Page 39 of Her Brutal First Love

Sarica shook her head. "The thing is..." She was about to explain to Giancarlo how Dauphin was hernewMr. Miyagi when something clicked in her mind, and she quickly reached for the covers to wrap around her naked body before pushing herself up.

"How about we make a deal?"

Giancarlo raised a brow. "About Dauphin Teuer?"

"I'll tell you who he is...if you tell me who has a photo of you bare-chested.”

Giancarlo’s mind raced back to that mortifying bet he’d lost in his teenage years. The magazine spread that still haunted his nightmares: him in a blond wig, posing as a Viking invader, complete with historically inaccurate helmet and flexed muscles that had made him look more like a romance novel cover model than a Norse warrior.

He had bought the publishing company the moment he could access his inheritance. Had personally overseen the burning of every copy he could find, along with the original negatives and drafts.

But he knew how these things worked. Somewhere out there, a copy could still exist. And if Sarica ever got her hands on it—

The thought alone made him shudder.

"Forget it," Giancarlo said curtly.

"But—-"

Another drone showed up outside the window, and Giancarlo hauled his wife to him so he could whip up the covers over both of them.

Sarica stared at him in confusion. "What are you—-"

"We've got company again."

Sarica immediately reached for the remote control to close the blinds...only to have her husband take it out of her hold and toss it away.

"Giancarlo!"

"Let's not be selfish," he purred. "We can give them what they want without actually showing anything,sì?"

"No!"

"I knew you'd see it in my way."

It was her only warning before Giancarlo was positioning her over his length, and Sarica could only gasp as she found himself riding him.

But whether it was for show or pleasure, she didn't really know at this point.

All she knew was that he was...aaaah.

MEANWHILE, ON THE OTHERside of the world, the first of Viktor Biancardi’s letters had landed in the hands of its intended recipient.

Keiran de Laigny sat in the dimly lit study of his estate, the flickering light of the fireplace casting long shadows across the room. The letter lay open on his desk, its contents burning in his mind as if the words themselves were aflame. Viktor’s handwriting was precise, almost clinical, but the message was anything but.

He moved to the window, his gaze sweeping over the sprawling gardens of his estate. It was a scene of peace, of beauty—a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him.

His jaw tightened as he recalled the other man's brutally short message.

You owe me.

Keiran crumpled the letter into a ball before casting it into the fire.If only it was just as easy, he thought bitterly,to turn his memories of Cadence into ashes.

Her name alone had Keiran wanting to lash out, but she was like a plague on his soul. Inescapable. Irredeemable. And incurable.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when he had married her.

But a lifetime still wasn't enough to make him take her back.

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