Evelyn's delicate and very pregnant figure trailed closely behind Roman, the two of them carrying bags of household supplies from the mall. They looked like the perfect couple, while I sat in my wheelchair in front of the house door, tears streaming down my face.

Just then, Linda, my best friend, came outside and saw the scene. She opened her mouth to speak but I stopped her. “Please, Linda, take me out of here. I can't bear this any longer.”

Linda nodded and put the last of my boxes into her car.

“Amanda, I just want to say, I hope there are no hard feelings,” Roman said.

As I rolled towards the car, I replied in a flat tone, though my heart felt like it was being crushed. “It’s over, Roman. You chose her, it’s fine.” I handed him the divorce papers.

Roman seemed relieved as he took them.

“Thank you, Amanda. We can still be friends, just let me know if you want to visit or see the kids.”

He didn’t know I was leaving the country, and I wasn’t going to tell him.

We all stood there in awkward silence, well, I sat. Then Evelyn, looking tired, broke the silence.

Roman smiled at me, no guilt, no shame on his face, just pure joy, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hurried inside with her.

As the door closed, I couldn’t help but remember the promises he’d made, the love he swore would last forever. I had believed him, and now, fifteen years felt wasted.

Linda, her face tight with anger, sighed. “I can’t believe what he did to you. You were there for him through everything. And now this… the same woman he cheated on you with, the same one who pushed you to have that hysterectomy.”

I shook my head. “I guess people change.”

Linda helped me into the car, and we drove off. I stared out the window, thinking of my family, of how I had abandoned them for Roman. I felt the ache of it deep in my chest as fresh tears spilled down my face.

Linda glanced back at me. “What now?”

I wiped my tears away and looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I want to leave this country, go far away where the memory of Roman won’t hurt anymore.”

She nodded, and I let my head rest against the cool glass. The city passed in a blur as exhaustion took over, and I drifted into a restless sleep.

Two Weeks Later

I stared at my laptop, my tears dripping onto the keyboard as I looked at the photo Evelyn had "graciously" tagged me in. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

Scrolling through the posts, I stopped at the last one:

[You won’t believe what my husband got me! He’s such a wonderful father and husband.]

The post was by Evelyn, with a photo of a yacht. Anger and pain flared up in me, it was the exact yacht Roman had promised he would buy for me, naming it Mrs. Randall after me. Now, it was still named that, but for his new wife.

As I scrolled through more photos, wedding pictures, pictures of their kids, their happy life, my heart broke all over again. Everything I had lost.

I slammed the laptop shut and cried. I cried for my mistakes, for leaving my family, for never being able to have children. I cried.

I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. I just watched their posts on Facebook, Instagram, seeing their perfect life. Hate began to grow in my chest.

The pain of it all, Roman, Evelyn, the lies, pressed down on me. I had no more tears left, just a hollow pit in my stomach. But then, a knock on the door, and I thought it was Linda.

I was supposed to have left the country, but I was stuck in the apartment, drinking and crying, unable to move forward.

The knocking continued, louder, giving me a headache.

I stood up from the bed and walked toward the door.

“Linda, I know, I know, I…” I began, but when I opened the door, it wasn’t Linda. The man standing there was like a mountain, broad-shouldered and imposing. His dark eyes locked onto mine with such intensity that I froze, my heart racing. There were other men behind him, but none of them were as tall as he was. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

“You’ve got the wrong place, sir,” I said, but he smiled, dimples appearing on his tan face, and stopped me from closing the door.

“I think I have the right place, Amanda,” he said. The way he said my name, with that Italian accent, sent a chill down my spine.

“How do you know my name?”

“We’ll get to that, Amore. Open the door. I don’t like doing business in the open.”

I considered slamming the door and calling the police, but I quickly realized that wouldn’t work. This man was huge. He’d easily break down the door.

I had no choice. I nodded and opened the door wider. He stepped inside, leaving the other men outside. I gulped in fear and closed the door behind me, but before I could turn around, he pressed against me, pinning me to the door.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I was bracing myself for the worst, but then he spoke:

“How would you like to have revenge on those who’ve hurt you, mi amore?”

I struggled to my feet, brushing the dust from my pajamas as the fire cast a warm glow on my face. I watched in silence as fifteen years of memories turned to ash. Every picture we’d taken, every note he’d written for every occasion, every celebration, burning.

Tears of pain and fury streamed down my face. Not just because I was watching the pictures burn, but because each one reminded me of a lie. Every smile, every happy moment captured in those photos, was a well-crafted illusion. Every note he’d written, every sweet word, lies. He’d told me all those things, but behind every smile, hug, and kiss, he had another family. And the most painful part? It wasn’t just any woman, but the one who had stolen my chance at motherhood.

But I wouldn’t let it go. Roman and Evelyn would pay. Domenico was right. I couldn’t let them get away with this, scot-free. They needed to pay, and only then could I move on with my life.

Domenico Bellini. The name rang in my ears as I recalled our earlier conversation. He wasn’t just the CEO of Bellini Enterprises, a powerful conglomerate with ties to both legitimate business and the underworld. He was a man who understood betrayal, loss, and the hunger for revenge. His words still echoed in my mind, sharp and calculating: “If you want to reclaim what they took, you need to fight fire with fire.”

So, he proposed that I marry him. And together, we’d bring Roman and Evelyn down.

I didn’t understand why he was helping me. All I knew was that he had his own agenda, something to do with the CEO of the company Roman worked for. But if I married him, he was willing to help. I didn’t trust him, but after spending fifteen years with a man who’d deceived me, then discarded me with nothing but a measly sum as compensation, I was willing to do anything for revenge.

So, I dialed Domenico’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

“Have you had a change of heart, mia piccola furia?” he asked, his voice rich and teasing.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, Domenico. I’ll be your wife, as long as we make them pay.”

His deep chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. “Right choice, my little one. We’ll have so much fun bringing them down.”

After a brief discussion about the wedding details, I hung up the phone and let it fall to my side. I stared at the roaring fire. The same fire of vengeance burned deep inside me, scorching everything in its path.

“I will make you regret this, Roman,” I muttered with a bitter smile, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

Revenge is best served cold.

****

Two days had passed since my hasty court wedding to Domenico. Just the two of us, his sisters, Linda and his men. His sisters had welcomed me warmly, showing no concern that their brother had married someone he hardly knew. The day after the wedding, I began moving my things into his house.

The following day, over lunch, Domenico surprised me by asking about my parents. I hadn’t expected him to care. This wasn’t a real marriage, after all. But I told him everything, and to my shock, he promised to help me find them. The next day, he delivered, he found my family. And now, here I was, standing outside my parents house, Domenico had located in England.

“I’ll wait here for you, Mrs. Bellini,” the driver said, pulling me from my thoughts. I nodded, still adjusting to my new surname.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the house. My heart pounded in my chest, my palms sweaty. What would they think of me? Would they hate me? Of course, they would, but I just wanted closure, needed to settle things with them. How would my mother look? My father? My siblings?

The door creaked open, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw a young boy. At first, I thought it was my youngest brother, Michael, but then I realized, he couldn’t still be that young. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.

“Grandma, there’s a strange lady here crying,” the boy said, his voice full of confusion.

I touched my face and realized I was crying. I hadn’t even known.

An elderly voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

And then she appeared, my mother.

At the sight of her, I lost control. I rushed forward, my tears spilling freely. But before I could reach her, my mother fainted.

“Mom!” I shouted, panic rising in my chest as I ran to her side.

****

“I forgive you, Amanda. You were just a teenager who didn’t know any better,” my mother said, her voice quivering with age and emotion. She wasn’t the only one crying. My entire family, even my nieces and nephews who didn’t even know me, were in tears.

I wept for my father, the man I would never see again. The cancer that had ravaged his body had left him blind in his final years. Even then, he had asked for me, his voice full of love. I clutched his picture frame tightly to my chest, listening to the voice note he’d left for me the day he passed. I cried harder than I had in years, the loss overwhelming me. My siblings tried to comfort me, but the pain was too much.

Roman had done this. And while he was out there, living his life, I was left in the ruins of my own. My hatred for him only grew.

An hour later, my mother asked, “What about Roman, your husband?”

I smiled bitterly and explained everything to my family.

“That bastard,” my sister said, tears streaming down her face.

But I assured them that it was fine, that I had moved on. It wasn’t true, of course. I hadn’t moved on. Roman would pay. But I told them I was seeing someone else, someone I loved. I didn’t mention who he was or how we were already married. That part would come later.

“Visit us regularly, okay, Amanda?” my mom said, pulling me into one last hug.

I nodded, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. As I walked back to my car, I felt a strange sense of relief, yet still a burning desire for vengeance.

Back at my hotel, I opened the door and froze. Domenico was sitting on the couch, waiting for me. What was he doing here?

“Come here, Amanda,” he said, his tone soft, surprisingly not the usual teasing.

When I walked toward him, he pulled me onto his lap and rested my head on his shoulder. “Today wasn’t easy for you, my little firefly,” he murmured, his hand gently patting my head.

I nodded against his chest, still feeling the sting of everything that had happened.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, surprising me as he wiped my tears with his rough hand. I let out a quiet sob, pressing into his chest as he held me tightly.

“Tomorrow, we begin,” he said, his voice firm.