LINA'S POV
Pain woke me first.
Not the sharp, fast kind but the slow, throbbing, everywhere at once. My head felt stuffed with cotton. My mouth tasted like copper and ash.
I tried to move but I couldn't.
My eyes flew open.
White ceiling with ornate crown molding greeted me first then a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than the Hart mansion.
Where am I?
I jerked against—restraints?
Soft leather cuffs held my wrists to a hospital bed. Medical equipment beeped steadily beside me. An IV dripped clear fluid into my arm. The room was pristine, clinical, but the furniture was mahogany and the floors were marble.
What the hell?
"She's awake." A calm, male voice said.
I turned my head too fast making stars burst across my vision.
Two men stood by the door in black suits, earpiece and... Guns—I could see the bulge under their jackets. They weren't hospital security.
They were something else entirely.
Am I dead? Is this hell?
"Get Dr. Mateo." one said into his wrist.
My heart hammered. "Where—where am I?"
They didn't answer or even look at me.
The door opened. A man in his fifties entered, wire-rimmed glasses, kind eyes, doctor's coat. He smiled gently.
"Seraphina. Thank God. How are you feeling?"
Seraphina?
"I'm not—" My voice came out hoarse. "My name is Lina. Lina Hart."
His smile faltered. "It's alright. Disorientation is normal after—"
"I'm not disoriented. I'm telling you, my name is Lina Hart. I don't know who Seraphina is." Panic crept into my voice. "I was in a warehouse. They shot me. Margaret shot me. I died—I know I did—"
"Seraphina." His tone shifted to professional concern. "You attempted suicide three days ago. You overdosed on sleeping pills in your apartment. Your fiancé found you and brought you here. You've been unconscious since."
"No." I yanked against the restraints. "No, that's not—I was murdered. They chained me up and—"
"The trauma can create false memories." He pulled a chair close, sat down. "It's not uncommon after—"
"I'M NOT SERAPHINA!"
The guards' hands moved to their weapons.
The doctor raised a hand. "It's alright. She's confused." He looked at me with such pity I wanted to scream. "Seraphina, you tried to take your life two days before your wedding. Do you remember?"
"I don't have a wedding. I don't—" God, why wouldn't he listen? "Please, just let me go. I need to—"
The door opened again.
And everything stopped as a man walked in.
He was tall. Six-three, maybe more. Broad shoulders in a black suit that was definitely custom and definitely Italian. He had dark hair, sharp jawline, and eyes—God, his eyes—they were cold and gray like winter ice.
But it wasn't his looks that froze my blood.
It was his presence.
He didn't just walk into the room, he acted like he owned it. The air itself seemed to shift, making even the guards straightened. Even the doctor stood and inclined his head downward slightly.
Who was this man?
This man was dangerous.
Every instinct I had screamed it.
He stopped at the foot of my bed and stared down at me. His expression gave nothing away—no warmth, no concern. Just cold assessment.
Like I was a problem to be solved.
"Leave us," he said. His voice was deep and soft at the same time.
"Sir, she's disoriented. I don't think—"
"I said leave."
The doctor nodded quickly and left. The guards followed.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
He studied me for a long moment and at the point, I couldn't even breathe.
Then he spoke.
"Do not." Each word was carved from ice. "Ever. Try that again."
Huh? "Try what?"
"Playing victim." He leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the bed rail. "Throwing tantrums for attention. You wanted to embarrass me, didn't you? Make me look weak two days before our wedding?"
Wedding? Why do they keep talking crazy? "I don't know you!"
"Enough." His eyes flashed. "I don't care what game you're playing, Seraphina. I don't care if you regret agreeing to this marriage. But you will not stain my name with your theatrics. You will not make me look like a man who can't control his own household. Do you understand?"
"I'm not Seraphina!" My voice cracked. "My name is Lina Hart. I was murdered last night by my stepmother and—"
"Lina Hart." He said it slowly, like testing the words. "Victor Hart's bastard daughter."
I froze.
He knew me.
"Yes," I whispered. "Yes. That's me."
"No." He straightened. "Lina Hart is no one. A forgotten illegitimate child of a second-rate businessman. You are Seraphina De Luca. Daughter of the Moretti crime family. And in three days, you will be my wife."
"I don't understand—"
"The doctor says you have amnesia from the overdose." His tone suggested he didn't believe it for a second. " How convenient. But I don't care what you remember or don't remember. You agreed to this marriage. The contracts are signed. You will go through with it."
"Why would I agree to marry you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Ask yourself that, cara. When you remember who you really are."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Desperation clawed at my throat. "Please, just—just tell me your name."
He paused at the door then glanced back.
"Dante De Luca."
The name hit me like a second gunshot.
I knew that name. Everyone knew that name.
He was a billionaire and businessman. And if the rumors were true… mafia royalty.
Oh God.
"Get some rest, Seraphina." His hand was on the doorknob. "Dr. Mateo will monitor your recovery. We'll discuss the wedding once you're... stable."
"I'm not her," I said quietly. "I don't know why I'm in her body, but I'm not—"
"Then I suggest you figure it out quickly." He opened the door. "Because in three days, you walk down that aisle. Whether you remember who you are or not."
He left.
I stared at the closed door, chest heaving.
This was insane and impossible.
I died. I felt the bullet.
But I woke up here. I winced as pain shot through my skull. This was all too much.
Why do they keep calling me Seraphina De Luca?
"I need to see." I said to myself.
I looked around frantically. The IV stand had a metal pole which was reflective. I leaned as far as the restraints allowed, angling my head.
My reflection came into view.
And my heart stopped.
That wasn't my face.
Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Porcelain skin. Long dark hair spread across the pillow. Beautiful in a way I'd never been.
I knew this face.
I'd seen it before years ago in magazines and on the news.
Seraphina Moretti. Heiress to a fallen mafia empire. I remembered Father mentioning her family's collapse, how they'd lost everything in some internal war.
She was supposed to be dead.
Or—no.
I was supposed to be dead, she was alive and somehow I was inside her.
A laugh bubbled up in my chest. Is this some sort of joke?
I am now engaged to Dante De Luca in the body who apparently tried to kill herself rather than marry him.
The door opened again. Dr. Mateo, this time with a nurse.
"Let's get you something to help you rest," he said gently.
"No—wait—I need to—"
The nurse injected something into my IV.
Warmth spread through my veins as I felt something pulling me down. I realized it was sedatives.
"Just sleep, Seraphina. Everything will
be clearer when you wake."
My vision blurred.
The last thought I had before darkness took me:
If Seraphina tried to kill herself to escape Dante De Luca...
What kind of monster am I about to marry?