When I was about to fall asleep that night, I heard the soft click of the door lock.

The thought that Rafael might be back surprised me a little.

Standing by the bedroom door, I listened to the soft sounds coming from the kitchen.

Lately, he'd started doing this. He'd suddenly return home, fuss around in the kitchen, and hurriedly slip out with some deliciously cooked food.

Once, I caught the sweet aroma drifting from the oven and thought he had a surprise for me.

"What are you making?" I asked and curiously peered.

He didn't even look up as his hands swiftly packed the lemon tarts straight out of the oven into a box. "Natalia said she was craving this."

He assembled the box carefully and even tied a perfect bow with a ribbon.

"I'm hungry too." I stared at the golden crust and gulped.

He paused and then remembered my love for lemon tarts too. "Shall I get Susan to make you something? Or could you order in?"

After he left, Susan Barlowe made me a plate of over-salted pasta.

And now, I was no longer curious about what the midnight treats were and who they were for.

My throat felt a little dry, so I got up and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

In the kitchen, the air was heavy with the rich sweetness of coffee, cocoa, and mascarpone. He was making tiramisu.

He layered biscuits, soaked them in a coffee liqueur mixture, spread the cream, and dusted cocoa powder on top. He was so focused that he didn't even notice me standing at the door until I fetched a glass.

"Gianna?" He spun around and instinctively shielded the counter with his body. "Aren't you asleep yet?"

"Just thirsty," I said flatly.

"This…" He glanced at the tiramisu and panicked as if I might rush over and shove it into my mouth. "You can't eat this! There's coffee liqueur and raw egg in here. It's bad for the baby!"

Sensing his panic, I almost laughed. Three months ago, when I had terrible morning sickness, he hadn't poured me so much as a glass of water. And now, he was fussing over Natalia's dessert.

"Relax. I'm not interested in your sweets," I commented as I dried my hands.

He opened his mouth to explain, but his phone rang with a call, and Natalia's name blinked on the screen.

"Rafael, I think I have a fever…" her weak voice came through.

Rafael's expression twisted with an annoyed frown on his brows, yet his gaze softened. "You took those random pills again, didn't you? Hang in there. I'm coming."

After hanging up, he packed the tiramisu in a box with practiced ease. When tying the ribbon, he went the extra mile to fix the curve of the bow.

"Do you remember tonight's supposed to be our wedding night?" I suddenly asked, my heart tight with the last shred of hope.

"Don't start," he said without looking up. "It's Natalia's birthday, and someone has to keep her company."

"This is the 17th time." I could hear a tremor in my voice.

He finally looked up at me with the same tired conflict in his eyes. "Please, Gianna. You know Antonio…"

"...asked you to protect her." I finished for him and smiled. "Go. Don't keep her waiting."

When his car pulled away, I checked my phone and noticed that Natalia had posted five minutes ago.

"Running a fever at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, but Rafael promised me a surprise!"

The picture showed a thermometer at 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

As I set the phone down, my mind drifted back to three years ago when I met Rafael for the first time.

Mafias from the North and South gathered in Montrava to negotiate, and I was there as the Northern financial advisor.

When Rafael burst in with his Southern men, all the bodyguards drew guns.

He walked straight to me, dropped to one knee under their watchful stares, and pressed a golden revolver into my hands.

Looking up at me, his emerald-green eyes were alight with a love-at-first-sight awe. "Gianna Rossetti, there's a bullet in here. If I ever cheat on you, use it."

The room erupted in gasps. Father smashed a glass in fury, while the Southern elders called him reckless and insane.

But I understand the weight of that gesture. It meant placing the Don of Southern Silenzio's life in the hands of the enemy.

Later, he told me Antonio nearly lost his mind over it and raged that he'd handed the symbol of Southern Silenzio's power to the heir of their Northern rivals. But he just shrugged and dismissively said, "We'll be family anyway."

Back then, Natalia was just an inconvenience to him. Whenever she was brought up, he'd always seem annoyed. "Antonio's daughter is a dead weight I can't shake off."

The first time I saw her was at our engagement party. Standing in the corner, she was dressed in a white chiffon dress, looking pale and demure.

"That's Natalia?" I nudged Rafael's elbow.

He didn't even glance her way. "Yeah. Should've stayed home if she's so sickly and fragile. Annoying as hell."

Then, he snapped his fingers for an attendant. "Bring that lady in the corner a blanket and some warm milk."

Later, I noticed that their dynamic was a contradictory mix of annoyance and devotion.

"Natalia's too needy," he'd complain, but memorize every allergy she had.

"She's such a pain," he'd grumble, but he was the first to arrive whenever she was hospitalized.

"Can't you be independent and thoughtful of others for once?" That was the sentence he'd always say before leaving our wedding and running to her side.

My phone rang sharply and yanked me back to the present. It was Bianca Spade, one of my few friends who knew everything, and the Principessa of a family in the North.

Her voice was sharp with rage. "Gianna, did you see that bitch's new post? Why is Rafael there when you're having your wedding today? Has he gone off to that sick bitch's birthday when he's supposed to be with you for your wedding night!

"And he made tiramisu for her! Did he ever make you anything?"

I stayed silent and could feel my fingers go cold.

"Gianna? Say something! Don't tell me you let it slide again!" Bianca panicked.

"There's no wedding night, Bianca. The wedding's off," I calmly announced.

The line went dead for two seconds as if Bianca's legendary temper was plugged. Then, a sharp inhale followed.

"He did it again? During the vows?"

"Yes."

Her voice pitched high in rage and disbelief. "17 times, Gianna! And you're pregnant!

"What does Rafael think he's doing? Is she really his sister?"

"Not by blood. She's Antonio Sullivan's daughter." I corrected her in a flat voice.

She cursed. "Fuck Antonio! Does his dying wish mean you have to waste your whole life paying for it?

"You're a Rossetti, Gianna. Since when are you this subservient?"

"I'm done groveling," I declared and looked at my pale, tired, but unshakably steady expression in the mirror. "Bianca, do me a favor."

"What?"

I calmly said, "Find me an ob-gyn. After the abortion, I'm going back to Montrava."

As the morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen, I hummed an old Northern tune, frying bacon and a sunny side up egg at my own pace.

This was a farewell feast I'd gotten myself.

I pulled out a chair and sat down. Just as my fork touched the soft yolk, the door opened with a soft click.

Rafael walked in, reeking of Natalia's perfume and holding a huge bouquet of flamboyant strelitzia. It was a kaleidoscopic mix of bright orange and gold with stiff stems sticking out from the sides.

I hated those flowers and always thought they looked cheap and forced, like a dressed-up turkey ready to be served. But Natalia loved them. She said they were hardy like the version of herself she longed to be.

"Morning, Gianna." His voice was rough from a night up, but he seemed in good spirits. He dumped the tacky bouquet on the far end of the table and dropped into the seat across from me.

Then, he said, his tone jokingly unhappy, "Natalia was a handful last night and kept whining that the new painkillers weren't working. Her body's so delicate that anything sets her off."

As he rambled, he instinctively reached for my bread. I picked up my plate and avoided his hands.

He froze, and only now did he notice that there was just one set of breakfast on the table.

Raising an eyebrow, there was a spoiled, entitled tone in his voice as he asked, "Where's mine? Come on, Gianna. You can't just think of your baby and starve your husband."

When he noticed my cold expression, realization belatedly hit him. So, he leaned in and grasped my hand.

"About what happened at the chapel yesterday, I'm sorry, Gianna. Natalia was really sick then, and Antonio…"

The same old script, huh?

When he noticed I didn't react, he immediately changed the subject. Turning around, he grabbed the ugly flowers and thrust them into my arms. "These are just for you; your favorite! There's a surprise inside. Wanna see?"

Grinning mysteriously, he slipped behind me and guided my hands to peel open one of the blooms. "In here."

My fingers fumbled with the petals until a dark red velvet box tumbled into my hands. A pair of earrings lay inside.

I froze. The stones had decent clarity, but when the light hit, there were visible spiderwebbed flaws trapped inside.

As I took a closer look at the color and cut… a wave of absurdity crashed over me.

"Do you like them?" His voice was warm, expecting praise.

My body started shaking in absolute rage as I kept my stare on the pair of earrings. Of course, I liked the earrings. They were made from the pigeon-blood ruby I'd given to be made into my wedding gift!

Half a year ago, he told me it was sent to a jeweler, and I'd been looking forward to seeing the final piece.

Now, I knew that the jewelry carrying the centerpiece sat on Natalia's vanity, and I was being handed its scraps.

Just the fact that he tried to pacify me with such a pair of shabby earrings and tossed me scraps of my own gemstone like some pitiful handout filled me with fury.

"Gianna?" Rafael gently nudged my shoulder when I didn't answer.

I shut the box and dropped it onto the table.

"Don't you like them?" he asked, frowning, and sensed that I was being extra unreasonable today.

As he set the box aside, the forced warmth on his face faded and was replaced by a flicker of irritation. He cleared his throat and seemed to finally remember today's real agenda.

"Gianna, there's something else… Natalia told me she wants to play Goddess Freyella this year for next month's Harvestide."

I froze, and Rafael was still rambling. "You know how fragile she is. She's been feeling down lately and mentioned twice that she'd love to play Goddess Freyella…"

Harvestide was one of Southern Silenzio's biggest celebrations. Traditions dictated that Goddess Freyella be played by the Don's wife or his sister, if unwed.

And here I stood, pregnant with his baby yet not his legal wife after countless failed wedding attempts. So, by the letter of our laws, Natalia had every right to fight for it.

Studying my face, Rafael was starting to grow impatient. "...You know she's weak, and now, there's this one thing that makes her happy. She's always wanted to play the goddess as a kid.

"When Antonio was around…"

He brought me the flowers I hated.

He handed me a jewelry piece containing my ruby, scraped and cut, and gave another woman jewels cut from its heart.

Now, he'd strip me and my unborn baby of the rightful place at a celebration symbolizing the family's legacy and legal lineage, just to make another woman happy.

A strange, calm relief settled in my chest.

I'd never cared about titles and roles, but at that moment, I saw the truth with painful clarity. To Rafael, Natalia deserved all the attention, while I was just a convenient afterthought.

"Sure. Let her have it," I said and lifted my head to flash him a calm, almost gentle smile.

Rafael hadn't expected the clean decision either and seemed caught off guard. "Y-You're okay with that?"

"It's just a role. If it makes her happy, it's hers." I dabbed my lips with a napkin.

A grin bloomed across his face as all prior irritation vanished, and he reached out for a hug. "I knew it! You've always been understanding, Gianna. That's the grace a true Don's wife should have…"

Suddenly, there was a buzz from the phone in his pocket again. The custom ringtone was Natalia's composed piano recording of "To My Beloved Holloway."

Annoyance flickered across his face before melting into that habitual helplessness of feeling needed.

"I'm sorry, Gianna." He shot me a look that said, "You'll understand, right?" and answered the call as he headed for the door. "Hey, Natalia. What's wrong?"

On the other end, Natalia must have said something because he quickly replied, "Okay, I'm coming."

After hanging up, he grabbed his car keys. When he reached the door, he turned around and said, "I promise this is the last time, Gianna! We'll have the wedding tomorrow! After the baby's born, you'll have all my time and all of me!"

He sounded confident, and the look in his eyes was so sincere, like this was finally a promise that would hold.

I expressionlessly watched him leave in a rush.

Last time? There wouldn't be a next chance, Rafael.

…

The next day at Littlewood Chapel, the wedding site was transformed into a grander display than the day before.

Pure-white roses and lilies lined the aisle all the way to the altar, and the air hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume. Guests murmured as their eyes occasionally drifted to the empty bride's seat.

Dressed in a perfectly-tailored black suit, Rafael stood at the altar and patiently adjusted his cufflinks.

He felt good today. Natalia's little mood swing last night had been easily soothed with just a few honeyed words. And I, ever so dutiful, hadn't made a fuss either.

Today, everything would go smoothly, except that the bride wasn't here yet.

Just then, his right-hand man, Matteo Steele, pushed through the crowd. Looking pale, he rushed over to Rafael's side and whispered in a low, urgent voice, "Don Holloway, Ms. Rossetti's gone! She isn't at the estate, her room's empty, and her bags are gone too!"

Rafael froze. "What did you just say?"

"Our men reported that she went to an ob-gyn…"