GENEVA’S POV
I was enjoying my food during our family dinner and talking about business when Father placed down his wine glass and looked at me with that tone only he could use when something big was coming.
“An invitation arrived,” he said, and Michael paused from slicing into his steak while Niko sat straighter.
“Another gala?” I asked, already tired of the politics dressed in music and velvet.
“This one’s different,” Father said. “The Salvacion Legacy Gala. The original bloodlines. The founding circles. Old families, older grudges.”
I looked up and met his eyes. “Do you want me to go?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just studied me, like a man choosing whether to send his sword or keep it sheathed.
“Do you want to go?” he finally asked.
I took a breath, leaned back in my chair, and nodded. “Yes, Father. I let them bleed me once. Now I’ll let them see what they created.”
Michael smirked a little. “Let the ghosts come out.”
Niko raised his glass and said, “To the heiress they buried. And the queen they’re about to meet.”
The next evening, we landed in Vienna. Snow dusted the old rooftops, and the entire city looked like a cathedral built for sins. The Salvacion Legacy Gala was held in a marble estate passed down since the 1800s, guarded by men in suits who held more power in their hands than governments did.
I stepped out of the Montenegro car, dressed in deep emerald velvet that clung and commanded. My ring glinted in the chandelier lights as I walked up the staircase between my brothers. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.
Inside, the room fell quiet when we entered. I could feel eyes on me. Some filled with recognition, others with confusion, and some with regret. But no one looked away. Not tonight.
A string quartet played something mournful and grand. Men in white tuxedos stood like statues. Women in jewels whispered behind gloves. These were the families that ruled Europe in shadows, the same ones who once whispered that I didn’t belong.
And yet, I stood taller than all of them now.
We hadn’t been inside five minutes when a figure approached us–older, regal, cane in one hand nis presence undeniable. Mr. Salvacion. Niccolo’s grandfather.
The room stiffened when he reached for my hand and kissed the top of it.
‘Daughter of Domino,” he said with surprising warmth. “We welcome you.”
kept my face calm and my voice lower than the music. “I honor the old blood,” I said, “even if they once let me bleed.”
He blinked but said nothing, only nodded, and stepped aside. Michael whispered, “That’s what
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you call taking your power back.”
But the real moment came minutes later.
The Salvacion grandmother walked up to me, draped in diamonds and layered hypocrisy. The same woman who once called me a servant whore, who slapped me and made me kneel on the cold floor.
She looked older now. Smaller.
‘Geneva,” she said, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
smiled coldly. “How strange. A year ago, I was unworthy of standing near your table. And now you’re bowing to me like I’m the crown you’ve chased all your life.”
Her eyes twitched, and her mouth opened, but no words came.
leaned in just enough to sting. “Respect looks good on you, Mrs. Salvacion. Regret even better.” And I walked away, not waiting for her response, because nothing she said would matter anymore. They could whisper, watch, plot, or kneel.
But I was already beyond their reach.
Murmurs followed me like perfume, thick and clinging, wrapping around every step I took across :he marbled ballroom floor.
‘Is that… Geneva?”
‘The wife he threw away for that Jenner woman?”
‘No, not just the wife. That’s Geneva Montenegro now. The lost daughter of Don Domino.”
‘She used to wear department store gowns to the Salvacion dinners. Now look at her.”
‘I heard she destroyed Margot’s entire bloodline with a single press leak.”
‘Niccolo was a fool. He picked a serpent over a crown.”
‘I heard she buried their child alone. Alone. While he toasted champagne with Margot.”
‘She’s not just back… she’s risen. And he’s drowning.”
I held my head high and kept walking, not sparing a glance to the right or the left. The weight of a hundred eyes didn’t faze me anymore. I’ve been buried alive. I’ve bled for love. I’ve died in silence. What could whispers do now?
The music had softened. The gala was winding down, but my bones weren’t. My heels echoed sharply across the stone floor as I stepped into the cold night, taking a breath deeper than I’d allowed all evening. Vienna’s air stung like clarity.
And then…
Footsteps.
Fast, desperate, stumbling through the hush of royalty. I didn’t need to turn to know. My spine had already gone rigid.
‘Geneva!”
His voice cracked like it hadn’t been used in years.
I turned slowly.
Niccolo stood a few steps below, tux slightly disheveled, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight like he was
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swallowing glass. And before I could take another breath, he dropped to his knees. In front of me. In front of the crowd. In front of the press. In front of our ghosts.
Gasps echoed from behind the pillars. Champagne glasses froze midair. Conversations halted.
But he didn’t care.
He crawled the steps, not walking–crawled–his hands pressing into the cold marble until he reached the hem of my gown. Then he did the one thing I never imagined he was capable of doing in front of the world.
He clutched my leg. Both arms wrapped around my calf like it was a lifeline. And he rested his head against my thigh. Like a sinner worshipping a grave.
“Please…” he whispered. “Please, Geneva. Let’s talk…”
I didn’t speak. Not yet.
He pressed his forehead harder against my dress, trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t believe you. didn’t protect him. I didn’t even say goodbye,” he said, louder now, his voice echoing against th marble walls. “He died thinking I wasn’t his. He died thinking I didn’t want him. What kind of man… what kind of monster lets that happen?”
I could feel the heat of the shame radiating off him.
“I let Margot into our home. I let her poison everything. I told my own son not to call me papa… and now I can’t even hear it in my dreams without choking on it.”
