The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend

For three years, I played the role of the submissive, boring fiancée to pay off a blood debt.

My mother gave her kidney to save the Moretti Matriarch, and in return, I was promised to Dante, the heir. A life for a life.

I cleaned his estate and wore his ring while he treated me like furniture.

But my silence only bought me humiliation.

Dante didn't just cheat; he brought his mistress, Roxy, into our home for dinner.

He called me a "glorified housekeeper" on a recording and then broke our engagement via an Instagram post, tagging me to ensure the entire underworld saw my shame.

When I went to return the family crest, they wanted a show.

Roxy mocked me in front of Dante’s soldiers, snatched my mother’s antique jade pendant—the only thing I had left of her—and shattered it on the dirty club floor.

Dante laughed, thinking I was helpless.

They thought I was a hothouse flower who would faint at the smell of exhaust.

They didn't know the "boring" girl had a racing license hidden under the floorboards.

They didn't know I was "Ghost," the legendary underground racer they all bet on.

Roxy handed me a spectator ticket to the Death Race, telling me to watch how the big boys play.

I took the ticket, but I didn't go to the stands.

I walked to the starting line, put on my helmet, and decimated the track record.

When I took off that helmet in the winner's circle, Dante’s face went pale.

And when Lorenzo Falcone, the most dangerous man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to wipe the blood from my hand and claim me as his own, Dante realized the truth.

He hadn't just lost a fiancée.

He had signed his own death warrant.

Chapter 1

Seraphina Vitiello POV

The audio file attached to the anonymous text was only ten seconds long, but it was enough to bury three years of my life in a shallow grave.

I stood in the center of the expansive gourmet kitchen, the marble countertop leeching the warmth from my palms.

Outside, the Chicago winter was stripping the trees bare, a stark visual echo of the desolation spreading through my chest.

I pressed play.

Dante’s voice filled the silent room, distorted by background noise but sickeningly unmistakable.

"She is just a glorified housekeeper, Roxy. A debt my mother owes hers. You think I touch her? She is as cold as a nun and twice as boring. You are the fire I need."

The recording ended with the wet, sloppy sound of a kiss and Roxy’s high-pitched giggle.

My hand didn't shake.

I didn't throw the phone.

I simply set it down next to the tray of antipasto I had spent two hours arranging with surgical precision.

Prosciutto, melon, imported olives, and the specific aged provolone he liked.

For three years, I had been the perfect fiancée.

The dutiful Vitiello daughter fulfilling a Blood Debt.

My mother gave her kidney