The car pulled up in front of the house Mateo had set up for their married life.

As soon as Yara stepped out, she started packing.

She tossed out everything she had ever left in this house, wiping away every trace of herself.

Then, she started preparing to erase her identity—deleting accounts, cutting ties, anything to make sure they'd never find her again."

No choice. She had to go back to the Medici residence.

An hour later, she stood at the entrance.

Her own home, yet she didn't even have a key. Even knocking took effort—because she knew.

She wasn't welcome here.

The housekeeper took her sweet time answering the door. When Yara stepped inside, she spotted her parents, Benjamin and Milada, pacing anxiously in the living room.

The second they saw her, their faces twisted with annoyance.

"You?!"

"You stay away for years, and now you come crawling back? Why can't you be more like Helen? You were born from the same mother, yet the difference between you two is night and day!"

The same old scolding. She'd heard it for over twenty years. Now? She didn't care.

Expression blank, she acted like she hadn't heard a thing.

She headed upstairs, grabbed her documents, and slipped them into her bag before making her way back down.

Her indifference only made Benjamin and Milada angrier. Their words cut deeper.

"So now you just ignore us? Do you even acknowledge your parents anymore? No respect, no gratitude—how did we end up with such a useless daughter?!"

Just as their shouting hit its peak, the front door suddenly swung open.

Mateo stepped inside, Helen cradled in his arms.

The moment he saw Yara standing in the center of the living room, his grip tightened.

She glanced at them—close, familiar—then looked away, utterly indifferent.

Her face was unreadable, but a sudden panic clawed at his chest.

Quickly, he set Helen down and stepped toward her. "Yara, don't misunderstand. Helen twisted her ankle, and I just happened to be nearby, so I brought her back..."

He trailed off, and Yara didn't even bother pointing out the obvious holes in his excuse.

Helen, ever the actress, chimed in with a saccharine smile. "Steven's been away on a business trip, or I wouldn't have troubled Mateo. Yara, don't take it the wrong way."

Benjamin and Milada instantly flocked to Helen, their faces full of concern.

Helen wasn't done. "I've been spoiled since I was little, so even a tiny sprain hurts so much. Thankfully, Mateo got to me in time—he ran through a dozen red lights just to rush me to the hospital, and now he's even brought me home. I feel awful for being such a burden."

She smiled sweetly, eyes flicking to Yara, waiting for her to snap, to break, to show even a flicker of jealousy.

But Yara didn't flinch. Didn't react.

Completely unfazed.

Helen didn't get the reaction she wanted. A new idea flashed in her eyes. "If it weren't for Mateo, I don't even know how swollen my ankle would've gotten. Since we're all here, why don't we have dinner together? Consider it my way of saying thanks!"

Her tone was bright, cheerful—a sharp contrast to Yara's silence.

No one asked Yara if she wanted to stay. The decision was already made for her.

When dinner was finally served, she took her seat at the table and immediately noticed—every dish was spicy. Helen's favorite.

She wasn't surprised.

She had once told Benjamin and Milada, in passing, that her stomach couldn't handle spicy food. Their response? "Stop being so dramatic."

Later, when she was with Mateo, he had always been careful with her food. He even learned to cook dishes that wouldn't upset her stomach.

But tonight, though he sat right beside her, he never even glanced her way. His attention was fixed entirely on Helen. At the slightest movement, he rushed to pass her a napkin, to serve her food.

Yara suddenly remembered—

How, back when Mateo came to the Medici residence for her, his gaze would always drift toward Helen.

How, on Helen's birthday, he'd casually ask about her favorite things, as if it were just a passing thought.

How, whenever Helen fell ill, he'd suddenly have urgent business to attend to.

A bitter smile tugged at Yara's lips.

It had always been so obvious. How had she only seen it now?

But no matter how much Mateo loved Helen, he had no right to use Yara as a pawn. His deception—giving up his entire life just for Helen's sake—hurt far worse than Steven's outright rejection.

Dinner ended. She barely touched her food.

The drive back was silent.

She was thinking about changing her name and cutting ties for good. He, most likely, was still lost in the warmth of his time with Helen.

Finally, Yara broke the silence. "I'm not going home. I need to go somewhere else."

Mateo snapped out of his thoughts, turning to her. His voice was gentle. "Where do you need to go? I'll come with you."

"No need," she replied, shaking her head.

But he reached for her hand, firm. "I can't let you go alone."

She didn't argue. Just typed the address into the GPS and let him drive.

The road was quiet. Before long, they neared their destination.

Then—his phone rang.

The moment he answered, Milada's voice cut through. "Mateo, Helen's wound is infected. She has a fever. Can you take her to the hospital?"

"I'll be right there!"

He immediately moved to turn the car around but hesitated, glancing at Yara.

"Yara, I..."

He struggled for words, torn. But before he could finish, she beat him to it.

"Go ahead. I can walk the rest of the way."

Without waiting for a response, she pushed open the door and stepped out.

He watched for a second. Then, his concern for Helen won out. He restarted the car and sped off.

Yara stood there, staring at the fading taillights, swallowing the bitterness rising in her chest.

'Mateo... if you had just driven a little farther...

'You would've seen my destination was the courthouse.

'You would've realized I was erasing myself from this life.

'But you didn't—because you never cared.'

The process was swift. Once it was done, Yara took a cab back to the house.

Not long after, Mateo showed up, a box of cheese tarts in hand, his face full of apology.

"Yara, you'll be my wife soon. That means Helen will be family too, so of course I'll take extra care of her. Don't misunderstand—I've chased after you for so many years. You should know you're the only one in my heart."

Yara didn't know how he could lie so effortlessly.

That bakery was in South Belgrave, halfway across the city. Their cheese tarts were famous—so popular that people waited in line for hours just to get a box.

And Mateo had gone through all that trouble.

Not for her.

For Helen.

Yara was exhausted. She didn't have the energy to play along anymore.

Shaking her head, she turned down his attempt at reconciliation for the first time. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to rest."

Without waiting for his reaction, she headed straight to her room.

Mateo hesitated. She was obviously upset, but he didn't think much of it. He figured she was still sulking about him leaving for Helen earlier.

So, to make it up to her, he cleared his schedule and took her out—candlelit dinner, luxury shopping, and finally, a movie.

They had just settled into their seats when a group of girls walked in.

Right at the center was Helen.

Mateo's expression didn't change, but Yara noticed how distracted he got.

His gaze kept drifting toward Helen.

By the time the movie was halfway through, Yara was sure he hadn't absorbed a single scene.

She suddenly called his name.

Mateo blinked, snapping out of his daze. "What is it, Yara?"

"I'm not feeling well. Let's go."

Her voice was calm, like she truly just wanted to leave.

Mateo hesitated, sneaking one last glance at Helen. But in the end, he got up and left with Yara.

Just as they stepped into the lobby—chaos erupted.

Panicked voices. A stampede toward the exits.

"Fire! The theater's on fire!"

Mateo froze. His face went pale.

Then, all at once, he turned, ready to charge back inside—only to see Helen's group rushing out.

He immediately blocked their path, panic bleeding into his voice. "Where's Helen?!"

The girls exchanged uneasy glances, their faces draining of color as realization sank in. One of them stammered,

"H-Helen... I don't think she made it out yet..."

Mateo's breath hitched. Fury ignited in his eyes, scorching away all reason. "I told you to take care of her!"

Without another word, he spun around and sprinted toward the burning theater.

He hadn't made it far before his driver intercepted him. "Mr. Lopez, the fire's too intense! The rescue team is on their way—"

"Get out of my way!" Mateo snarled, shoving past him.

Ignoring the screams, the warnings, the hands reaching to stop him—

He ran straight into the flames.