The city whispered her name.
Not with reverence. Not with admiration.
With calculation. Curiosity. Fear. And, most dangerously, with lies.
Elena stood at the balcony of the estate, the morning sun casting long shadows over the streets below. Cars passed in quiet precision. People moved as though the world hadn't shifted overnight—but she knew it had. The name Moretti carried weight, and now, hers did too.
She had been warned about this moment. Luca had not spoken much, but his instructions were clear: never trust appearances. Never believe the words you hear. The city would speak. The city would test. And every whisper had its own hidden knife.
"Signora?"
She turned to see Marco Vitale, Luca's lieutenant, standing just inside the balcony doors. His smile was practiced, polite, but his eyes were cold and assessing.
"The city is…talking," he said.
Elena's jaw tightened. "What are they saying?"
Marco's expression didn't change. "That you married the Black King out of love. That you accepted him willingly. That you are…happy."
Elena laughed bitterly. "Happy? Do you believe that?"
He shrugged slightly. "The people believe what they want to believe. But belief shapes behavior. You must understand that appearances are more dangerous than reality."
She folded her arms. "So I am a symbol now. A lie people dress up in their minds because they cannot face the truth."
"Exactly," Marco said. "And the truth…well, truth is messy. Dangerous. And you? You are now dangerous too."
Elena felt the weight of it. Every movement she made would be scrutinized. Every gesture, every glance, every word twisted into a narrative she did not control. And yet, she realized, paradoxically, that control was her only weapon now.
"The city believes we are…united," Marco continued, "but they do not know the war beneath the surface. Every enemy will test the story. Every rival will try to manipulate it. And every ally will watch for weakness."
She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth. "Then I must be convincing."
"Convincing, yes," Marco said, "but also careful. The Black King allows no mistakes in his empire. And if you falter…"
Elena did not flinch. "Then I will rise. I will not be another pawn in their illusions."
Marco studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. "Good. Remember, in public, the lie must shine. In private…you learn the truth of this house. And that truth is far darker than any rumor."
She turned back to the city below. The streets were alive with shadows of men who would kill for a name, a rumor, a lie. Every whispered story was a weapon. Every false smile a trap.
Elena touched the black steel ring on her finger, a reminder of the power and danger she now wore like armor.
If the city wanted lies, she would give them lies.
But the truth—her truth—would remain sharp, hidden, and lethal.
Because in Luca Moretti's world, the line between deception and survival was razor-thin.
And she had just learned to walk it.