In the end, I dragged my exhausted and injured body down the mountain by myself. Each step felt heavy, but I kept going.

By the time I returned to the base camp near the casino renovation site, I was already back inside the trailer. I had just finished a phone call with a candidate for a new courier position.

At that moment, Dante walked in.

His eyes immediately landed on my phone. A trace of cold suspicion flickered across his face. "Bianca, who were you talking to?" he asked in a low voice.

"Someone I don't know," I replied flatly.

He seemed to assume it was just a wrong number. He didn't question me further. And I didn't bother explaining either.

"I figured you'd be hungry, so I brought you some food," he said, tossing a takeout box onto the folding table. The movement was careless, almost dismissive.

The corner of the box lifted slightly, revealing leftover scraps inside. A sour smell drifted out immediately.

Dante quickly picked it up again, clearing his throat awkwardly. "There were a lot of people ordering from the kitchen. They must've grabbed the wrong one."

With someone of his status, eating with capos and the club's inner circle, how could a mistake like that even happen?

I didn't respond. I simply lay down on the cot and turned to face the other side. "It's fine. My delivery should arrive soon anyway," I said coldly.

Hearing that, Dante's expression darkened. His voice dropped. "Why didn't you tell me you were ordering food? Bianca, I've told you many times, there's nothing between Serafina and me. It's all just for appearances, for the public front. Why are you making such a fuss? Why are you so petty?"

I stared ahead blankly and replied, "I'm not making a fuss."

It was the truth. But somehow, it only made him angrier.

He grabbed the takeout box and threw it straight into the trash. His tone turned sharp and accusing. "Then why didn't you bring Serafina her medicine? Didn't I tell you it's inconvenient for me to go to the clinic because of my public image? It's just buying medicine. Is this really necessary?"

Buying medicine was a small thing. But so was doing laundry. So was cooking.

Serafina claimed she had a germ phobia and insisted all her clothes be washed by hand.

Even in the freezing northern winter, with temperatures far below zero, Dante ordered me to wash her clothes by hand. My fingers would go numb from the cold, the skin cracking from frostbite.

I remembered one time when my frostbitten hands started bleeding. The blood stained Serafina's clothes.

When Dante saw it, he didn't ask if I was hurt. Instead, he kicked me out of the hotel and forced me to wash her clothes outside in the snow. I wore nothing but a thin nightgown. The soldier posted at the door didn't look at me. Didn't move. Omertà applied to cruelty, too.

All because Serafina had once casually said, "Dante, I heard snow can cure frostbite." She'd touched the pearl at her throat when she said it, her voice as light as a lullaby.

In his eyes, I had always been nothing more than a servant. Someone who obeyed every command without question.

But after five years of living like that, I was tired. Completely tired.

My thumb found the inside edge of my wedding band. I pressed it there until the metal bit into the skin.

I pulled the blanket over my head and said coldly, "I'm not feeling well. I don't want to go."

The space on the other side fell silent for a long time.

Then Dante stormed out angrily.

That very night, Dante and Serafina shot to the top of every tabloid feed and society column in the city.

In the video, Dante was carrying Serafina in his arms, rushing into the private clinic on the Family's payroll, shouting for help. His expression looked anxious, almost frantic. The Don of the Bellandi Family, a man whose hand never shook, looked undone for a woman who wasn't his wife.

The gossip columns and neighborhood faithful exploded with excitement.

"Is Dante Bellandi finally making it official?"

"He carried her right through the front doors. I would kill for that."

"Doesn't anyone care what actually happened to Serafina?"

"I know someone on the crew. She said her forehead felt a little warm, and Dante picked her up immediately and drove to the clinic himself."

"I always knew they were perfect together."

I scrolled through the comments quietly. Then my phone rang.

It was Dante.

Before I could even say anything, he began explaining in a hurry. "Bianca, I only took Serafina to the clinic because she said she had a fever. I was worried it would affect the event schedule. That's all. Don't misunderstand the tabloids. There's really nothing between us."

"Okay," I replied.

My calm and genuine response stunned him into silence.

After a long pause, he asked slowly, "What did you say?"

I repeated, "It's all for the new casino opening's promotion. I understand. Don't worry, I'll handle the press."

After I finished speaking, the breathing on the other end of the phone grew heavier and more uneven. It sounded low and restrained, the way Dante always sounded when he was on the verge of losing his temper.

I knew what would come next. Harsh words, accusations, that familiar tone that used to make me flinch.

I didn't want to hear it anymore. Without hesitation, I hung up and turned off my phone.

Then I picked up my work phone and calmly contacted several of the most connected tabloid journalists in the city. One by one, I told them to push the story about Dante carrying Serafina in a princess hold straight to the top of the headlines.

There was a brief silence on the other end of each call.

"Mrs. Valente, are you sure you want to do this?" one of them finally asked, clearly taken aback.

I understood their reaction. In the past, I had always been the one paying to suppress this kind of coverage. I would explain everything away as promotional appearances for the Family's front businesses, controlling the narrative so it never got out of hand.

But this time, I had no intention of doing that.

Since I was already preparing for a civil split, I needed to secure my position. I had to protect the assets we shared, the shell accounts, the restaurant fronts, the real estate, and make sure I wouldn't walk away with nothing.

"So I have one condition," I said calmly.

The reporters immediately became attentive. "Mrs. Valente, please go ahead."

"I want fifty percent of the profits," I said without hesitation. "If you agree, we sign the contract immediately and get started. I can also provide more authentic material if needed."

My confidence only made them more excited. After all, nothing attracted attention more than a scandal involving the golden prince of the Bellandi Family.

By the next day, the story of Dante and Serafina's old-neighborhood romance exploded across every tabloid and society page. It quickly occupied three of the top trending spots.

While the entire city's gossip circles were in chaos, I quietly scheduled an interview with a candidate for a new personal courier.

That night, Dante, who was supposed to be overseeing a sit-down in another city, unexpectedly rushed back to the estate.

The moment he stepped into the living room, I could already smell Serafina's signature perfume lingering on him. It was faint, but unmistakable. The two soldiers flanking the front door had gone rigid the second his car pulled through the gates, and now the whole house held its breath.

"Bianca, don't you have anything to say?" he demanded. His voice was urgent, almost frantic.

His expression was serious, his gaze cold and sharp as it locked onto me. For a brief second, his eyes reminded me of that venomous snake I had encountered on the mountain, the one I had nearly died escaping from.

He didn't wait for me to respond before continuing, his tone turning harsh. "Do you realize what you've done? This is going to seriously damage Serafina's standing. There are photographers swarming outside her apartment right now. She can't even step outside!"

I sat on the couch, casually eating potato chips while watching anime. I didn't even bother to look up at him.

"Isn't this exactly what the neighborhood faithful wanted?" I said calmly. "It's also perfect promotion for the new venue opening. I made this decision after weighing the pros and cons."

Those words were not unfamiliar.

Two years ago, Dante had said the exact same thing to me.

Back then, Serafina had just been brought into the Family's orbit. She was rehearsing a number for the supper club's grand opening, a dramatic entrance off a raised stage meant to showcase the new chanteuse. It was her very first public appearance under the Bellandi name, and she was desperate to make an impression.

Right before the rehearsal, she clung to Dante with teary eyes, saying she was afraid of heights.

Dante didn't hesitate. To keep the schedule on track and make the routine look convincing, he ordered me to wear Serafina's costume and act as her stand-in.

The stage platform was more than ten meters high. There were no proper safety measures.

"Serafina said the crew prepared safety protection at the bottom. Bianca, what are you hesitating for?" he said impatiently.

"But… Dante… I'm afraid of heights too…" I held onto his arm, my voice trembling.

He shook me off coldly, his expression filled with irritation.

"I've never noticed you being this difficult before. Now that Serafina is here, suddenly you're afraid of heights? Are you pretending?"

"But I really am afraid…" I tried to explain, my voice breaking.

"Enough," he snapped. "Bianca, let me tell you, I'm doing this after weighing the pros and cons."

The next second, he pushed me.

I fell.

That scene never even showed my face in the final broadcast. The casino's grand reopening footage, the promotional reel Serafina needed for the front. A woman plummeting from a rigging platform three stories above the stage floor, and the camera caught only the body, never the face.

To this day, the neighborhood faithful still praise Serafina's nerve, calling her fearless, saying she never lets anyone double for her when the Family needs a spectacle.

That one stunt made her. She became the golden face of every Bellandi front, the chanteuse whose reputation drew crowds and kept the legitimate money flowing.

And me?

I broke my right leg from that fall. I spent more than half a year lying in a private clinic on Family payroll.

During that entire time, Dante only came to see me once.

And even that wasn't for me.

Serafina had been scratched by her pet cat, and he brought her to the clinic to get her finger treated. My room was right next to hers.

But Dante never stepped inside. Not even once.

Perhaps he was afraid it would dirty his shoes.

Back in the present, Dante stood frozen, unable to respond to my words.

The room fell silent. The kind of silence that settles over a sit-down after someone says the wrong name. The guards outside the door would have felt it through the walls.

Without saying anything more, I took out the divorce papers I had prepared earlier. I placed them neatly on the coffee table in front of him.

Then I looked at him calmly and said, "Dante, let's get a divorce."

Hearing my words, Dante froze where he stood. His expression turned blank, as if he couldn't process what he had just heard. His signet ring sat untouched on his finger. Still.

"What did you say? Bianca?" he asked, his voice low but tense.

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I calmly picked up a pen and signed the sealed marriage papers one page at a time. After that, I pressed my fingertip against my lipstick and left a clear red fingerprint beside my signature.

Then I pushed the papers toward him.

"I said, I want a divorce," I repeated, my tone steady.

Dante tugged at his collar, clearly irritated. His brows furrowed tightly.

"Bianca, are you out of your mind? Who would want you, a middle-aged woman, after leaving me?" he sneered.

So in his eyes, a woman who had just turned thirty was already considered old. Already discarded. Like a soldier who'd given his best years to the Family and then found himself without a chair at the table.

My thumb found the inside edge of my wedding band. I held it there for a breath. Then I let go.

I tossed the pen toward him and let out a faint, almost amused breath.

"Haven't you heard the saying, a woman blossoms at thirty?" I said lightly. "But Dante, after the divorce, I won't be your fixer anymore. I'll need a few days to hand over your book to whoever replaces me."

My calmness seemed to provoke him even more.

Dante let out a mocking laugh. He pointed at me, his eyes filled with impatience and anger.

"Bianca, you're playing with fire. And you're going to get burned."

Just as his words fell, Serafina's distinctive ringtone suddenly rang out.

Dante didn't pick up. Instead, he stared at me, his gaze turning sharp and threatening. The signet ring still hadn't moved. Mercy had left the room long before I'd pulled out the papers.

He spoke again, his tone laced with mockery. "Didn't you always say you wanted to have a baby before turning thirty? I know you're ovulating these days. Bianca, I'm giving you three seconds to take back what you just said."

Last year, on my twenty-ninth birthday, I had made a wish. I even calculated my ovulation days and treated them like a fixed task between us, hoping we could finally have a child together. An heir that might have made me real in his world instead of invisible.

But what he didn't know was that I had already stopped ovulating since last month.

The ringtone continued to echo through the estate's living room, sharp and repetitive, like a ticking time bomb counting down the end of everything between us.

Three seconds passed.

In that silence, whatever connection we still had shattered completely.

"Bianca, you've got guts. Let's see how long you can keep this up!" Dante snapped before storming out of the compound.

The door slammed shut behind him. The chandelier above the dining table swayed once from the force, sending a faint tremor of light across the marble floor, and then everything was still.

As soon as the sound faded, I picked up my phone and calmly scheduled an abortion appointment for the day after tomorrow.

When I lay on the operating table, the doctor glanced at the ultrasound and hesitated.