At a cliffside church in Sicily, Italy, the crimson twilight bleeds through stained glass.
I stand in black performance attire, fingers gliding across strings. As I play the first note of *The Devil’s Aria*, guests are still applauding Olivia’s pearl-veiled bridal gown.
But this melody isn’t a blessing—it’s a death knell.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I lift my gaze, bow never pausing, “the accident that struck groom Enzo three months ago… was orchestrated by me. But what you don’t know is—” I sneer, “he was never the true victim.”
The camera sweeps the crowd. Enzo sits in the front row, crisp in his suit, lips curled into a faint smile.
I continue playing, each note slicing through masks like a blade: “The driver who crashed into him that night? His body still lies buried beneath an olive grove near Taormina. Who was he? Enzo’s most trusted bodyguard. Why did it happen? Because on the eve of the wedding, he caught the bride… in bed with her own brother.”
Gasps erupt!
Olivia leaps to her feet, her train sweeping over and toppling the champagne tower. She tries to speak—but Enzo gently presses her back down.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice tender as if soothing a lover. “Your act hasn’t even begun.”
In the next second, the church doors slam shut.
No media. No police. Just a long Lincoln pulling away silently. Through its tinted windows, I watch Olivia being forced inside by two men in black—her screams muffled behind glass.
Three days later. A family dinner.
Under crystal chandeliers, at the far end of a long table, Olivia appears in a high-neck velvet dress, bruises shadowing her throat. She eats in silence, eyes down.
Enzo raises his glass. “Thank you all for witnessing our wedding. And special thanks to Miss Veronica—for reminding us through music that some sins… cannot stay hidden.”
He pauses, eyes locking onto mine. “From today, she joins our household as our chief art advisor.”
Shock ripples through the room.
Only I understand—this isn’t a reward. It’s a brand of complicity.
That night, I light a cigarette on the balcony. Footsteps approach.
“What do you want?” Enzo leans against the doorframe, holding a file. “Money? Shares? Or… me?”
I exhale a smoke ring, softly laughing. “I want the cassette under your bed. And the video in your safe—the one showing Olivia drugging the driver that night.”
His eyes narrow. “How much do you know?”
“Enough to put you behind bars. Enough to keep myself alive.” I turn, meeting his stare. “But I won’t expose you. Because I hate her more than you do.”
Wind brushes the courtyard.
Beneath moonlight, we face each other—two wolves crouched over prey.
Meanwhile, deep in the cellar, Olivia claws at the wall with broken nails, carving words:
**"They conspired to fool the world—even you, dear reader."**
Suddenly, live chat bursts across the scene:
[OMG! The side character is the real psycho!]
[Stop arguing—the heroine died long ago. This one’s a ghost possessing her body!]
[Bet five bucks someone dies on piano keys next chapter.]
I crush the cigarette, whispering, “The game has only just begun.”
A distant thunderclap splits the sky.
Rain pours down in sheets.
And above it all—a blood-red moon hangs heavy in the dark.
To reclaim her family legacy stolen by her cousin Cain, Veronica deliberately gets close to mafia leader Enzo. Amid revenge and power struggles, their relationship evolves into a complex game of love and deception. They eventually expose Cain's murder of Veronica's parents, join forces to overthrow him, and reclaim the De Vere empire, finding genuine love through truth and sacrifice.
