Separate Roads I Fought For

I stared at the Vercetti marriage contract my father pushed across the table.

Without hesitation, I wrote my half-sister’s name, Demi, and slid it back.

My father froze. Then his eyes lit up with ridiculous excitement, like he’d just won the lottery.

"How can you give such a perfect chance to your sister?"

Last life, my marriage was a joke for everyone around me.

I was the red-haired, untamed little witch who dared to climb into the orbit of Cassian Vercetti, heir and leader of the old-blood Vercetti crime family.

I was never perfect nor obedient.

He loved goddess gowns. I wore mini skirts and danced on tables.

He demanded missionary, traditional, orderly intimacy. I wanted to climb on top, ride him, lose myself completely.

At a gala, society wives laughing at my hair, my dress, my “wildness.”

I thought he would at least pretend to defend me.

He didn’t.

“Forgive her. She’s not…properly trained.”

Trained.

Like a dog.

I spent my entire last life suffocating under his rules, bending myself bloody to fit the shape he wanted, until the night our house caught fire.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I learned of the arranged marriage.

I looked at the contract in front of me.

This time?

I think the nightclub boys suits me better.

But the moment Cassian realized the bride wasn’t me, he shattered every rule he’d ever lived by.

My father watched me write Demi Vale’s name on the marriage contract.

He froze for half a second, then snatched the papers back, folding them gently, like he was terrified I might change my mind.

“From childhood to now, you spent five million on that mistress’s daughter,” I said flatly. “And less than fifty bucks on me. Guess your investment finally paid off.”

He chuckled a little too happily. “Oh, don’t say it like that, Aria. Demi is a proper society lady. She and Cassian are a perfect match.”

His face darkened. “And stop calling her ‘the mistress’s daughter.’ She’s your sister.”

“She’s not.” I lifted my eyes to him, cold and steady.

“She’s one year younger than me. You were married to my mother for ten years, but cheated for nine.”

He choked on his own breath, then abruptly changed the subject.

“Fine. Since you insist on giving up the alliance spot, I’ll go to the Vercetti estate right now and renegotiate.”

“Wait,” I said.

He spun back around, anxious as hell.

“You’re regretting it?!”

“I never said I’d give it up for free.”

Of course he understood.

A businessman first. A father never.

“Fifty million. I’ll wire it to you now.”

I didn’t argue.

The moment he interpreted my silence as acceptance, he bolted out with the contract like a man fleeing a burning building.

I watched him go.

Felt nothing but irony.

I turned and headed upstairs.

Passing the glass door, I caught my reflection—red curls, blue eyes, my heartbeat pounding loud and alive in my chest.

Suddenly