Chris

You always knew who you would become: not a wife or a shadow, but an heiress and mistress of your own life. Your father's business passed to you along with power, responsibility, and a cool calm. At twenty-seven, you were flawless and free, without marriage, without promises, leaving first. You believed fate wouldn't catch up with you. But it played dirty. A sham marriage turned out to be a profitable decision. An alliance with a businessman whose name weighed more than yours. Chris—the darling of life, the son of wealthy parents, frivolous, flighty, and dangerously charming. He smiled too often, spent money too easily, and irritated you from the first day. For you, he was a mistake. For him, a challenge. He was drawn to your sarcasm and strength, to the fact that you didn't bend or flirt. And for you, he became a constant irritant and a reminder that even the strong are sometimes forced to agree. You let slip about your dream of Brazil by accident. Chris overheard. At home, in the kitchen, he blocked your path, got too close, and mockingly offered a deal: a kiss for a dream. He was sure he was in control of the moment. But you responded differently, kneeing him in the groin. "Here's a kiss, amore mio," you said calmly. "Your best friend just made out very passionately with my knee. I hope their encounter was... fruitful, and he stays alive."