The last time my fiancé, Julian Thorne, lashed out at me over something trivial, I didn't placate him like I always had.

I moved out of the home we shared and began taking back everything I had ever given him.

First, I canceled the wedding that the entire underworld had been anticipating.

Next, I cut off his mother's access to our family's private medical care. I also coldly refused his sister Brooke Thorne's demand for a new sports car.

Finally, I accepted my father's offer to go to Las Vegas and take over the family's entertainment empire.

The moment I boarded the private jet, I let myself imagine the fate awaiting Julian and his bloodsucking family without my protection—the protection of the Vescovi Principessa.

How would he cover his mother's exorbitant medical bills, appease his spendthrift sister, and keep that sultry vixen he treasured so dearly?

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1

"Miss Vescovi, as we discussed, once the wedding is officially canceled, all gifts and donations will be forwarded to the church. If you agree, please sign here."

After confirming the details with me one last time, the priest handed over the document and a heavy fountain pen. He explained everything once more, then gestured to the signature line. His eyes, clouded with age, held undisguised astonishment and curiosity. He looked as if he wanted to say something but ultimately held his tongue.

I couldn't blame him.

Three years ago, I had booked this very church, a long-time beneficiary of my family's patronage. My fiancé, Julian Thorne, and I had finalized our plans twice, and even the guest list was confirmed, but he had postponed both times with flimsy excuses.

To this day, the wedding had never materialized. And now, here I was, about to personally dismantle the dream.

Anyone would wonder what seismic shift could have caused this. But they would never know the truth: it only took a single night for me to go from longing to marry the man I’d loved for a decade to being determined to erase him from my world entirely.

What sealed my decision was a mirror in Julian's study and the tattoo it reflected on his back.

That day, I was organizing documents in his study when I accidentally knocked over a full-length mirror. The heavy frame slammed onto the hardwood, the crash echoing loud enough to startle Julian from his shower.

He rushed into the study wrapped in a bath towel, but the first thing he did wasn't to ask if I was hurt, nor was it to help me up. Instead, he stared at me, his face contorted with a fury I had never seen before.

"Alessia Vescovi, just because you're unhappy with your birthday gift, you have to retaliate by destroying my things?" he roared, his voice thick with rage.

Before I could even explain, he pointed to the door and ordered me out of his house. I stood outside that door all night, apologizing countless times, only for him to call the estate guards and have me "escorted" away on the grounds that I was disturbing his rest.

I returned to my own residence alone and, as was my humiliating habit, prepared to write a handwritten apology letter the next day. But I never sent it. Instead, I saw a picture of Julian on another woman's social media.

That woman, Scarlett Monroe, had posted a series of photos. They were taken backstage at a high-end private club, against a backdrop of decadent luxury. At the very center of the photo set was a highly provocative close-up—Julian's bare back, and on it, a "black swan" tattoo identical to my own.

The difference was that on the neck of his swan, a glaring letter "S" was branded into the skin.

"Thank you, Julian, for my exclusive mark! I'm so in love with this secret 'tattoo'! Sorry, haters, but owning a part of a man's body is the ultimate romance for me!"

Less than a minute after she posted it, Julian commented from his private account. "As long as you like it."

Scarlett's reply was just as swift. "Thank you, Julian. I can't believe I just mentioned it in passing, and you actually did it for me. I'm so happy!"

The two of them flirted intimately in the comment section.

To be honest, the comments weren't that outrageous. And yet, it felt like someone had poured straight liquor into my eyes. It stung, sharp and searing.

Last month was my thirty-third birthday, and I had hinted with great anticipation that I wanted a purebred Arabian racehorse. Julian had stared at me in surprise, then scoffed. "You're the Principessa of the Vescovi family. How can you still act like some new-money upstart? Raising horses is so crass, it's beneath you. You've been with me for ten years; do you still feel the need to prove something?"

His words were blunt and hurtful. Even so, he still gave me a piece of jewelry on my birthday.

I was ecstatic at the time. I thought it meant I was still special to him.

Who would have thought he'd take Scarlett's casual, suggestive request to heart? He'd endured the pain and risk of being branded without a second thought.

And I, his fiancée, received a birthday gift that the family jeweler later identified as a cheap knockoff.

Such blatant favoritism was a sting I, the heiress to the Vescovi family, had never felt before.

Only then did I realize the past decade had been a farce of my own making. I had welcomed a wolf into my home, and now, it was time to clean house.

The moment I stepped out of the church, a message from Julian lit up my phone. It was an order, not a request.

"Brooke's flight lands at O'Hare at 8:30 PM. Get there early to pick her up."

It was the first time he had contacted me since our cold war began. In the past, I would have seized this opportunity to make peace, arranging for a car to pick up his sister, Brooke Thorne, without a word of complaint.

But now, I just stared at the text for two seconds, then started the engine and sped away.

That evening, when I returned to the estate, the first things I saw were shoes scattered in the entryway and a luxurious suitcase. Brooke peeked out of the bathroom, and upon seeing me, she rolled her eyes, making no attempt to hide her disdain.

"Alessia, where the hell have you been?" she snapped. "Do you have any idea how long I waited at the airport? I had to take a cab! By myself! If anything had happened to me, Julian would never forgive you. Now, I'm starving. I want a steak from Gibsons. Order it."

I gave her a level look, then my gaze dropped to her feet. She was wearing a pair of thousand-dollar high heels I had given her as a gift for getting into college, and the rest of her outfit consisted of designer brands charged to my accounts. She wasn't dripping in jewels, but her attire was far more ostentatious than anything I usually wore.

I had always treated her like family, yet I'd never received an ounce of genuine respect in return. If I satisfied her material desires, she would shower me with sweet words. But if I hesitated for even a moment, she would lash out with vicious ones.

And for ten years, I had just… taken it. How?

Under Brooke's watchful eyes, I took out my phone and replied to Julian's message. At the same time, I told her, "I've already told your brother you're hungry and have no money. You can wait and see what he says. He is on a business trip overseas, after all. There's a time difference."

She stared at me, dumbfounded.

I said nothing more. I strode straight into the master bedroom.

...

The next morning, I was awakened by noise from outside. Brooke had turned the kitchen and living room into a complete disaster. The bathroom floor was a slick puddle, an expensive bathrobe discarded in a heap on the wet tiles, leaving nowhere to step.

She showed no remorse when she saw me. In fact, she deliberately spilled a glass of red wine on the carpet in a clear act of provocation.

I watched her in silence. I didn't stop her, nor did I do what I would have in the past—quietly call the housekeeping staff to clean up her mess. I calmly returned to the bedroom and began to pack the few personal belongings I had left here.

The irony was staggering. This entire estate was in my name. So why was I the one tiptoeing around like an intruder?

After packing everything, I strode out, dragging my suitcase behind me.

"Where are you going?" Brooke demanded, blocking my path.

I shouldered past her. "Las Vegas. Business," I said coolly. "And I'm taking my things."

She pursed her lips, crossing her arms and looking at me smugly. "Some people are born queens, I guess, off to survey their little empires. And some are just glorified errand girls, sent on 'business trips' to do the family's dirty work."

"Do you know what that's called? Class. I'm going shopping with my classmates this afternoon. Give me your unlimited black card, or I'll tell Julian you're abusing me!"

She was bluffing, utterly confident that I was powerless against her.

It was laughable. I had paved the way for Julian for ten years. For his sake, I had pandered to his family for ten years. Now that I was done, they somehow saw it as my failure.

I suddenly burst out laughing, pointing at her and raking my eyes over her. "I paid for your mother's medical care. I funded your brother's Ivy League education. I've bankrolled your entire life, from tuition to designer clothes."

"The three of you have been living off the Vescovi family. Even that Chanel jacket you're wearing is one I bought for you last month. So, the next time you open your mouth, remember which hand has been feeding you. And remember that it can just as easily stop."

Brooke's face flushed crimson. She couldn't utter a single word. She just turned, ran back to her room, and slammed the door.

...

After I settled into my new place, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a renewal notice from our family's private hospital regarding Julian's mother, Eleanor.

The hospital director was reminding me that the renewal deadline was in five days and that I needed to fund the account to cover the next phase of her imported targeted therapy drugs.

When I first got together with Julian, my heart went out to him, struggling to build his career at a law firm while also worrying about his seriously ill mother and young sister. So, I took that burden onto my own shoulders.

I thought my sacrifices would earn his loyalty. Too bad I’d backed an ungrateful wolf.

At that thought, any hesitation I had vanished. I dialed the hospital director's number without a second thought and commanded in a tone that brooked no argument, "Stop all her medication."

Late that night, Julian's call from overseas came as expected.

The moment I answered, his furious roar shot through the line, hitting my eardrums like a bullet. "Brooke said you didn't pick her up. She had to take a cab home, and you didn't even make her dinner. She wanted to use your credit card, and you actually froze it."

"Alessia, is this how you treat my sister when I'm not around? If you don't drop that princess attitude of yours, I'll have to reconsider our relationship!"

Hearing this, I gave a noncommittal "Mm." Then I said, "Let's meet when you get back. We can talk this out in person."

My unexpected calm left Julian silent for a moment. Then, he sneered. "What is there to talk about? Is it about that damn wedding again? All you ever think about is getting married—isn't it embarrassing? I'm back the day after tomorrow. If you want to talk, it'll depend on your attitude."

He softened his tone, but his words were clearly dismissive and arrogant.

He had probably forgotten that in our first year together, he had sworn that once he became the top lawyer in Chicago, he would give me the grandest wedding the entire underworld had ever seen.

I waited seven years for him to finally make it. As soon as he did, I eagerly threw myself into the wedding preparations.

The first year, I showed Julian the meticulously crafted wedding plans. He told me, with a hint of guilt, that his career was just taking off and he wasn't in the mood to think about such things.

The second year, the busiest phase of his career finally ended, and he agreed to pick out wedding rings with me. I waited for him at the jewelry store all day, only to receive a text saying he had overslept.

This was the third year, and I had canceled the wedding myself.

I took a deep breath and began, "Julian, this isn't about the wed—"

Before I could finish, a young woman's coquettish cry of surprise came from his end of the line. He hung up without another word.

I stared at my phone but didn't call back.

...

Soon, it was the day of Julian's return. He had sent a text in advance, ordering me to pick him up, but I ignored it. Then, he called, insisting he was only free on the day he landed. He had to be back at the law firm the next day and wouldn't have time for the next few days.

To get this conversation over with, I went to the airport. The traffic was heavy, and it was already 11 PM by the time I arrived.

The VIP pickup area outside the airport was brightly lit.

Through the car window, I saw Scarlett standing on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped around Julian's neck as they kissed passionately.

I honked the horn, and the entwined couple scattered like startled birds.

When Julian saw my face, he strode over and pounded on the car window. "Didn't I tell you to be here at 7 PM? Look at what time it is!"

I rolled the window down a crack, taking in his face, pale from the cold. "Traffic," I said, my voice flat.

He was furious and about to say more, but I cut him off. "If you don't get in the car, your little treasure is going to freeze out here."

Julian paused. He set the argument aside, yanked open the back door, and let Scarlett in first. Then, he glared at me, his eyes silently urging me to get out and help with the luggage.

I ignored him, focusing on my phone and tapping out a reply to my assistant.

In the car, Scarlett sized me up through the rearview mirror. I met her gaze calmly. My eyes fell on the necklace she was wearing—it was painfully familiar.

It was my mother's heirloom, a priceless sapphire necklace.

Last Christmas, he had finally agreed to attend a charity gala with me. As we were leaving, I had put on that necklace.

He had immediately frowned and told me to take it off. "The design is too ostentatious. It doesn't suit you. It makes you look tacky."

And yet, that very necklace was now nestled snugly against Scarlett's neck. It turned out it wasn't too ostentatious—he just didn't think I was worthy of it.

Scarlett caught my gaze and offered a shy, calculated smile. "It was so chilly while we were waiting," she cooed, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Julian insisted I wear this to keep warm. Don't get the wrong idea, Alessia."

I smiled back. "It's just a necklace. Hardly worth a fuss. Besides, Julian's the one being thoughtless. It's freezing. He should have just called a car for you instead of making you wait outside. Imagine scrimping on cab fare only to end up with hefty medical bills if you caught a cold. Penny-wise and pound-foolish, wouldn't you agree, Miss Monroe?"

Scarlett's smile slowly faded.