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.

Finding out that Casa Firenze, this grand hotel, was in need of more receptionists was a shock. Finding out that the CEO of the hotel was Luca—the gorgeous man I'd met yesterday—was something else entirely.

Luca stared at me with a dangerous smirk, as though he'd anticipated my arrival. He must have. I'd told him my name, and now, I didn't even know what to say.

"Surprised?" he chuckled.

I slowly nodded. "I can't say that I'm not," I admitted.

He nodded in return. "You should sit. Let's begin." He gestured to the chair opposite him, and I sat down. He clicked on his computer, probably pulling up my résumé.

"Ms. Ella." His voice was devoid of amusement now—this was business. "Why do you want to work as a receptionist at Casa Firenze?"

I thought about the question. If I was being honest, being a receptionist had never been my dream. I wanted to own a spa and a beautiful unisex boutique, but neither of those ideas was within reach right now.

"Well..." I started, unsure of how to answer. "I'm a people person, always drawn to hospitality. I enjoy working with others and making them happy." Even if it was at the expense of my own happiness. "I'm kind, too, and I have soft facial features."

He chuckled at my last sentence, and I offered a small smile.

"But you do know that being a receptionist isn't just about smiling and making people happy, right?" he said. "It requires multitasking. Have you ever handled a difficult customer before?"

I hesitated. I’d never handled a customer before. Even before marriage, I had always been an indoor woman, and after marriage, Michele had only wanted a housewife—not a worker.

"No," I admitted. "But I’d know how to. Handling a difficult customer isn’t about being difficult yourself. You listen, apologize for whatever minor inconvenience they’re upset about, and then offer a solution. You be the bigger person."

Luca’s eyes twinkled with approval. "Lovely answer, especially considering you haven’t done this before." He leaned back. "What would you do if a guest arrived without a reservation, and we were fully booked?"

I considered the situation carefully. "I'd empathize with them, acknowledge their frustration, and then try to help. First, I'd check for any last-minute cancellations. If there were none, I’d suggest a nearby hotel or even assist them in making a reservation elsewhere."

Luca nodded, seemingly impressed. He asked a few more questions, which I answered confidently. When he inquired about my preferred shift, I told him I was open to both. I didn't have another job, and the last thing I needed was to be stuck at home. Eventually, he decided I would alternate shifts.

And at the end of the day, I’d secured a job as a hotel receptionist.

---

A few days later, I found myself behind the sleek brown desk, working the night shift. I had started immediately and had already made a few friends. The other female receptionists were lovely and kind.

I sat down, exhausted from dealing with both difficult and easygoing guests. Being a hotel receptionist wasn’t easy, but it was fun. It kept my mind occupied and gave me the chance to observe people. Italy as a whole was beautiful, and I'd purchased a cozy bungalow in a quiet neighborhood.

I was living my best life.

But something told me it wouldn’t last.

"Hello?"

The deep voice pulled me out of my reverie, and I immediately sat up.

"Buongiorno, welcome to Casa Firenze," I greeted with a warm smile. I’d even learned the Italian way of welcoming guests.

"A room for the night, please," he said.

I worked quickly on the laptop, searching for an available room. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man adjusting the camera strap around his neck and rummaging through his bag.

"Cash or card?" I asked.

He handed me his card but suddenly pulled it back before I could take it.

"You're Michele Ricci’s wife?!" His voice was loud, and my smile instantly vanished.

Jessica, my neighbor, had just walked back to the desk and witnessed the exchange. She looked at me, confused.

"Are you paying with your card?" I asked, dismissing his comment and praying he wasn’t a paparazzo. Not many people knew me, but I had attended galas and events with Michele. Only the press would have recognized me.

"Why are you in Italy? Have you and Michele divorced?" He leaned over the desk, his curiosity turning aggressive.

I instinctively leaned back, startled by his invasive behavior.

"Excuse me, sir, but if you’re not here to check in, please leave." My voice was steady, but my hands trembled beneath the desk.

"I should take a picture," he muttered, raising his camera.

Before he could press the shutter, a burly security guard appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the camera, and smashed it onto the floor. The man let out a loud cry, mourning the loss of his device. The guard then seized him by the arm and dragged him away.

I exhaled sharply, finally able to breathe again.

"Are you okay?" Jessica asked, concern etched on her face.

I mustered a small smile. "I'm fine. Thank you." I shook my head. "Paparazzi… always digging into things that don’t concern them."

"Right? I hate them so much." Jessica’s expression darkened, shifting from concern to something bitter and sad. "Because of them... I..."

Without thinking, I pulled her into a hug.

"It's okay," I whispered. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I sensed that she just needed to hear those words.

---

After my shift ended at midnight, I changed back into my dress and left the hotel. I hadn’t seen or heard from Luca all day. He was probably busy.

I walked through the pedestrian area, waiting for a taxi when suddenly—

The man from earlier appeared.

"Because of you, I lost my camera!" he yelled.

The road was mostly empty, with only a few cars passing by. I was a fair distance from the hotel now, and the realization sent a chill down my spine.

He bent down, grabbed a stone, and was about to strike me when a strong hand snatched his wrist and shoved him back.

It was Luca.

Luca stepped on his feet and pressed in, hearing the man's roar. "You're lucky you didn't dare to touch her, or else you would have walked out of here a corpse "

I gasped—I had never seen this side of Luca before.

He released the man, his expression unreadable as he turned to me. Then, without hesitation, he seized my wrist and led me to his car.

I had just watched him threaten a man’s life—yet I felt no fear.

Or maybe that was because my gut told me something far worse was coming.

Soon.