The next afternoon, I decided to go to Lorenzo’s estate to get my things.

If this was really the end, I had to erase every trace of myself from his life.

I let myself in with my key. The villa was as quiet as a tomb.

Lorenzo wasn't here. Probably with Juliana.

I went straight to the bedroom and started packing my clothes and jewelry.

Every piece held a memory. Every memory was now a joke.

Walking past his study, I noticed a hidden door, slightly ajar. I’d never seen it before.

My feet moved on their own. My hand was on the handle before I’d even made the choice. I stepped inside.

And the air left my lungs in a single, painful gasp.

The walls of the secret room were covered in oil paintings of Juliana.

Juliana at eighteen, her smile innocent. Juliana in a wedding dress, looking like a saint. Juliana sprawled on a bed, a languid, seductive look on her face.

Each painting was a masterpiece. Each one screamed of the artist's deep, obsessive love.

I counted. There were over twenty of them.

Some dated back more than a decade, before he and I were even together.

So, for the ten years we were "in love," he'd been secretly painting another woman.

While I thought I was his world, his heart was a shrine to someone else.

I was just her understudy. The thought was a shard of glass in my gut, and before I could even pull it out, I heard Lorenzo’s voice.

"Jules! Are you okay?"

I hurried out of the secret room just in time to see Lorenzo carrying Juliana through the front door.

Her face was pale, one ankle bare and swollen. She was hurt.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Jules twisted her ankle," Lorenzo said, gently setting her down on the sofa like she was made of glass.

He wouldn't look at me.

"Just a sprain?" I eyed Juliana's frail, pathetic act.

"Yes, I just missed a step on the stairs," she said weakly. "Thank God Lorenzo got there in time."

Lorenzo immediately knelt in front of her, examining her ankle. "Does it still hurt? I'll call the doctor right now."

Watching him kneel before another woman was like a knife in my gut.

"Lorenzo," my voice was ice. "Do you have any idea whose daughter she is?"

He looked up, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"She's the daughter of the homewrecker who destroyed my family," I spat. "And now you've brought her spawn into our bed."

Lorenzo's face darkened.

"Bella! What the hell are you saying?" he shot up. "What do their parents have to do with us? That's a fucked-up thing to say!"

"Fucked up?" I laughed, a bitter sound. "You two are what's fucked up!"

"Enough!" Lorenzo roared. "Stop being so fucking dramatic, Bella."

Dramatic.

That’s what he called it.

Just then, Juliana held up her right hand. A gold ring flashed in the light.

"Bella, are you mad about this?" she asked, all innocence. "Lorenzo said it was just a regular ring."

A regular ring.

My heart seized.

It was the Moretti family signet ring, passed down for generations, engraved with the family's lion crest.

"Lorenzo, remember when I begged you to let me wear this?" I stared at him.

His face went pale. "Bella..."

"What did you tell me then?" I pushed. "You said it was against tradition. That there were rules."

"So what about now? Why does she get to wear it?"

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. "Nothing is going on," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "I already promised you another party. Stop making a fucking scene."

Nothing is going on.

I looked at them and wanted to scream with laughter.

"Ah!" Juliana suddenly clutched her chest, her face turning white. "My... my heart... it hurts..."

"Jules!" Lorenzo scooped her into his arms. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

He rushed out with her, throwing over his shoulder, "Bella, we'll talk when I get back."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

I looked around and a brutal truth hit me.

In this entire house, the home we’d supposedly shared for ten years, there wasn’t a single photo of me.

Not in the living room. Not in the bedroom. Not in the study.

But in his secret room, there were walls full of Juliana.

I walked back into the secret room and looked at the paintings again.

Each one was so full of love, so full of devotion.

And me? In ten years, I didn't even get a single picture frame.

I started clearing my things.

The matching mugs we used. In the trash.

The framed photos of us. In my bag to take away.

The necklace he gave me on our first date. I left it on the nightstand.

Six more days.

Six more days until I gave Lorenzo his final gift.

Six more days until I was done with Lorenzo Moretti for good.

I had just walked out of the estate when my phone rang.

Lorenzo's name flashed on the screen.

"Bella," he sounded tired. "Jules is fine. Just a light sprain."

I said nothing.

"Listen, I know you were angry earlier," his tone softened. "I'm willing to forgive what you said to Jules. I know you were just worried about me."

Forgive me?

I almost laughed out loud.

"There's a big game tonight. I need you there with me," he continued. "Just like old times. You're my lucky charm."

I was about to say no when I heard Juliana’s voice whining on his end of the line.

"Lorenzo, I want to..."

"One second," Lorenzo said gently to her, then back to me, "Bella. Eight o'clock. Wear the red dress."

I gripped my phone.

If I didn't show, the sharks at that table would smell blood. They would see the great Lorenzo Moretti's fiancée being publicly replaced by some fresh piece of arm candy.

I couldn't let them see me like that.

I couldn't let them know I'd already lost.

Not yet. For these last few days, I would hold on to my pride.

"Fine," I said.

After hanging up, I stood by the gates and let out a cold laugh.

Juliana's heart was perfectly fine.

She'd been pulling that shit since we were kids.

Every time she wanted something of mine, she'd clutch her chest and say her heart hurt.

My piano, my prom dress, anything I loved—my father would force me to give it to her.

I thought I was too old to fall for that trick again.

But here we were. She was using the same cheap move to steal my man.

And Lorenzo, the great Don, fell for it like a fool.

At eight o'clock, I walked into the game wearing that blood-red, backless dress.

This was New York's most exclusive private club, a place only the real power players could enter.

"Isabella!" someone called out. "Back to being Lorenzo's lucky charm tonight?"

I smiled, nodded, and took my seat beside Lorenzo.

It was the place I knew best. My seat for the last ten years.

Every time Lorenzo had a high-stakes game, I was right there.

For every hand he lost, I'd drink a glass of whiskey for him.

It was our thing.

Once, I drank a dozen glasses straight and ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach.

Lorenzo held my hand, his eyes full of pain. "Don't ever do that again."

But I told him he was worth it.

The next game, I was right back in that seat.

Because I wanted to be the only rose by his side.

I wanted him to look at me and see no one else.

"Let's begin," Lorenzo said.

He lost the first hand.

I picked up the whiskey and downed it. The burn was searing, but my face didn't move.

Second hand. He lost again.

I drank again.

Third hand...

"Lorenzo!"

A familiar voice cut through the room.

Everyone turned. Juliana appeared in the doorway, a vision in a white sundress. A goddamn lamb walking into a slaughterhouse.

"Jules?" Lorenzo stood up, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," she walked toward him, her eyes welling up with pathetic tears. "I was all alone at home."

Low whistles cut through the silence. A few mocking chuckles.

"Well, well, Lorenzo," someone drawled from across the table. "Didn't know it was bring-your-side-piece-to-work day."

"She's a lot younger than your fiancée."

"No wonder your engagement party..."

Their mocking eyes landed on me.

I sat there, a perfect smile plastered on my face, acting like I heard nothing.

Lorenzo glanced at me, then walked over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Bella, go sit in the back."

His tone wasn't a request. It was an order.

The room went silent.

Everyone watched me, waiting for the explosion.

I stood up, my smile never faltering.

"Of course," I said. "Juliana does look like a much better lucky charm."

I retreated to a dark corner of the room. Juliana’s voice, sickly sweet, followed me like a poison dart. "Thank you, sister."

Lorenzo gave Juliana his seat and stood behind her, coaching her.

"Play that card," he whispered in her ear.

"Raise the bet here," his hand covered hers.

The intimacy of it reminded me of when we first got together.

The game went on.

Maybe Juliana really was his good luck charm. Lorenzo started winning. Hand after hand.

His pile of chips grew higher and higher. The smile on his face grew wider.

"I win!" At the end of the final hand, Lorenzo raised a glass of champagne.

He threw an arm around Juliana's shoulders, declaring his victory to the room.

Then, he picked up a $100,000 chip from the table and pushed it in front of her.

"A reward for my lucky charm," he announced.

The room erupted in applause.

Everyone was congratulating them, acting like they were the real couple.

I sat in my corner, picked up my whiskey, and drained the glass.

The alcohol burned in my stomach, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my heart.

My phone buzzed. A text from my friend, Sarah.

Are you okay?

I looked at the scene across the room—Lorenzo and Juliana, wrapped in each other's arms—and slowly typed back.

I've never seen things more clearly.

I couldn't watch anymore.

While everyone was celebrating Lorenzo's win, I slipped out of the club.

No one noticed I was gone. Not even Lorenzo.

His eyes only saw Juliana.

Back at the apartment, I poured a glass of red wine, trying to calm the storm inside me.

But then my phone lit up. A new post from Juliana.

It was a picture of her and Lorenzo on a beach, the night wind whipping through their hair.

Lorenzo was holding her from behind, both of them watching a massive firework display light up the sky.

The caption: Finally, someone to watch the fireworks with. A perfect night.

My hand trembled.

Lorenzo had never set off fireworks for me.

In ten years, I'd asked so many times. He always said it was childish, a waste of time.

But for Juliana, he'd light up the whole damn sky.

I threw my phone aside, forcing the pain down.

It was starting to feel numb. Like my heart had been stabbed so many times it had forgotten how to bleed.

I managed to change into my nightgown and crawl into bed.

Just as I was drifting off, I heard a key in the lock.

Lorenzo was back.

I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He walked into the bedroom, smelling of booze and salty sea air.

"Bella," he whispered.

I didn't move.

He stripped down, climbed into bed, and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"I know you're awake," his voice was slurred. "Why'd you leave tonight without saying anything?"

I stayed silent.

His hands started to roam, fueled by alcohol and urgency.

His kiss tasted of bitter whiskey and another woman's perfume.

I didn't fight him.

I used to melt at his touch. But tonight, my head was clear.

This was it. A goodbye.

A secret funeral for ten years of my stupid love. At least he was good in bed.

My eyes were wide open. I watched the control drain from his face, the raw hunger in his eyes. I even moved with him, giving him every trick I'd learned over the last decade.

He was rougher than ever, like he wanted to crush me right into him.

Then, at the very end, he breathed her name against my ear.

"Jules..."

I went cold.

I stopped moving. Went completely still.

Thank you, Lorenzo.

Thank you for finally killing the last piece of me that still loved you. And for doing it so brutally.

I shoved him off me.

He stopped, dazed, and stared at me. "Bella..." He tried to explain.

"Get out," I said. My voice was ice. No emotion at all.

"Bella, I was drunk..."

"I said, get out." It wasn't a request. It was an order.

He stared into my eyes and found nothing there. No anger. No sadness. Just a dead, empty space.

He finally stumbled out of the room.

I curled up under the covers. Not a single tear fell. And then I slept.

After ten years, the dream was finally over.

The next morning, a text from Lorenzo lit up my phone. "I've arranged the engagement party for five days from now. It will be grand. Be there."

I stared at the message and wanted to laugh.

He was playing house with Juliana and planning an engagement party with me.

Who the hell did he think I was?

As I was thinking, my phone pinged again. A new post from Juliana's private account.

It was a photo of her and Lorenzo in a searing, passionate kiss.

The marks on her neck were dark and angry.

The caption read: He was so worried when I told him I wasn't feeling well. Sent me straight home to rest. My hero.

I stared at the timestamp. 11 PM last night.

Lorenzo didn't get to my place until 2 AM.

So after being with her, he came to me and used me like a release valve.

And in the heat of the moment, he called out her name.

I shut off my phone and walked to the bathroom.

Staring at my reflection, I thought of the Isabella from ten years ago.

Back then, I was the most dazzling mafia princess in Chicago.

Men fell at my feet. Women seethed with jealousy.

I could have anything. The best jewels, the most beautiful clothes, the fastest cars.

But I chose Lorenzo.

For him, I gave up everyone else.

For him, I became a pathetic stand-in.

For him, I lost myself.

But it was almost over. Just four more days of this hell, and I would be that princess, Isabella, once more.