chapter 5 : The Emerald Mask

The master suite of the Moretti villa was filled with the heavy scent of lilies and the quiet hum of a tension that had become their constant companion. Eimi stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at the woman looking back at her. She was draped in emerald silk, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin, flowing down to the floor in a shimmering pool.

On her vanity sat the Moretti family jewels—diamonds that felt like lead weights.

"The zipper," Eimi muttered, her voice echoing in the vast room. "It's stuck."

She struggled, her arms reaching behind her back, her fingers fumbling with the delicate metal. Suddenly, the door to the dressing room clicked open. Marco stepped in. He was already dressed in a midnight-black tuxedo, his white shirt crisp enough to cut paper. He looked like the king of the Italian underworld—refined, dangerous, and impossibly handsome.

"Hold still," he said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the small space between them.

Eimi froze as he stepped behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. When his fingers touched the bare skin of her back, a jolt of electricity surged through her, making her breath hitch. His hands were large and calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of her silk gown.

In the reflection of the mirror, their eyes locked. Marco's gaze wasn't cold for once; it was intense, dark, and focused. He moved the zipper up slowly, his knuckles grazing her spine.

"You look..." Marco paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "You look like a Moretti. Remember that tonight. Don't let them see the girl who cried in the library. Show them the woman who owns the room."

Eimi turned around, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm. "Is that advice, Marco? Or a warning?"

"Both," he replied, his face hardening back into a mask of stone. "The Rossi family will be at this gala. They are the ones who helped your rivals choke your father's supply lines. They are vultures, Eimi. If they see a single crack in our story, they will feast on it."

He held out his arm. "Shall we go, Mrs. Moretti?"

Eimi took a deep breath and placed her hand on his sleeve. "Let's give them a show."

The Lions' Gala

The Rossi estate was a palace of glass and light. As Marco and Eimi entered the ballroom, the music seemed to falter for a split second. All eyes turned toward them. The "disgraced" Japanese heiress and the "cold" Italian prince.

Marco led her through the crowd with an air of absolute belonging. He kept her close, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. To the world, they were the picture of a passionate, whirlwind romance.

"Smile, Eimi," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "They are watching for a frown."

"I am smiling," she hissed back through teeth that were barely parted. "I'm just imagining I'm stepping on your toes."

Before he could respond, a group of socialites approached them, led by a woman in a daring red dress. This was Isabella Rossi—the daughter of their rival and a woman who had spent years trying to secure a ring from Marco.

"Marco, darling!" Isabella purred, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Marco leaned back just enough to make her miss, keeping his arm firmly around Eimi.

Isabella's eyes flickered to Eimi, full of venom. "And this must be the little Japanese doll we've heard so much about. What a charitable move, Marco. Marrying the daughter of a failing house just to settle a debt. It's almost... heroic."

The surrounding guests stifled laughs. Eimi felt the blood drain from her face. The old shame of her family's downfall burned in her chest. She felt like an object—a piece of property bought to balance a ledger.

"I heard the Takahashi offices are being sold for parts," Isabella continued, her voice loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. "I suppose being a 'trophy wife' is a better career than being a bankrupt CEO."

Eimi opened her mouth to speak, but her voice failed her. But before she could crumble, she felt Marco's grip on her waist tighten.

"Isabella," Marco said. His voice wasn't loud, but it had the weight of a falling mountain. The ballroom went deathly silent. "I think you're confused."

He stepped forward, pulling Eimi with him so she stood slightly in front of him.

"Eimi didn't marry me to save her house," Marco lied with such conviction that even Eimi almost believed him. "I married her because the Moretti empire needed her brilliance. Her family is currently restructuring, yes—with my backing. And as for being a 'trophy,' I suggest you look in the mirror before you use that word again."

Isabella's jaw dropped. "Marco, I only meant—"

"What you 'meant' is irrelevant," Marco cut her off, his blue eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Eimi is a Takahashi, and now, she is a Moretti. She is the woman who will sit beside me at the head of the board. If you insult her, you insult me. And if you insult a Moretti, you'll find your father's shipping contracts cancelled by sunrise. Do I make myself clear?"

Isabella turned a sickly shade of pale. She stammered an apology and hurried away, her friends following her like frightened birds.

The Midnight Reflection

Later that night, the two of them stood on a secluded balcony overlooking the dark, shimmering expanse of Lake Como. The noise of the party was a distant hum.

Eimi leaned against the stone railing, the cool night air hitting her heated skin. "You didn't have to do that," she said softly. "The contract only said we had to look married. It didn't say you had to defend my family's honor."

Marco leaned beside her, loosening his tie. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look less like a monster and more like a man.

"I don't like bullies," he said simply.

"You are a bully," Eimi pointed out with a small, tired smile.

Marco let out a short, unexpected laugh. "True. But I am your bully for the next year. No one else gets the privilege."

He turned to look at her, his expression turning serious. "The Rossis are dangerous, Eimi. They will try again. We have to be a united front. From now on, what's mine is yours—my protection, my name, my resources."

Eimi looked at him, searching his eyes for the lie. But all she saw was a strange, simmering intensity. "Why are you being kind to me now, Marco? This morning you were throwing me off your arm."

Marco reached out, his hand hovering near her face before he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was lingering, warm, and entirely unnecessary for "the act."

"Maybe I realized that having a partner who fights back is more interesting than having a trophy," he murmured.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space until Eimi was backed against the railing. For a second, the hatred felt very far away, replaced by a magnetic pull that terrified her.

"Go inside, Eimi," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Before I forget that this is all just business."

Eimi didn't wait. She turned and fled into the ballroom, her heart racing faster than it ever had during the wedding. As she ran, she realized something that made her stomach drop.

The contract was supposed to protect her from him. But now, she wasn't sure what was going to protect her from herself.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***