He said nothing else. He swept Serena Bellucci up in his arms and turned his back on me, carrying her out of the room without a second glance.

I stood where I was. My whole body felt frozen.

In that moment, I truly could not believe those words had come out of his mouth.

The cold crept up from somewhere deep inside my chest, spreading outward as though I had fallen into a pit of ice.

How I made it back to the estate, I couldn't say. The drive was a blur. The whole way, I held everything in, jaw clenched, refusing to let a single tear fall.

By the time I walked through the doors, my eyes were swollen red beyond hiding.

Marta saw the mark on my face and went pale. She rushed over, the kitchen staff trailing behind her, all of them talking over one another. Who did this? Was it an outsider? They wanted to call Dante, bring him home, make him answer for it.

"Don't."

I stopped them quietly.

Every wound I carried, he had put there himself.

I sat by the window in the upstairs room, pressing a cloth of crushed ice to my cheek for a full hour before the swelling finally began to ease. Through the glass, the compound lights cut sharp lines across the courtyard. Two soldiers smoked by the gate, unaware of anything.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Serena Bellucci.

"Signora, did you make it home? I'm already at the hospital. Dante spoils me too much. I only fainted for a second and he reserved the entire VIP floor, brought in over a dozen specialists just to examine me."

"Oh, by the way, how's your face? I'm so sorry I didn't hold back. It must really hurt. Would you like to come to the hospital? I'll be generous and share one of my doctors with you. Wouldn't want you to end up scarred."

I read it once. Then I forwarded the message directly to Dante.

He didn't reply until after midnight.

"Serena meant well."

I stared at those three words, and I couldn't help it. I laughed.

I kept laughing, and then the tears came down.

The next second, I sent him a voice message.

"You're so eager to protect her? Then marry her. Bring her home right now. I'll step aside. I'll even wish you both a hundred years of happiness."

This time, he replied fast.

"Vera, why do you keep saying things you don't mean? I've told you so many times — my wife will only ever be you. Girls like her are nothing. Just entertainment. Don't read so much into it. Get some rest. I'll come home tomorrow and spend the day with you."

I read the message, and all I felt was a vast, hollow exhaustion.

Like throwing a punch into cotton. No impact. No sound. Nothing coming back.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh, too tired to trade another word with him over things that meant nothing, and turned off my phone.

The next day.

After lunch, I drove to the old Moretti estate. I brought the imperial jade set that Donna Winslow had given me on my wedding day. The necklace, the earrings, the bracelet. Heirloom pieces, supposedly passed through the family for generations. Sacred things.

My timing was poor.

Don Winslow and Donna Winslow had left for Bali at dawn. The estate steward told me they wouldn't return for a month.

I said nothing more. I left the velvet case with the steward, turned, and walked out.

My thumb pressed the worn edge of my grandmother's pocket watch as I crossed the gravel drive. By the time I reached the car, my hand was steady.

After leaving the old estate, I went to a spa in the city. Afterward, I stopped at a boutique and bought over a dozen pairs of earrings that caught my eye.

When I finally returned home, the lights in the main room were already on.

Dante sat on the leather sofa. The table in front of him was covered in gift boxes, stacked neatly, ribbons and branded tissue spilling from their edges.

He heard me come in. Set his phone down. Looked up.

"The steward says you returned the heirloom set?"

"I did."

He exhaled slowly. Rose from the couch and came to sit beside me.

"Still angry? Come on. Don't be like this. I brought all of these for you." He gestured at the boxes. "Just forgive me this once. Alright?"

I looked at him, and something in me almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity.

In his mind, returning the heirlooms was a tantrum. A mood. A wife throwing a fit because she needed more attention.

Not a woman who no longer wanted a single thread connecting her to him.

He was so certain. So impossibly certain that I would never leave.

That certainty was why he dared do whatever he pleased. Why he could propose that they each "have their own fun" as though it were reasonable. Why he could parade other women in front of me, again and again, and expect me to still be sitting here when he came home.

I didn't answer.

I glanced at the familiar logos stamped across the gift boxes, and something cold and mocking flickered behind my eyes.

"What I want," I said, "can only ever be one of a kind."

He went still for a moment.

He probably hadn't expected me to know he'd bought the same things for Serena Bellucci.

He recovered quickly.

"Vera, you've got it wrong. I genuinely wanted to make things right, so I had Serena help me pick everything out. When I saw she liked them too, I just grabbed a second set. Don't get upset over something this small, all right?"

Small.

I was so tired of that word.

I reached out and swept the gift boxes off the table in one motion.

"The gifts can come in multiples. So does your love come in multiples too?"

My voice shook, and I couldn't stop it.

"Dante Moretti, the thing I regret most right now is…"

My eyes burned red.

The rest of the words wouldn't come.

But he already understood.

His expression shifted. He stood immediately and closed his hand around my wrist.

"Vera, you have to believe me. You're the only one in my heart. Otherwise I never would have married you. Give me a few more years. Once I've gotten it out of my system, I'll come back to you. I promise."

I looked at him, and all at once the exhaustion hit me like a wall.

Round and round. Always the same hollow, counterfeit promises.

I had no desire to hear another word.

I pulled my hand free. My voice came out flat. Not a single ripple.

"Then we'll wait."

He studied my face as it settled back into calm. He must have thought I'd finally stopped being angry, because his own expression softened a few degrees.

He bent down and gathered the scattered bags from the floor, one by one, and held them out to me.

I knew he hadn't understood what I meant.

But I didn't care enough to explain.

I took the bags and turned for the stairs.

What I was waiting for had never been the day he came to his senses.

What I was waiting for was the end of the thirty-day dissolution period.

My birthday was coming soon.

Don Winslow and Donna Winslow were abroad, but they still remembered. They'd had a jeweled tiara flown in from Europe, something worth a small fortune.

The delivery address was the Moretti family's main office at the shipping company headquarters downtown.

When I got the message, my first instinct was to tell them I'd already signed the dissolution papers with Dante. But they were still traveling, still enjoying themselves, and I didn't want to ruin that. So I held it in.

I drove to Moretti headquarters.

The birthday gift was in Dante's office.

He was in a sit-down with his captains, so I went in alone.

But the moment I pushed the door open, I saw that Serena Bellucci had already torn away the outer wrapping.

That dazzling tiara was sitting on her head.

When she saw me, a flash of panic crossed her face. Then the mask dropped into place: wide eyes, trembling chin, the frightened little creature she played so well.

"Signora, I didn't expect you…"

I had no patience for her performance. I walked straight to her and reached for the tiara.

"I'm here to collect what's mine."

Something bitter flickered behind Serena's eyes. Jealousy. Resentment.

Her fingers tightened around the tiara and would not let go.

She wanted it that badly?

I was about to release my grip when I saw her deliberately press her finger into one of the sharp points at the crown's peak.

A bead of bright red blood welled up from her fingertip.

The next second she folded onto the leather sofa, whimpering softly, tears already forming.

"Signora, I just thought it was beautiful. I only wanted to admire it for a moment. Why would you do this to me?"

Before I could react, a force slammed into me from behind.

I was shoved hard. My whole body crashed into the edge of the low table. My forehead struck the corner with a crack, and the pain spread instantly, hot blood seeping down from my temple.

My face went white. I sucked in a sharp breath and looked up at Dante, who had just come through the door.

He didn't look at me.

He was already holding Serena's injured hand, disinfecting it with careful, precise movements, pressing a bandage over the tiny cut.

The tenderness in his eyes was something he couldn't hide even if he tried.

And in that moment, I finally understood what scene Serena had just staged.

My body trembling, I pushed myself upright. I bent down and picked up the blood-stained tiara. Then I held it out in front of Serena.

Dante must have thought I was rubbing it in. Anger surfaced in his gaze immediately.

He opened his mouth, but I spoke first.

"You like it? Then it's yours. Take it."

The reaction caught them both off guard.

Serena froze. She forgot to squeeze out the next tear.

Dante's brow knotted tight, as if he couldn't begin to understand what I was thinking.

"That's from my parents. For you."

For me?

No.

It was for the Moretti family's wife.

And very soon, I wouldn't be the Moretti family's wife anymore.

I set the tiara down. My tone was light. Detached.

"I don't keep things that have been bled on. Bad luck. She can have it."

I didn't look back at either of them. I walked out of the office.

Behind me, Dante's gaze stayed fixed on my back. I could feel it. His brow still furrowed, tight as a knot.

After we married, I'd had two habits everyone in our circles knew about.

One was buying property.

The other was collecting jewelry.

So every time I got angry, he'd use one or both to bring me around.

Something like that tiara, a collector's piece worth a fortune, he probably never imagined I would give it away without blinking.

On the night of my birthday, Dante still didn't come home.

At the party, everyone kept asking where he was, whether he'd slipped away to prepare some grand surprise. After all, every year before this one, he had stayed at my side the entire night without stepping away once.

But I didn't care where he was.

I only wanted to enjoy this birthday.

After tonight, I would be twenty-seven.

I was about to step into a completely new life.

So why waste another thought on people and things that belonged to the old one?

I didn't answer their questions. I picked up a bottle of champagne, gave it a slow shake, and popped it open the way you'd set off fireworks.

The wine erupted in a golden arc.

I lifted the bottle, laughing.

"Happy birthday to me."