"I can't believe you did this."

The voice was distant, barely a murmur, but it was enough to stir me awake. My eyelids felt heavy, my body sluggish. Blinking against the harsh white lights above, I slowly took in my surroundings. A hospital. I was in a hospital.

But I wasn’t alone.

"I can do whatever I want." The voice was cold, detached.

A voice I knew too well—Michele. My husband.

My breath hitched as I turned my head slightly, my vision focusing on the window beside the door. Michele stood there, his back to me, alongside someone else. Faro. His closest friend.

"You lied to your wife. And as if that wasn't enough, you used her kidney."

Used my kidney…

A strange chill crept up my spine.

Michele wasn’t even supposed to be here—he should have been resting in his own hospital ward. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to listen, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

Even though I knew it might break me.

Faro let out a humorless chuckle. "You're an unbelievable bastard, aren't you?" His voice was tight, barely restrained rage spilling through. "That woman trusted you."

"Trust?" Michele let out a dark chuckle. "I did what had to be done. She's alive, isn't she? Her kidney is finally restored."

My entire body froze. My stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing at my throat.

I’m alive… My kidney is restored…

The kidney was never meant for Michele.

It was meant for another woman.

Realization slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Clare. My stepsister.

Michele and I had been married for half a year, our union nothing more than a business arrangement between our families. But I had loved him. I wasn’t sure if he loved me in return, but he had been there, caring for me in ways that made me believe—hope—that he did. So much so that I had nearly forgotten about Clare, the woman he had once loved. The woman he had been forced to leave behind because of our arranged marriage.

I had thought it ended there.

But apparently, it hadn’t.

The sting of tears burned beneath my eyelids. My hands trembled against the sheets, fingers weak and powerless. I wanted to move. I wanted to scream. But my body refused to obey, frozen under the weight of betrayal.

Michele sighed in exasperation. "You know how much I love Clare, Faro. You, of all people, should understand why I did this. She only had three months!"

"And so fucking what?!" Faro's voice was sharp with fury before he immediately hushed himself. He turned, likely checking if I was awake. But my eyes remained closed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "Your wife is supposed to be with you forever, and yet you let her give up one of her kidneys for your ex-girlfriend."

I didn’t want to hear any more, but there was no escape.

Michele sighed. "Calm down, Faro. You're not thinking straight. We need to leave before she decides to visit my ward."

After a few more hushed curses from Faro, they left the room. Only then did I fully open my eyes. I stared at the ceiling, a single question echoing in my mind.

What went wrong?

We had been perfect for the past six months. Had I done something wrong? Had I failed him in some way?

Had I ever really had him at all?

Slowly, I sat up, tearing the IV from my hand just as a nurse entered the room. She gasped and rushed to my side.

"Miss!"

"I'm fine," I said dryly. "Can I get some clothes? I want to visit my husband."

The word husband tasted like sand on my tongue.

The nurse hesitated but eventually handed me a simple dress. The pain in my abdomen was unbearable, but I didn’t care. I needed to see him.

Led to Michele's ward, I slipped inside—only for another wave of breath to be knocked from my lungs.

Beside Michele, perched on the edge of his bed, sat Clare.

My stepsister. His supposed ex-girlfriend.

Her hands rested on his.

I paused in the doorway, willing Michele to pull away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he smiled at me. The same smile that now I knew had never been real.

"Ella," he called softly, just as he always had. "Did you come to visit me?"

He attempted to sit up, and Clare helped him.

Swallowing hard, I stepped inside, my gaze locking onto Clare before shifting to Michele.

Why was Clare here? Why was she doing this?

"Sis, are you alright?" Clare asked gently.

I ignored her, turning to Michele instead.

"Michele." I forced myself to smile at him—one last time. "How's your kidney?"

I already knew the answer. His kidney was fine.

His eyes flickered toward Clare for a fraction of a second before settling back on me. His smile remained soft. "Thank you, love. I really appreciate your efforts in keeping me alive."

I nodded, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. Leaning down, I placed a light kiss on his forehead.

Then I walked out.

Out of his hospital room.

Out of the hospital entirely.

Later that day, I arrived at my parents’ house. My father was absent, but my stepmother greeted me with a sharp slap across the face.

I didn’t flinch.

She already knew. She had known all along that the kidney was never for Michele—but for her daughter, Clare.

Without a word, I went straight to my room, penned a short letter, and slipped it into my father’s office, ensuring he would find it immediately.

Then I packed every single thing I owned in that house.

For a fleeting moment, I considered going to my matrimonial home, but I knew better.

The memories would suffocate me.

Instead, I drove straight to Isla’s house.

Michele didn’t know what he had lost.

But he was going to find out soon enough.

★★★

It had been three days since I had left Michele’s life. Three days, and I had received twenty missed calls from him. Not a single one had been answered.

Why was he calling? Shouldn't he be happy that I had left at all?

Now, I stood before the law firm, staring up at the building. I knew what would happen once I stepped inside, but I did it anyway. It had to be done. I had to be free of Michele.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit. To part from the man I had loved so deeply. But I wasn’t stupid—I knew when to quit.

I handed the business card Isla had given me to the receptionist. The woman glanced at it, then nodded, leading me to the elevator. The ride up was silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

The receptionist knocked before opening the door to the lawyer’s office.

"Mr. James, someone is here for you."

"Let them in."

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The man gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, and I sat down.

"What brings you here?" he asked, his tone professional but kind.

"I want to divorce my husband." The words were simple and firm.

Mr. James wasted no time. The papers were prepared immediately. I signed my copy and ensured the other was sent to Michele.

He should be happy now. I was finally giving him up.

As I walked out of the law firm, my phone rang. My father’s name flashed on the screen.

I hesitated before answering.

"Father," I greeted softly.

He sounded tired. Stressed. But I didn't dare hope it was because of me.

My father had never been cruel, but he had never truly seen me either. To him, I had been a responsibility to fulfill, nothing more.

"Come back home, Ella."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it.

"I can't, Father," I responded. "Michele should be happy with your stepdaughter. They will make a very happy couple. I can't come back to watch that."

I ended the call without waiting for a reply. Then, without hesitation, I switched my phone off and drove back to Isla’s place.

But as soon as I stepped onto the front porch, my stomach twisted.

"So this is where you've been staying?" Clare sneered, a smug smile curling her lips.

Three red claw marks marred the side of her face. Isla’s work.

"I tried to send the bitch away, but she wouldn't leave," Isla said, her glare sharp enough to cut.

My gaze remained locked on Clare. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to remind you how much of nothing you are to Michele," Clare taunted. "I mean, you've seen it firsthand, haven't you?" She chuckled, a cruel sound.

"Anyway, Michele and I are going on a vacation. Just so you know how little he cares about you."

I clenched my fists. The words repeated like a curse, burning my ears.

"If you have nothing else to say, I suggest you leave," I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.

"Oh, I will. I don’t want to stay in this dump any longer." Clare sighed dramatically, stepping past me. But as she did, she leaned in, whispering, "He will never come back to you, Ella. Get that through your head."

With that, she walked away, slipping into her car and driving off without a second glance.

I stood there for a moment, the ache in my chest dull but ever-present.

Then, I made a decision.

With Isla’s help, I contacted a renowned hacking company. They were the best at digging up dirt.

"Clare Moretti," I told them when they asked for a name. "Her previous last name was Luca, if that helps. And, Michele Ricci."

They nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard.

I didn’t want the information sent to me. I only wanted them destroyed.

Some things had a way of coming to light on their own.

Next, I created a fake passport and visa.

I bought a ticket.

And I boarded a flight to Italy.

When I returned to Isla’s house, my best friend was waiting.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Isla asked, concern lacing her words. "Michele hasn’t signed the papers yet, and there’s no alimony."

I smiled, unbothered. I had been saving money for years.

"I don’t need alimony," I assured her. "I’m alright, Isla. But I need to do this. I want everyone to see my worth."

Isla didn’t argue.

She simply stood by my side, offering her unwavering support.

The soft bustle of the airport filled my ears as I sat at the boarding gate, Isla by my side.

"I'm going to miss you," Isla said, her voice tinged with sadness.

I gave a small nod. "Me too. But I need to find my happiness, Isla. Staying here is suffocating, and you know it."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "God, I just wish you'd find a man who truly loves you. Michele is a bastard. If not for him, you'd be living just fine here."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? I’ll be fine, Isla. And I’ll call you—always."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

We hooked our pinky fingers together, sealing our vow.

A few minutes later, my flight was announced. I picked up my bag and walked toward the boarding gate without looking back.

The flight was long, but I hardly noticed. Anticipation and anxiety curled around me, keeping me wide awake. I was going to a place where I knew no one, all because I wanted to escape the life I had left behind in New York.

When the plane landed, I quickly exited, hailed a taxi, and gave the address of a five-star hotel I had found online.

Upon arrival, I stepped out, took a deep breath, and walked inside, approaching the receptionist's desk.

"Buongiorno, welcome to Casa Firenze," the receptionist greeted with a warm smile. "How may I assist you?"

"A room for the night, please," I said softly.

She tapped a few keys on the computer before retrieving a room key. Just as she was about to hand it over, a man approached us. The receptionist nodded in acknowledgment, and I immediately sensed that he was someone important.

Curious, I turned—and my breath caught in my throat.

The man was strikingly handsome, with dark, neatly styled hair, piercing eyes, and an effortless confidence about him.

"Hello," he greeted smoothly, his voice deep and rich.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Uh… hello." I offered a small smile.

"What’s your name?" he asked, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"Ella," I replied, suddenly hyper-aware of how intensely he was looking at me.

"Luca. You’re stunning," he said without hesitation.

I felt warmth rise to my cheeks. "I doubt anyone could be stunning in just a sundress," I said with a small chuckle, trying to mask my embarrassment.

"Not anyone—just you," he replied, clearly amused by my reaction.

My blush deepened, and he chuckled, clearly enjoying my flustered state.

"New to Italy?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes," I admitted, wondering how he had noticed so quickly.

"Welcome to Italy, then, Ella." He extended his hand, and when I placed mine in his, he brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back of my palm before walking away.

I cleared my throat, willing myself to shake off the unexpected encounter. Turning back to the receptionist, I took my key and headed upstairs to my room.

After a long shower, I slipped into something comfortable and stretched out on the bed, scrolling absentmindedly through social media.

That was when a headline caught my eye.

Michele Ricci’s Business on the Brink of Bankruptcy—Investors Pull Out.

I sat up immediately. My breath hitched, my heart pounding as I skimmed through the article. The hackers had done it.

Michele—the man who had broken my heart, lied to me, and used me—was finally facing consequences.

His once-thriving business empire was crumbling. Investors were pulling out. And I knew, deep down, that my father was likely among them. I had told him everything. I had made sure he knew what Michele and Clare had done.

A small, satisfied smile curled my lips. For the first time in weeks, I felt truly happy.

Exhaling, I set my phone aside. Revenge had come naturally, but now I had to focus on myself. I needed a job. I couldn’t just rely on my savings without making more.

Pulling out my laptop, I began scrolling through job listings—companies, hotels, restaurants, anything that needed extra workers.

Then, my eyes widened.

Casa Firenze—the very hotel I was staying in—was hiring a receptionist.

Without hesitation, I clicked on the listing, quickly filling out the application. Moments after submitting it, an email arrived in my inbox.

I had to complete the application in person.

Leaning back, I wondered when I should go. Their headquarters was right here, in the hotel itself.

Setting an alarm for 7 a.m., I closed my laptop. After a quiet dinner, exhaustion finally took over, and I succumbed to sleep—one step closer to starting over.