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.

"Mrs. Bellandi, the baby is developing well. Are you sure you don't want to discuss this with the father?" she asked gently.

At that moment, my phone lit up with a notification.

It was a trending video from the previous night's charity gala at the Bellandi casino.

On the screen, Dante and Serafina sat side by side. They exchanged shy glances, their lips curving into soft smiles.

Then, under the flashing cameras, Serafina gathered her courage and leaned in to kiss him.

Dante didn't push her away. Instead, he placed a hand behind her neck and pulled her closer, pressing her toward him.

The crowd erupted into deafening screams.

I closed the video.

But I accidentally tapped on a high-definition photo.

In that image, on Dante's Adam's apple, I saw a pair of small bite marks.

That detail pulled me back to our wedding night.

Back then, Dante was still just a soldier running small jobs for his father's crew. He had pinned me down on the bed, teasing me with a low, husky voice.

He held my head gently but firmly, urging me, "Bianca, bite me."

When my teeth sank into his skin, he finally pulled me into his arms.

He kissed the top of my head again and again, his voice trembling slightly.

"It really hurts. It's not a dream. Bianca, I really married you."

Back then, he had looked at me like I was something unreachable. Like I was everything to him.

I locked my phone and set it aside. Then I closed my eyes.

"Go ahead, doctor," I said quietly.

The procedure wasn't as painful as I had imagined.

If anything, when it was over, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Like something heavy had finally been lifted from my chest.

My thumb found the inside edge of my wedding band and stayed there a long time before I let go.

The next morning, after being discharged from the private clinic, I met with my new replacement at a café two neighborhoods away from Bellandi territory.

To make sure whoever took over wouldn't be easily pushed around, I had specifically chosen a male candidate.

After discussing everything in detail, I began signing the contract with Nico Ferraro.

"Bianca, why are you stepping out? Dante is such a good boss. Do you know how many people would fight for a chance to work that close to him?" he asked.

I smiled faintly.

"I'm getting old. This kind of work is better suited for someone younger, someone with more energy," I replied lightly.

Nico looked at me, his expression complicated. There was confusion, but also admiration.

"I don't think you're old at all," he said sincerely. "You've been with Dante through everything, from when he was nobody to where he is now. You've worked so hard. You're an amazing fixer."

I only gave him a faint smile and put the signed contract into my bag.

"Maybe," I said softly. "Nico, I wish you a bright future."

After handling everything, I drove back to the estate.

But to my surprise, Dante, who should have been at a sit-down in another city, was already sitting on the sofa. The room was dim. No guards in sight. An untouched glass of whiskey sat on the side table, the ice long melted.

He looked at me. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Bianca, where were you last night?" he asked coldly.

"What does it matter to you?" I replied.

I changed my shoes and walked straight toward the bedroom without stopping.

In the past, when he stayed out all night, I would ask him the same question. I would even call his associates one by one, trying to find him.

Sometimes they would cover for him. Sometimes Dante would grab the phone himself and snap at me.

"Bianca, where I go has nothing to do with you! I'm an adult. I have my own privacy. Stop interfering!"

Even while being scolded like that, I would still worry about him. I would think about how to apologize, how to persuade him to drink less.

But on the other end of the phone, what I often heard was Serafina's soft voice.

"Dante, come dance with me..."

Before I could say anything else, he would hang up.

Now, hearing me give him the same answer, Dante stiffened.

He followed me into the bedroom.

Then he threw two photos straight at my face. His eyes were red with fury.

"Bianca, what's your relationship with him?" he demanded.