julian sneered. "You think moving a few boxes of junk in here will force my hand? Not a chance! And," he pointed at the egg, "you're giving this to Tiffany as an apology!"

"What?"

"You heard me. You hit her, you compensate her. This egg will do."

Tiffany's eyes immediately lit up. "Yes! I want this egg." I looked at them, and a slow, cold laugh escaped my lips.

"Fine." I held the egg out to Tiffany. "Take it."

Just as her fingers were about to close around it, Claire stepped forward, clearing her throat.

"One moment," she said, pulling a document from her briefcase, her voice crisp and professional. "I must advise you that this Fabergé 'Imperial Spring' egg is currently the subject of an international ownership dispute with the Hermitage Museum in Russia, under file number RF-1896-A."

Tiffany's hand froze in mid-air.

"According to international conventions on disputed cultural property, any unauthorized possession or transaction will automatically trigger an investigation by Interpol," Claire continued smoothly. "During the investigation, all global assets associated with the individuals involved will be frozen, pending review."

Julian's face went white.

"An international investigation? A global asset freeze?"

"Yes," Claire nodded. "Bank accounts, real estate, company shares, offshore trusts... everything. The entire process typically takes eighteen to twenty-four months."

Tiffany snatched her hand back as if she'd been electrocuted. "I... I don't want it! I didn't do anything!"

"But you've already touched a disputed artifact on file," I said sweetly. "Under the law, that constitutes 'unauthorized contact.' However, if you leave now, I can pretend this never happened."

"I'm leaving! I'm leaving right now!" Tiffany scrambled toward the Ferrari. "Julian, take me home! Now!"

Julian wanted to argue, but one look at the thick legal document in Claire's hand and he gritted his teeth. "This isn't over, Aurora."

"I'll be waiting," I said, placing the egg back in its box. "But next time you visit, remember to make an appointment. After all, this is my home now."

The red Ferrari sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Julian panicked and ran after the car, shouting back, "Aurora, if anything happens to Tiffany, I'll never forgive you!"

But his voice was quickly swallowed by the engine's roar.

Claire came to my side and put away the document. "Donna Valachi, is that egg really in dispute?"

I smiled, my eyes on the gate. "Of course not. But people like them never bother to check."

"Why?"

"Because," I said, turning to enter my new home, "they have guilty consciences. And Interpol is the last group of people they ever want to meet."

The setting sun cast a golden glow on the stone pillars of the Valachi estate. The movers continued their work, carrying box after box of my inheritance into my new home.

And at the bottom of one of those boxes lay my father's most precious legacy—the ledger that chronicled every shadow deal in this city.

Including every debt the Valachi family owed.

Now, all those secrets belonged to me.