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I Faked My Death, He Lost His Soul Novel Cover

I Faked My Death, He Lost His Soul

Waking in the past, a woman refuses to repeat her fate as a mafia Don's prisoner in I Faked My Death, He Lost His Soul. She deflects her arranged marriage onto her half-sister and uses her former captor's lessons to vanish. After destroying her childhood home, she builds a new life under the Mediterranean sun. As her obsessed ex-fiancé scours the world and unravels, he finally finds her, only to be met with a chilling question: 'Do I know you?'
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Chapter 3

I walked into the mansion. In the grand living room, my father Victor, his mistress-turned-wife Giselle, and my half-sister Seraphina were waiting, a perfect little tribunal.

Victor took in my disheveled state, the smell of smoke and alcohol. His face darkened. “Where have you been? Look at you! This is how a Caruso behaves?”

I walked toward the staircase. “I’m not marrying into the Salvatores. Where I go and what I do is my business now.”

Seraphina rose gracefully. She approached me, a faint, hopeful smile on her lips. “Isabella… Father said you’ve decided to… relinquish the engagement to me. Is it true?”

Her hypocrisy made my skin crawl. “Yes. It’s yours. You always did like taking cast-offs.”

“Isabella, watch your mouth!” Victor roared. “A match with William Salvatore is a gift from God! I’ve already spoken to the Salvatore Family. They find Seraphina far more suitable! Don’t come crying to me later with regrets!”

I let out a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t have regrets.”

From the sofa, Giselle sighed theatrically. “Isabella, dear, I only say this because I care. You’re so… untamed. Without the Salvatore alliance, what respectable Family will consider you?”

My eyes snapped to her. They were cold. “You are not my mother. You are the woman who slept with my father while his wife was dying. Worry about your own daughter. Stolen things have a way of slipping through your fingers.”

Giselle’s face blotched with fury. Victor sputtered.

I was already walking up the stairs to my room.

The next morning, William arrived before I was fully awake.

He stood in the foyer, impeccable and severe. His first words were, “The account.”

I leaned against my doorframe, my silk robe slipping off one shoulder. I yawned. “Didn’t write it. Not going to.”

His expression hardened. “Isabella. When will you learn to obey?”

“I was born this way.” I met his gaze head-on, all defiance. “Obey? Not in this lifetime. I don’t like being leashed.”

“You—”

The tense standoff was broken by Seraphina’s timely arrival.

She wore a modest, pale blue dress, every movement measured. She offered William a gentle smile.

“William, please don’t be angry with Isabella.” Her voice was soft as silk. She held out several neatly written pages. “She was just upset last night. I took the liberty of drafting the account for her. Will this suffice?”

William took the papers. He scanned them, then looked back at me. The disappointment in his eyes was a physical weight.

“Look at your sister. Look at you. Raised in the same house. Can you not learn even a fraction of her discipline?”

“Consider last night addressed. Go change. You’re accompanying me to a business gathering.”

I didn’t hesitate. “No. Take Seraphina. She’s more your style.”

His brow furrowed. “Isabella! You are my intended.”

The words were a needle, jabbing straight into an old wound.

See? He was marrying me because a deal was a deal. The Salvatore name couldn’t bear the stain of reneging.

It had nothing to do with choice. With desire.

Given the choice, he’d pick Seraphina in a heartbeat.

This time, I’d give him what he wanted.

Seraphina smoothly interjected. “William, Isabella might find such formal events overwhelming. Perhaps… I could accompany her? I could help guide her, if needed.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She took my arm, her grip deceptively strong, and steered me upstairs. “Come, Isabella. Let’s find you something appropriate.”

The moment my bedroom door closed, I shook off her hand. “The audience is gone. Drop the act.”

The gentle mask slipped, but her tone remained even. “You misunderstand. I want us to be close.”

“Close? That will never happen. Unless you’re dead. No, even then, I’d dance on your grave. You and your whore mother both.”

Seraphina’s composure cracked. A flash of real anger showed. “Isabella! You push too far! You think I enjoy this? Once William knows I’m the bride, he’ll be relieved! A wild thing like you could never be what he needs!”

“Oh?” I took a step closer, my voice a mocking whisper. “Then why didn’t you tell him just now? Afraid he’d call the whole thing off if he knew it was you?”

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