"Apologize?"

I repeated his word, my voice laced with disbelief. It was the most insane thing I'd ever heard.

"Why should I apologize?" My voice was quiet, but cold as ice. "For something I never did?"

Lucas’s brow furrowed, his anger rising.

Before he could speak, Carla rushed forward and dropped to her knees at my father's feet, her sobs wracking her body.

"Lorenzo! Look at her! She still won't admit it! She can't stand the sight of me and my daughter!"

She looked up, her face streaked with tears, and pointed at me. "Do you think this is the first time? It’s not! She’s hated us since her mother died! She once sent men to our apartment to beat us, to warn us to stay away from you!"

My father and Lucas stared, stunned.

"I was too scared to tell you. I didn't want to cause you any trouble…" Carla fumbled in her purse and pulled out a phone, playing a recording. "But I recorded the call she made to me later. Listen!"

My own voice, distorted with fury, filled the air: "You and your bastard daughter better disappear! If you don't, I swear you'll pay for everything you've done!"

It was the call I’d made after discovering the vicious texts she’d sent my mother before she died.

But now, paired with Carla's performance, my threat sounded like a confession.

I looked from my father to Lucas, my eyes pleading with them to see the truth, to see me.

But my father, Lorenzo Gallo, only gathered Carla into his arms, comforting her.

And my fiancé, Lucas Moretti, had his eyes only on the weak, trembling Sofia. He scooped her into his arms, yelling, "Doctor! Get a doctor, now!"

No one looked at me.

As Lucas walked past me, he paused. He finally turned his head, and the eyes I had once loved so much were now filled with nothing but icy disappointment.

"Bella," he said. "I have spoiled you rotten."

He turned to his men. "Take her downstairs. Let her think about what she's done."

With that, he walked away, carrying Sofia, and didn't look back.

I was dragged to a cold, damp cell in the basement.

The door was locked from the outside. There were no windows, only a single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The first day, no one brought food. The second day, nothing.

I finally understood. This wasn't about giving me time to think. It was punishment.

Later, a young guard took pity on me. He whispered that the new Mrs. Gallo had given the order, that she'd paid everyone off to make me suffer.

On the third day, my body ached and my stomach burned with hunger, but the pain in my heart was a festering wound.

That afternoon, during a shift change, I saw my chance and I ran.

I escaped that house of horrors.

But the world outside was just another kind of hell.

I went to a bank to get cash, only to find all my credit cards and bank accounts had been frozen. I had nothing. No money, nowhere to go.

The wind cut through my thin formal dress. I was a mess, wandering the streets.

People stared, their looks a mix of curiosity and disgust.

"Hey, isn't that her? The Gallo girl."

"Yeah, the one Sofia posted about. The one who tried to steal her own sister's husband."

"Shameless. Trying to trap him with a baby."

"Serves her right. I heard she used to bully her own sister. Look at her now, like a stray dog."

Sofia had already launched her attack on social media, painting me as a vindictive homewrecker.

The whispers and insults of strangers hit me like stones. I covered my ears and ran.

I ducked into a dark alleyway, desperate to escape, but a group of street thugs blocked my path.

"Well, well, look what we have here. Isn't it the high-and-mighty Gallo girl?" the leader sneered, closing in on me. "What's the matter? Get kicked out? Why don't you come play with us for a while?"

I backed away in terror until my back hit a cold brick wall. There was nowhere left to run.

In my desperation, I thought of my last lifeline. With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number.

Lucas, please, pick up…

It rang three times before the call was mercilessly disconnected.

My last shred of hope turned to ash.

Just as a grimy hand reached for my face—

SCREEECH—

The shriek of tires tore through the alley's silence. A black Rolls-Royce stopped at the entrance, its headlights blinding.

The door opened. A tall, imposing figure stepped out, silhouetted against the light.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His steps were steady, each one radiating a suffocating power.

It was Arthur Russo. The King of Chicago.

The thugs blanched. "Arthur Russo! What are you doing here?"

Arthur Russo ignored them. His gaze cut right through the scum and landed on me.

Then, he raised his hand. A black pistol was pointed directly at the leader's head.

"Who gave you the balls," he said, his voice deadly calm, "to touch my woman?"