I Signed Her Name Instead

A deal between families forced my Fiancé Marco Corvini to marry me.

My parents were dead.

His obsession was Isabella Falcone, the princess of our rivals.

In the end, Marco devoured my family’s empire and threw me to the wolves.

He paraded Isabella on his arm like a prize he’d won.

Twenty years later, I was on my deathbed.

My own son—our son—held the poison.

He said I was useless, that his father needed the Falcone family’s power.

Then I opened my eyes. I was back.

Back on the day of my blood oath.

This time, to save my family, I didn’t sign my name on the pact.

I signed hers. Isabella Falcone’s.

As for me? I took the fortune my parents left me and disappeared.

This time, I wouldn’t be the fool bleeding for a man who was never mine.

Twenty years of marriage ended with my murder. My husband, Marco Corvini, and my son were the ones to carry it out. Of course, he’d already devoured my family’s empire. All for Isabella Falcone, the princess of our rivals.

I opened my eyes. I was back.

Back in the church on the day of my blood oath with Marco, the day after my parents were buried.

“In the name of Romano and Corvini, we witness this blood oath. An oath to bind two empires. In blood and in law.” The priest's voice boomed through the cavernous halls of Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago.

My fiancé, Marco, stood beside me.

He held the ceremonial dagger, a family heirloom.

But his eyes were locked on Isabella Falcone in the back pew.

Just like the last time.

She wore a blood-red silk dress, a victor's smirk plastered on her face.

I recognized the sapphire necklace.

The showstopper from the last Sotheby’s auction.

Looks like Marco spared no expense to keep her happy.

She knew Marco loved her.

And me? I was just the sacrifice on the altar.

Memories of my past life sliced through my heart.

My wedding night. I waited for him in my new silk nightgown.

All night. Marco never came.

He was busy comforting Isabella, who was supposedly “shaken up” by our ceremony.

“She's a guest, Samara. You're family. Family understands.”

He fed me that lie for twenty years.

And for twenty years, I fought him with the only weapons I had: my father’s old guard and my grip on the family business.

But he was patient.

A termite, eating away at my foundation, one piece at a time.

He spent two decades isolating me, stripping me of my power, waiting.

He waited until our son came of age—the rightful heir to inherit everything.

Only then, when I had served my purpose, did I truly become useless.

Until our son stood over my deathbed with poison.

“You’re useless now, Mom. Dad needs the Falcones.”

Until Marco leaned in close, his final words a twist of the knife.

“Did you really think I could love a tool? You were always so naive, Samara.”

My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

The sharp pain pulled me from the spiral of memory.

It made me sharp.

Now, this man was about to play the same game.

But this time, I wouldn't be his pawn.

“Marco,” I said, my voice soft.

He finally tore his gaze away from Isabella. “What?”

Impatient. Like I was a stranger he couldn’t stand.

“This blood pact,” I asked. “Did you read it carefully?”

He frowned. “Of course I did. You think I’d make that kind of mistake?”

My heart felt like it was ripping in two. Even here, before God, at the altar, his voice dripped with disgust for me.

“I just wanted to confirm the bride's name,” I said, keeping my voice smooth.

Marco glanced at the pact, scoffing. “Samara Romano. Who the hell else would it be?”

The contempt in his eyes was all the guarantee I needed.

The moment he turned to the priest to confirm the details, I moved.

My hands trembled, but my will was steel.

I switched the pact on the altar with an identical one I’d hidden in my sleeve.

This new version had one small change.

Once signed, this pact was family law. Unbreakable.

Marco wanted Isabella?

Fine. I’d give her to him.

I pricked my finger with the tip of the dagger, my blood dripping onto the new name.

The pain almost brought tears to my eyes.

Not from the cut. But because twenty years of misery were finally ending.

A single drop of my blood hit the page, landing squarely on the name I’d written there: Isabella Falcone.

“The oath is sealed,” the priest declared, his voice like it was coming from a great distance.

Marco nodded, satisfied, a triumphant glint in his eye.

He thought he’d played everyone perfectly.

He had no idea he'd just chained himself to the woman he actually wanted.

And me? I was finally free.

After the ceremony, the guests drifted away.

Marco went straight to Isabella, whispering in her ear.

She laughed, a sweet, cruel sound, making sure everyone saw her with the ‘heir apparent.’

No one noticed me in the corner.

Just like for the last twenty years.

I went back to the Romano estate and straight to my room.

I opened the safe and took out the documents for the secret trust fund my mother left me.

Fifty million dollars.

Before she died, she had gripped my hand. “Samara, if you ever need to run, use this money. Make a new life for yourself.”

I didn’t understand her then. I understood now.

My mother had been a sacrifice, too. Another political marriage.

Her lifetime of pain had bought me my key to escape.

I was grabbing my passport and cards when I heard Marco's voice outside the heavy oak door. He was on the phone. His voice was so tender, I almost didn't recognize it.

“Don’t worry, Isabella. The blood oath is just a formality.”

My hand froze.

“Once the pact is official, I’ll have a legitimate reason to get rid of her.”

I stared, my eyes wide.

In my last life, he was a rabbit. Cautious. Scared of the power I wielded.

This time, he saw my silent hatred and mistook it for weakness.

The fool. He was trying to make his move early.

“You sure that little bitch won’t cause any trouble?” Isabella’s laugh, sharp as glass, cut through the oak door.

I heard Marco’s voice, dripping with an affection he never once showed me.

“If she breathes a word out of line, I’ll make her disappear. For good.”