His Unwanted Fiancée Was His True Savior

I watched him through the reinforced glass of the balcony door.

He was laughing.

The sight was jarring. Dante de Rossi didn't laugh. He smirked. He scoffed. He gave dry, mirthless chuckles of disbelief when someone begged for mercy. But he didn't laugh.

Yet there he was, outside in the sun. He was laughing with her.

I looked down at the dossier resting on the marble island. The medical records were thorough. Isobel was sick, yes. But she wasn't bedridden. She was well enough to travel. Well enough to post photos of her latte art on Instagram. And certainly well enough to steal my life.

My phone buzzed against the countertop, startling me.

It was Julia Carter.

Julia was the only person in my life who didn't know what a "made man" was. She was a doctor I'd met during a seminar I wasn't supposed to attend. She represented the world of light-a world where doctors saved lives instead of patching up torture victims in damp basements.

"Hey, Nina," she said. Her voice was bright, chirpy. It sounded like sunshine.

"Hi, Julia."

"Look, I know you turned down the fellowship in Lalan six months ago because of the... family obligations," she began, treading carefully. "But Professor Moore asked about you. The position is still open. It's a three-year contract. High security. Closed campus."

She hesitated, waiting for me to cut her off.

"I know you're getting married in a month," she added quickly. "I know the timing is awful. But this is groundbreaking work, Nina."

I looked at the calendar hanging on the fridge. The date of the wedding was circled in red ink. It was supposed to be the day I became the Queen of Chicago.

Now, it just looked like a target.

"I don't need time for the wedding," I said, my voice steady.

Julia paused. "Oh? Is everything okay?"

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "The wedding isn't happening."

"Oh my god, Nina. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," I said. "When does the orientation start?"

"Two days after your... well, two days after that date."

"I can make it," I said.

"Are you sure?" Julia asked, her professional concern bleeding through. "It's a long flight. You'll be completely cut off. The confidentiality agreements are strict. No contact with the outside world for the first six months."

"That sounds perfect," I whispered.

"I want the full schedule, Julia. Nights, weekends, holidays. Bury me in work."

"Consider it done," she said.

I hung up just as the balcony door slid open.

Dante walked back inside. He looked annoyed that he had to return to me, as if coming home to his fiancée was a chore.

"She's dramatic," he said, waving his hand as if dismissing a fly. "She wants me to come to the ultrasound next week."

"You should go," I said.

He stopped mid-stride. He looked at me, searching for the sarcasm, waiting for the jealousy. He didn't find any. I was too tired for sarcasm.

"You're being reasonable," he said, suspicion clouding his eyes for a fleeting second before arrogance took over. "That's good. I expected a fight."

"I'm not fighting, Dante."

He nodded, satisfied. He wore the look of a man who believed he had won. He thought he had broken me into submission.

He walked past me to the shower. He didn't kiss my cheek. He didn't ask how my day was.

Once the water started running, I walked over to the calendar.

I picked up the red marker.

I didn't cross the date out. I just stared at it.

It wasn't a wedding date anymore.

It was an extraction date.