At 11:45 PM, Manhattan’s Most Feared Man Asked Me to Pretend to Be His Girlfriend—Little Did He Know I Was Already in Love With Him.

Julian Vance stood with a victorious, sneering smirk plastered across his face, waiting for the Ricci empire to implode from the inside out. Sofia looked on with gleeful malice.

Then, Marco moved.

He didn't yell. He didn't panic. With terrifying, predatory calm, Marco walked past the scattered papers without even glancing at them, stepped directly off the stage, and stopped inches in front of Julian Vance.

Julian’s smug smile faltered slightly under the sheer, murderous weight of Marco’s gaze.

“You finished running your mouth, Julian?” Marco asked, his voice a lethal whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room.

“The... the documents don't lie, Marco,” Julian stammered, stepping back involuntarily. “She’s a spy—”

“My assistant,” Marco interrupted, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakable authority, “has access to every single encrypted file in Ricci Holdings. If she wanted to leak our port acquisitions, she could have done it eight months ago and made ten million dollars instead of living in a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and driving a ten-year-old Honda Civic.”

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the crowd, breaking the tension slightly.

“As for those fabricated wire transfers,” Marco continued, turning his head to look directly at Julian’s cowering corporate lawyers, “my legal team has been tracking your offshore shell companies in the Cayman Islands since Tuesday. In fact, while you were busy printing out fake emails tonight, the Department of Justice was executing a search warrant on your primary Manhattan office for securities fraud and corporate espionage.”

Julian’s face drained of all color. The folder slipped from his trembling fingers, scattering papers across the polished floor.

“You... you set me up,” Julian choked out.

“I didn't set you up, Julian,” Marco said coldly. “You just walked straight into a trap you were too arrogant to see.”

Marco signaled toward the rear entrance, and two burly security guards stepped forward, grabbing Julian by the arms and hoisting him off his feet, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the grand pavilion. Sofia fled the room behind them like a rat abandoning a sinking ship.

The ballroom erupted into chaotic, thunderous applause.

Elena rushed forward, her eyes swimming with tears as she grabbed my shaking hands. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she sobbed, pulling me into a fierce embrace. “I am so sorry those miserable people tried to ruin my birthday! Are you alright?”

“I’m... I’m okay,” I whispered, looking past Elena’s shoulder.

Marco was standing a few feet away, watching me with an expression of such raw, unfiltered devotion that it took my breath away.

As the music swelled and the guests slowly returned to their champagne and dancing, Marco walked over, gently taking my hand from his mother’s grip and pulling me away from the crowd toward the quiet French doors that led out onto the moonlit terrace.

Once we were alone in the cool night air, away from the prying eyes of society and family, Marco pulled me flush against his chest, burying his face in my neck with a shuddering breath.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered, his lips brushing my skin. “I should have crushed Julian before he ever set foot on this property. I never wanted you to go through that.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck, letting the tears fall freely now that I was safe in his embrace. “It’s over.”

Marco pulled back, taking my face in both of his warm, steady hands. He wiped a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his green eyes burning with absolute certainty.

“I lied to you on the drive down here,” he murmured softly.

My brow furrowed. “About what?”

“I told you that bringing you here was just a trick to keep my mother off my back.” A slow, breathtaking smile broke across his handsome face. “It wasn't a trick, Emily. It was the only way I knew how to force myself to finally tell you the truth. I fell in love with you two years ago, the day you walked into my office in that yellow sweater and told me my filing system was an absolute disaster.”

My heart stopped.

“You... you did?”

“Every single day since then,” Marco whispered, leaning down. “So... now that the performance is over, and my mother already thinks you’re part of the family... do you think you could consider making this permanent?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet ring box, flipping it open to reveal a stunning, vintage diamond ring that caught the moonlight like a captured star.

My breath hitched, a laugh bubbling up through my tears.

“Is this part of the job description, Mr. Ricci?” I teased, my voice trembling with pure joy.