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.

Four days until our ten-year anniversary. Four days until Lorenzo's second attempt at an engagement party.

I sat in my studio, a videotape in my hand.

This was my big gift for Lorenzo.

A souvenir he would never, ever forget.

For the next two days, Lorenzo didn't come home.

But he texted me every day.

"I promise I won't let you down."

"Tomorrow, I'll give you the perfect engagement party."

"You'll be the most beautiful fiancée in New York."

I stared at the messages, my nails digging into my palms.

Perfect? Beautiful?

He was juggling me and Juliana and had the nerve to talk about perfection?

Meanwhile, Juliana's posts were like knives in my heart.

A photo of Lorenzo with her at my family home in Chicago, having dinner with my father and stepmother.

Juliana had her arm linked through Lorenzo's, smiling like a flower in bloom.

My father was clapping Lorenzo on the shoulder. My stepmother was serving them food.

The three of them, laughing and talking.

They looked like a perfect little family.

And me, his own daughter, I was the outsider.

That used to tear me apart. Now, I just watched. Cold. I burned every detail into my memory.

It's okay, Juliana. Enjoy your moment.

It won't last long.

The day before the party, just when I thought I wouldn't see him again, Lorenzo pulled up to my apartment.

"My mother wants to see you."

I didn't want to go, but he insisted.

As I got into the passenger seat, I smelled a perfume that wasn't mine.

I closed my eyes, telling myself to ignore it. One more day and I'd be free.

Then my hand slipped down into the gap of the seat. My fingers brushed against lace.

Black lace. A pair of panties.

I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned.

Lorenzo was focused on driving. He didn't notice a thing.

My stomach churned.

I could picture it. Juliana, sitting right here. Lorenzo's hands on her.

Her soft moans as he kissed her, smearing her lipstick.

The panties torn off.

Right here in this car.

Just like us, over the years.

"Ugh..." I gagged.

"What's wrong?" Lorenzo asked, clueless.

He opened the console cooler and held out a coffee.

"You look pale. Drink this."

I shook my head. That's when I saw it.

A half-used tube of Chanel lipstick.

There was still a lip print on the side.

"Car sick," I gritted out. "I'm sitting in the back."

I rolled down the window, and by the time we arrived, the sickly-sweet smell was finally gone.

Mrs. Moretti was waiting in the living room.

Her eyes sized me up, and she wasn't pleased.

"Isabella." Her voice was pure ice. "You made our family a joke. All of New York is laughing at us because of that disaster of an engagement party."

She lifted her coffee cup, a picture of elegance.

"I know Lorenzo has been seeing that girl. Men need their... distractions. But this engagement is business. It's about the family name."

She set the cup down.

Her eyes narrowed.

"I don't care what you have to do. Tomorrow goes off without a hitch. You need to remember, it is a privilege to become a Moretti wife. Everyone knows you're his fiancée. We're giving you this title. So you will be grateful, and you will do your part for this family."

She wanted me to fall in line.

To accept his little slut on the side, just so I could keep the ring on my finger.

She expected me to be grateful for the scraps.

I looked down, hiding the sarcasm in my eyes.

"I understand, Mrs. Moretti." I forced a smile.

I thought about the little gift I had waiting for them. All of Juliana's dirty secrets.

A real smile touched my lips then. A cold one.

Let's see how proud you are tomorrow, when the Moretti name is dragged through the mud all over again.

On the way back, Lorenzo's phone rang.

"Jules? ...What? Your stomach hurts? I'm on my way!"

He was instantly on edge, like it was a life-or-death call.

He'd never been that worried about me when I was sick.

"Go be with your sister," my voice was eerily calm. "She needs you."

Lorenzo let out a breath, as if my permission was some great gift.

"You're so understanding."

Understanding?

I wanted to laugh.

After tomorrow, you'll be nothing to me.

...

Back at my apartment, a beautiful box was waiting at the door.

The wedding dress.

A text from Lorenzo came through: "For tomorrow's party. You'll be the most beautiful fiancée. I promise."

The most beautiful fiancée.

I picked up the videotape, a crazed light in my eyes.

You want a perfect engagement party, Lorenzo?

I'll give you one you'll never forget.