I was the Falcone family's top consigliere. Their brain. And today, I was walking away—handing over the books to every legitimate business I ran, severing my final tie.

My protégé couldn't understand. "You're the future of this family, Aurelia. You can't just leave."

I shook my head with a bitter smile.

They didn't know. I'd been secretly married to the Don, Vittorio Falcone, for three years.

I thought my looks, my mind, and everything I gave him would be enough to win all of his love.

A hit at the docks three months ago showed me the truth.

I took a bullet. Emergency. I needed the family surgeon—which required Vittorio's direct order.

I called him over a dozen times.

But when he finally answered, all I heard was a soft, breathless voice on his end.

"Vittorio, we haven't cut my birthday cake. Will you hold my hand and cut it with me?"

That voice. My best friend. The woman Vittorio once had a crush on. Carina.

In the safe house, weak from blood loss, I dug the bullet out myself and had one of my men rush me to a family clinic.

Right before they wheeled me into the OR, Vittorio burst in—carrying Carina. Twisted ankle. Needed a doctor. Now.

My surgeon was dragged away.

The antibiotics came too late. The wound got infected. I fought for my life for a week.

When I woke up, I stared at my phone. Not a single message. The tears finally came.

I understood. I was just the woman he'd been forced to marry after he was drugged and slept with me. A scandal averted.

All he cared about was my value and his reputation.

And me? The secret princess of the Rossi family, who gave up everything to build his empire. All for nothing.

So I prepared four parting gifts. A celebration of our mutual destruction.

Then he'd never see me again.

When I found out my secret husband, Don Vittorio, was sleeping with my best friend, Carina, I decided to leave him.

I pushed open the door to his study, divorce papers clutched in my hand. Vittorio was there, gently polishing a Padparadscha sapphire.

The tenderness in his eyes was a look he’d never once given me.

It was hard to breathe.

Vittorio was never the romantic type. Two years ago, at an auction, he’d mocked some tech billionaire for bidding on a diamond necklace for his wife.

"Stones like this are assets," he'd scoffed. "A currency. But a gift for a woman? Pointless."

Now, he was treating that stone like the most precious thing in the world.

What really choked me was a memory. Carina’s latest Instagram post: Whoever gives me a Padparadscha sapphire, I’ll marry him without a second thought.

It was a punch to the gut.

Three years. He’d never bought me so much as a cheap trinket. I’d even bought our wedding rings myself. In secret.

Seeing me, Vittorio stood up, placing the gem gently on a velvet cloth.

"About three months ago..." Vittorio finally turned to me, his tone infuriatingly casual. "I didn't know how bad it was. Carina... she's fragile. She was crying. I panicked."

My fingers started to tremble.

"Besides, you always handle yourself," he added with a shrug. "You're tough. A girl from the slums is used to a little blood."

The slums.

The bitterness was a taste in my mouth.

What if he knew I was a princess of the Rossi family, the oldest outfit in Chicago? What if he knew the status, the safety, the honor I gave up for him? Would he still talk to me like this?

But he would never know.

He never cared about my past, my feelings, or anything about me. He believed what I told him because I wasn't worth the effort to learn more.

"Hey, check out this design." Vittorio pushed a sketch in front of me, his voice full of pride. "I’ve been working with a jeweler. This is his masterpiece."

I looked down. The world went silent.

To my sweetest Carina.

Her name was written in elegant script at the top. Every letter mocked my foolishness.

So this is what love looked like.

Careful. Full of anticipation. He even had to approve the design himself.

And me?

In three years, he couldn't even remember my birthday.

A splitting pain shot through my head. The aftershocks from the gunshot.

I stumbled back, lost my balance, and slammed hard against the corner of the desk. The barely-healed wound on my side ripped open. A sharp, searing pain made my face go white.

"Dammit!" Vittorio took a step toward me, a flash of real panic in his eyes.

But his gaze was immediately drawn to the design sketch sliding off the desk. He spun around and snatched it from the air just before it hit the floor.

He checked it frantically, then let out a long breath. "Thank God, it's fine..."

Only after placing the sketch safely back on the desk did he turn to me, his brow furrowed. His voice was impatient, covering his brief moment of panic. "Why can't you be more careful? You knocked over my coffee."

I just stood there, watching him, feeling my heart die piece by piece.

Blood was seeping from my wound, staining the rug. But he was worried about a piece of paper.

This was the man I gave up everything for.

"Sign it." I pulled a stack of papers from my folder and put them in front of him. On top were urgent shipping approvals for the docks.

Vittorio frowned, as if he finally sensed something was wrong. "That gunshot was pretty bad. You can take a break. You don't have to focus so much on family business."

His words sounded like concern, but they were cold. Like a routine question to a wounded soldier.

He bent down to look at the papers, but his phone rang.

Cara Mia.

The name on the screen twisted the knife in my heart.

I knew my contact name in his phone. "Consigliere." Cold. Professional. Nothing personal.

"Vittorio?" Carina's soft voice purred through the phone, a playful tremor in it. "When are you coming over? I want you to see me try on the necklace..."

"Soon, baby. I'm on my way." Vittorio's voice was so gentle it was like honey.

He listened, absently flipping through the stack of documents. He saw my familiar handwriting, the usual formatting. Without a second thought, he scrawled his signature at the bottom of each page.

Including the divorce papers I'd slipped in the middle.

"I won't be home for dinner tonight," he said, finishing the last signature and heading for the door.

He paused at the doorway, looking back at me, still standing there. He sounded annoyed. "Is there anything else?"

"No," I heard myself say, my voice hollow, like an echo. "From now on... there will be nothing else."

Vittorio frowned, clearly thinking I was being strange. "Fine. While you're in here, organize my files. The classified ledgers. You're the only one I trust with them."

The door clicked shut.

I stood alone in the empty room, listening to the sound of my own heart breaking.

That was the only time I felt "special." When I was handling his secrets.

What a pathetic kind of special.

I walked to his safe and entered the combination. My fingers trembled, but I forced myself to be steady.

Inside, there was supposed to be a photo of us, taken in secret after we got married. A drunken night when I’d found the courage to ask him to keep it here. I thought it would secure a place in his heart. I thought one day, he would love me.

But the photo was gone.

In its place was a solo picture of Carina. She was in a white dress, smiling like an angel. Like the eternal light of his life.

I found our photo shoved in a dark corner, the edges bent and yellowed.

Three years of marriage, tossed in a corner.

I tore the photo in two, then into pieces.

The scraps fluttered down, like the shattered pieces of my heart.

Back in my bedroom, I dialed an encrypted number.

"I never thought the little princess of the Rossi family would call me herself." On the other end, Don Orion's voice was low and dangerous, but I could hear the concern underneath. "What happened?"

I looked at myself in the mirror. Bloodstains bloomed like dark flowers on my white shirt. My face was as pale as a ghost.

"You once told me you wanted to marry me, Orion. My divorce is final in thirty days. The offer is yours."

The line went silent.

I could hear muffled voices in Orion's office, the scrape of a chair. He was clearly in a meeting. My call had interrupted something important.

"Meeting's over," Orion’s voice cut through, low and commanding. "Everyone out."

Footsteps faded. A door closed. Now, it was just the two of us.

"Three years, Aurelia," Orion's voice went ice-cold. "Three years since you made an enemy of the Morettis to protect that bastard. And now you call? You only remember my name when the world is burning down around you?"

I closed my eyes, the memories flooding back.

We grew up together. Orion was always trailing behind me, a loyal knight protecting his princess. He even turned down Harvard Business School to follow me to the same university.

But all I wanted then was to escape my family, to escape a fate that had already been written for me. I fell for Vittorio, the man who made my heart race.

The night we graduated, Orion confessed his love.

"Aurelia, marry me. You know it's all I've ever wanted... I'm willing to—"

But I cut him off. I was ruthless.

"I will never marry you, Orion. Never."

I heard he drank himself blind that night. They said he walked the streets of Chicago until the sun came up.

"Yes," I admitted quietly, my voice flat. "I'm in trouble."

"Ha," Orion scoffed. "The Rossi princess finally admits she picked the wrong man?"

"I gambled on a stray and thought he was a king," I said, my voice hollow. "I was wrong."

The line was quiet for a few seconds. I could feel his shock. His… hurt?

"But…" I continued, a wave of exhaustion hitting me. "If you're not interested, just forget I said anything. The marriage proposal was just a crazy idea."

I moved to hang up.

"Don't you dare hang up on me," Orion's voice snapped, an order that left no room for argument. "Re-open our secure channels. All of them. Now."

I froze.

"Send me your location. In a month, I'll come get you myself." His voice softened, but the threat was still there. "Aurelia. You don't get to back out. Not this time."

He hung up.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the phone slipping from my fingers. I went to my vanity and opened the bottom drawer. Inside were the secret photos I'd taken of Vittorio, and the journals I'd filled while I was in love with him. Three years of one-sided love, three years of wishful thinking.

I took them all out and walked into the garden.

Flames ate the pictures, ate my foolish words. The orange glow was a funeral pyre for the girl I used to be.

"What are you burning?"

Vittorio's voice came from behind me.

I didn't turn around. "Some old letters."

"What kind of letters need to be burned?" He stepped closer, trying to see what was in the fire.

Just then, a woman's crying voice cut through the air.

"Vittorio!" Carina cried, rushing toward us with wide, tear-filled eyes. "I'm so sorry! It was an accident!"

Vittorio immediately forgot about me and rushed to Carina. "What happened?"

"I... I accidentally bumped into that painting," Carina sobbed, pointing to the stairwell. "The red wine spilled on it. It stained Aurelia's face. I really didn't mean to!"

My heart felt like it was being squeezed.

I painted that portrait myself. It took me three months. Since Vittorio refused to take wedding photos, it was the only way I could capture a memory of us together. It was the only thing in the entire house that proved our marriage was real.

"The painting... it's in such an awkward spot," Carina sobbed. "I tripped, and the wine... My ankle is already swelling."

I wanted to defend the painting, to say it had been there for three years without a problem.

But Vittorio was already lifting Carina into his arms.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's just a painting," he murmured, pulling her close. "Forget the painting. Is your ankle alright? We'll get a doctor."

He turned to one of his men standing nearby. "Burn it," he ordered the guard, his voice pure ice. "It's in the way."

The flames ate my painting.

Three months of work, three years of proof, turned to ash.

I stood there, watching the orange fire lick the canvas, consuming the image of us holding each other. My heart ached with a dull pain, but I didn't cry.

I knew this was how it would be. This was always Vittorio’s choice.

"Aurelia..." Vittorio said, pausing as he carried Carina past me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," my voice was so calm it surprised me. "Carina's ankle is more important."

He stared at me, clearly not expecting me to be so quiet.

"By the way, since Carina's back from Europe, she should stay here for a while," I said, turning to face them. "I'll put her in the guest room next to yours. I'll move downstairs."

In Vittorio's arms, Carina lifted her head. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes before it was replaced by gratitude. "Aurelia, you're so kind... I won't stay long. I'll move out as soon as I find a place."

Vittorio stared at me, his expression complicated. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

I turned and walked downstairs. I heard Carina's hushed voice behind me. "Vittorio, I don't think Aurelia is happy..."

"She'll understand," Vittorio's voice sounded tired.

An hour later, I was packing in the small downstairs room when the door opened. Vittorio stood in the doorway, his face a grim mask.

"Enough with the act, Aurelia," he finally said. "If you're jealous, just say it. Stop torturing yourself with this martyr routine."

I kept folding my clothes, not stopping.

"I know you hate sleeping alone," his voice softened, laced with a flicker of guilt. "You don't have to do this. We're still married, Aurelia. This is still your room."

My hands paused.

It was true. For three years, Vittorio had given me the respect a wife deserved. He'd climb into my bed after a drunken night and wake me with kisses full of what felt like love. In those moments, I thought we could last forever.

But the second Carina appeared, I was always second choice.

"I'm sorry about the painting," Vittorio said, stepping closer, reaching to hug me. "I was in a hurry. I wasn't thinking about your feelings."

I sidestepped his embrace.

"I'm not jealous, Vittorio," I said softly. "I just think I need a break. Especially after getting shot. It's time to hand off some of my duties."

Vittorio's face went cold.

"Suit yourself." He turned to leave, then remembered something. "By the way, what were those documents you had me sign this afternoon?"

A small smile touched my lips.

"Just a small gift. For our third anniversary."

Vittorio’s expression softened. He came over and stroked my cheek.

"Bella," he murmured. "I know her being here is hard on you. But you are my wife. A good wife. I won't let you down."

His voice was gentle, but I heard what he really meant.

Carina was temporary. Once he settled his debt to her, he would make it up to me.

Too bad I didn't want any of it anymore.

"I understand," I nodded.

Vittorio let out a breath of relief, kissed my forehead, and left the room.

It was midnight when I was violently dragged out of bed.

Vittorio’s face was a storm cloud, his anger simmering with murder.

"Get upstairs. Now."

He dragged me up the stairs and threw open the door to his bedroom.

On the bed, Carina was flushed, breathing heavily. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty skin, her eyes were hazy, and her body was trembling uncontrollably.

When she saw us, she curled into a ball like a frightened deer.

"Vittorio... I feel so strange... so hot..." her voice was a breathy whisper, laced with a desperate, animal need.

Vittorio turned to me, his eyes blazing. "What did you give her to drink?"

"I didn't give her anything," I answered calmly. "She's the one who wanted to open that bottle of Romanée-Conti. I drank some too. Why am I fine?"

"Because this is your specialty, isn't it?" Vittorio snarled, grabbing my shoulders. "Dirty little tricks. It's how you ended up in my bed in the first place!"

Those words were a knife, straight to my heart.

I remembered that night three years ago. I got intel that someone was going to make a move on Vittorio at a private casino. I couldn't reach my men. I couldn't reach him. No one knew the panic I felt as I raced there, only to find him drugged with an aphrodisiac.

In his desperation, I gave myself to him. I cried when he entered me. I don't know if it was because my dream had come true, or because I was terrified of what would come next.

I never imagined he'd wake up and look at me with so much hate.

Just like now. He always believed I was the one who set it all up. That he was the victim.

"Vittorio, please don't blame her..." Carina said weakly, but her body writhed, a soft moan escaping her lips. She suddenly grabbed a lighter from the nightstand, her hand shaking as she flicked it on.

"I can't take this feeling..." she sobbed, holding the flickering flame to her own skin. "I won't be a burden... I won't let you sacrifice your honor for me..."

The smell of burning skin filled the room. Carina screamed in pain, but her eyes held a twisted look of relief.

"Carina!" Vittorio lunged, snatching the lighter away. He stared at the red, angry mark on her arm, and his face hardened with decision.

"I'll help you."