I woke up in my bedroom. The wounds on my back throbbed.

Reginald was sitting by the bed, his eyes bloodshot.

"You're awake." He reached for my forehead. "How do you feel?"

I flinched away from his touch.

"Is that proof enough?" My voice was a rasp. "My innocence?"

Reginald froze, then gave a bitter laugh.

"Rosabella, just stop," he sighed, the sound utterly exhausted. "Leo is three years old. He saw you getting whipped and panicked. He said it to save you. You should be thanking him."

Thank him? Thank him for framing me, then changing his story when he got scared?

I stared at Reginald, and the last flicker of warmth in my heart went out.

"You still don't believe me."

"It's not about believing you or not—"

"It is!" I pushed myself up, sucking in a breath as the wounds on my back tore. "No matter what the truth is, you will never, ever believe me!"

Reginald's face hardened.

"Fine. Let's say you're telling the truth." He stood up, pacing the room. "But you almost got Felicia killed when she was pregnant, and now you've terrified Leo—"

"I didn't terrify him!"

"Enough!" Reginald spun around. "What's past is past!"

He took a deep breath, sat back down on the bed, and tried to pull me into his arms.

"Rosabella, you will always be my cherished princess." His voice turned soft again, that magnetic tone he thought was so charming. "As long as you stop going after Felicia, we can start over. Just like before."

Start over?

In his mind, everything was my fault.

I was the vicious woman "going after" Felicia.

I was the sinner who needed to be "forgiven."

"Felicia lost her parents when she was young. Our family took her in," Reginald continued. "She needs protection more than you do. You need to learn to be more generous."

I was framed, thrown in prison for three years, had my son taken from me, and now I had to be generous?

"Rosabella?" Reginald waited. When I didn't answer, he asked, "Are you listening to me?"

I looked at him. I had nothing left to say.

This man would never get it.

In his heart, Felicia would always be the poor, helpless girl who needed saving.

And I would always be the villain. The vicious sister who had to step aside.

Reginald waited a bit longer, his face growing dark.

"I get it." He stood up, his tone turning cold and hard. "You're still angry with me."

He walked to the door, then turned back.

"I'm going to Felicia's gallery. She was terrified by what happened last night. She needs someone."

Was that a threat? Or a test?

"Go," I said calmly.

Reginald's pupils shrank. He clearly hadn't expected that.

The old me would have cried, screamed, done anything to stop him from seeing Felicia.

The new me was perfectly still.

"You really don't care?" His voice was laced with disbelief.

"Why should I?"

Reginald just stood there, his face getting darker and darker.

"Fine. Good." He let out a cold laugh. The door slammed shut behind him.

I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes.

A few hours later, I woke up to a series of texts.

Four of them. All from Felicia.

[You bitch, can't you see Reginald really loves me?]

[Why are you still fighting me for him? Didn't you suffer enough in prison?]

[He promised he was coming to my gallery. What did you do to stop him?]

[I'm going to show you who Reginald really cares about.]

I deleted the messages. It was all so pathetic.

What was she even trying to do?

The wounds on my back were still bleeding slightly. The painkillers made me drowsy.

My eyelids grew heavy. I fell into a deep sleep.

I don't know how long I was out before a piercing alarm went off.

I shot up in bed. The air was thick with smoke.

Acrid, choking smoke.

I jumped out of bed and saw the orange glow of fire painting the sky outside my window.

The manor was on fire.

No, just my wing. The east wing.

"Damn it!"

I raced to the door, grabbing the handle. The metal was already hot. I twisted.

It wouldn't budge.

I peered through the crack. A flaming beam had collapsed, barricading the door. Trapping me.

"Reginald!" I pounded on the door. "Reginald! Help!"

I could hear chaos downstairs. Footsteps, shouting.

"Boss! Miss Felicia is trapped in the living room!"

"Quick! Get the fire extinguishers!"

"The west wing fire is under control!"

"What about the east wing?"

"The east wing is too dangerous! The whole thing's about to collapse!"

I kept pounding.

"Reginald! I'm in here! I'm trapped!"

My voice was weak, lost in the smoke.

Then, I heard my father’s voice, raw with panic. "Reginald, please! Get Felicia! Save her first!"

"Reginald..." My call was a choked whisper, eaten by the smoke.

Silence.

Then, footsteps. Hurrying away from me. Toward her.

The smoke grew thicker. I started coughing violently.

Flames were licking the edges of the room. The carpet caught fire.

I finally understood.

Felicia was behind this.

She wanted to show me who Reginald would save when it was a matter of life and death.

The room was getting hotter. My lungs felt like they were on fire.

As the flames reached the bed, I grabbed the crystal vase from the nightstand and threw it at the floor-to-ceiling window.

The sound of shattering glass was tiny against the roar of the fire.

Cold air rushed in, giving me a moment's relief from the smoke.

I carefully crawled toward the edge of the balcony.

Reginald’s POV

I carried Felicia out of the living room. She clung to my neck, her body trembling.

"It's okay." I set her down on the safety of the lawn. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Felicia shook her head, tears in her eyes. "Reginald, thank you."

I looked at the east wing, still burning, and my heart seized.

"Rosabella."

I turned to run back in.

"Reginald!" Don Magnus grabbed my arm. "Are you crazy? The east wing is about to collapse!"

"Let go of me!" I shook him off. "Rosabella is still in there!"

"If you die, what about Leo? What about Felicia?" Magnus held on tight. "What about the family?"

"What about Rosabella?" I yelled at the old man, the first time I'd ever raised my voice to him. "Isn't she your daughter?!"

Magnus froze.

Just then—

SPLASH!

A huge splash came from the other side of the manor.

We all turned. Someone had jumped into the fountain.

My blood ran cold.

"Rosabella!"

I ran, not caring about anything else.

—

Rosabella’s POV

The cold water swallowed me. The impact knocked me out instantly.

The last thing I heard was Reginald’s guttural scream.

"Rosabella!"

But he was too late.

I woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of a machine. Reginald was slumped in a chair by the bed.

His suit was creased, his hair a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. He looked… broken.

He shot up when my eyes fluttered open. "You're awake," he breathed, his voice raw. "Rosabella. How do you feel?"

"Where's Felicia?" I asked.

"She's fine." Reginald took my hand. "Why didn't you wait for me to save you?"

I just looked at him. The question was a joke.

"Were you?" I pressed, my voice flat. "If you could only save one of us. Me, or Felicia. Who would you have chosen?"

The silence that followed was louder than the fire. He couldn't even look at me.

He didn't have to. We both knew the answer.

"Rosabella... I..."

"Forget it." I closed my eyes. "I'm tired."

Reginald didn't leave.

For the next few days, he never left my side.

He fed me my medicine, changed my bandages, and even helped me with my physical therapy.

It was just like when we were first married.

Back then, it was just the two of us.

No Felicia, no family drama, no betrayals and lies. Just Reginald and me.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, stroking my forehead.

"No."

"Liar." His eyes were full of apology. "It's all my fault."

Is it?

You're finally admitting it? But I said nothing.

A week later, the doctor said I could go home.

Reginald came to pick me up himself.

"Let's go home," he said, starting the car.

Home. Was that place still my home?

Halfway there, Reginald's phone rang.

"What? Felicia's at the docks?" He frowned. "What's she doing in a place like that alone?"

The dockyards were one of the most dangerous parts of Chicago.

Rival gangs, turf wars, frequent shootouts.

"She's in trouble?" His voice got tense. "Okay, I'm on my way."

He hung up and pulled the car over.

"Rosabella, I have to go to the docks."

"Now?"

"Felicia's in trouble." Reginald unbuckled his seatbelt. "You go on home. I'll have a driver come get you."

He was going to leave me here?

I looked around.

He’d left me on the South Side. At dusk. The streets were deserted, windows barred like vacant eyes. This wasn't just a bad neighborhood; this was enemy territory.

"Reginald, this area is—"

"I'm sorry, it's an emergency." He was already out of the car. "The driver will be here any minute."

Thump.

The car door closed. The engine roared and faded away.

Leaving me alone on an empty street.

The wind was cold. It made my wounds ache.

I waited for thirty minutes. No driver came.

I took out my phone. No signal. I laughed at myself.

I was just glad I was leaving soon. I wouldn't have to put up with this anymore.

It took me almost two hours to walk back. Thankfully, I didn't run into any trouble.

It was ten o'clock by the time I got back to the manor.

The living room was quiet. Looked like no one was home.

I started for the stairs but heard voices coming from the study.

Reginald's voice.

"Felicia, why did you lie? There were no rival families at the docks. Why did you make me go there?"

Felicia burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

"Reginald, you've changed." Her voice was full of hurt. "Ever since Rosabella came back, you don't care about me anymore."

"Felicia, she's my wife. I have to love and protect her..."

"But you used to love me!" Felicia cried harder. "You only went after her because of our bet, to protect me! Have you forgotten?!"

A bomb went off in my head.

My mind went completely blank.

I froze, unable to believe what I just heard.

Rosabella's POV

A bet? What bet?

My hand gripped the doorframe, my knuckles white.

In the study, Reginald was silent for a long time.

"That's all in the past," he finally said, his voice quiet.

"The past?" Felicia's voice cracked. "Reginald, how can you say that?"

Suddenly, she launched herself at him.

I watched her stand on her toes and press her lips to his.

My heart stopped beating. Reginald took a step back.

"Felicia, don't."

"Why not?" She clung to him. "Back then, I said I liked the Moretti heir. You got jealous. You made a bet with me—"

"Enough."

"You bet me," she purred, her voice laced with venomous triumph. "You said if you could make the untouchable Rosabella Rossi fall in love with you, I would be yours for a night. And you won! You made her fall."

"We got together after that. The bet was off," Reginald said calmly. "Felicia, you don't have to—"

"It was off?" she cut him off. "What about now?"

She kissed him again.

This time, Reginald didn't pull away.

For a terrible, stretched-out second, he was still. Then, I watched in horror as he closed his eyes and his mouth met hers. He didn't just accept the kiss. He returned it.

It felt like an eternity. Long enough for the last ember of hope in my chest to turn to ash.

I turned and walked away. The two in the study never even noticed.

They were lost in each other's arms.

Just like three years ago.

I drove. The engine of my Maserati was a scream in the night, matching the one trapped in my own throat. I was heading back to the Rossi estate. Not for a fight. Just to retrieve the last pieces of a girl who no longer existed.

An hour later, I was standing at the gates of my childhood home.

The guards recognized me.

"Miss Rosabella? It's so late, are you—"

"I'm here to get something."

They didn't stop me.

I was still a Rossi, after all.

At least in name.

I went straight to the second floor.

I pushed open the door to my old room.

And I froze.

It wasn't my room anymore.

The walls were covered in oil paintings, all of them Felicia's.

A painter's easel and palette stood in the corner.

My bed was gone, replaced by a marble sculpting stand.

It was Felicia's art studio now.

All my childhood memories. Erased.

I searched the room and finally found my things in a cardboard box.

The hand-knit scarf from my grandmother, my old camera, some photos.

All of it just tossed in a corner, covered in dust.

I carefully picked up my grandmother's scarf.

She made it for me right before she died, with beautiful, embroidered flowers.

Now it was crumpled and creased.

"Still holding on to old things, I see."

I turned. My father was standing in the doorway.

"Why are you still keeping all this junk?"

Junk?

These were the only good memories I had left.

"I came to get my things," I said calmly.

"Your things?" Magnus scoffed. "Rosabella, this isn't your room anymore. Felicia needed a studio, so I gave it to her."

"I know."

I continued packing my grandmother's things.

Once I was done, I carried the box downstairs.

Magnus was in the living room, talking with a few of his men.

They stopped when they saw me.

"Rosabella." Magnus looked at the box in my arms. "You're taking that with you?"

"Yes."

"Good." Magnus gave a curt nod. "It's for the best. For the family. Let Reginald go. Give him to Felicia. She has the temperament to be a proper Donna."

Give him to Felicia?

I looked at this man.

The man who was supposed to love and protect me.

"If I am your daughter, why do you always make me give way to Felicia?" My voice was quiet. "My whole life, in every fight, you always took her side."

"Rosabella—"

Magnus opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The room was silent.

His men all looked at the floor, not daring to speak.

"Answer me," my voice was dangerously quiet. "Am I even your blood?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. His face went dark, a mask of pure fury.

"I wish to God I'd never had you!" he finally bellowed.

The words hit me like a slap across the face.

My fingers stroked the soft wool of my grandmother's scarf.

It reminded me of her warm hugs when I was a child.

The only warmth I'd ever known.

And now that was gone, too.

"Fine," I said softly, my voice so calm it surprised even me. "I'll leave. You can pretend you never had a daughter."