Married three years. Stood up three years.

Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again.

Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot.

"A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered.

And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle."

Click.

Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal.

This time, I didn't leave him hanging.

[Want to come over for bollito misto?]

Marco stepped in, steam curling around him like some kind of dramatic entrance effect.

The buzzcut only made his already sharp face sharper.

"I should be fasting today," he said, settling across from me in his all-white habit like some chill, holy hot priest.

Then—he grabbed a slice of meat and popped it in his mouth.

Broth clung to his lips. Distracting. Too distracting.

"Thought you were fasting?"

He licked the corner slow, deliberate. "Fridays are for fasting. But I'd break any rule for you."

I smiled. He remembered.

"Let's eat," I said, mixing a sauce just for him. Yeah, I felt lighter already.

But I kept checking my phone.

Paolo? Dead silent.

This was supposed to be our third anniversary dinner. Instead, he was off playing house with his "childhood friend."

I looked at the sauces—parsley green, pepper red, mustard fruit. Always picked the mild ones for him. He never even showed. That empty chair? A punchline.

After dinner, Marco wiped his mouth, steady now. The rosary slid through his fingers, head bowed, eyes catching a flicker of red. "Aurora, you could marry someone else. Why not me?"

I looked up, one brow raised.

Bold. Unexpected.

But... marrying him?

Could actually work.

Right when I was deep in thought, my phone lit up.

Paolo: [Something came up.]

Of course it did.

I smirked. "Why not? Leave the seminary. Let's get our marriage license."

"What about Paolo—"

"Divorce first."

I dabbed my lips, stood up.

If Paolo couldn't care about the one decent exit I gift-wrapped for him, why should I bother?

***

At one go, I signed twice—divorce, then marriage. Neat little symmetry.

Set a pickup with Marco, then headed back to the house I technically still shared with Paolo. Time to pack.

I pushed the door open—

And there they were.

Paolo Ricci and Zoe Pagano, tangled on the piano bench. My million-dollar grand taking the hits, each sloppy movement pounding out some off-key rhythm.

They froze.

Paolo shoved Zoe off. Tried to play it cool. The damp spot on the bench? Kinda ruined the act.

"Aurora, don't be mad. Paolo was just teaching me piano," Zoe said, tugging her skirt, trying to look like some tragic waif.

Teaching piano? Please. Not with that "hands-on" method.

I gave them one cold glance, nodded like they were strangers, and headed to my room.

Outside my door, the moaning picked up again.

"Mmm, Paolo, slower... Aurora's so pretty. Why do you act starved?"

"She's an ice queen! Years together, couldn't even touch her. No guy wants that. Not like you—soft waist, long legs... total little minx."

He said it loud, like he wanted me to hear.

Too bad he never understood.

I wasn't an ice queen.

I just thought he was disgusting.

Paolo and I went way back.

My parents died in a fire—trying to save top-level documents, the kind that actually mattered to the country. The whole Aragona line? Gone in one night.

I was the only one kept hidden—and the only one who survived.

From a powerful legacy to a girl with nothing but a name. Suddenly, everyone wanted to "take me in." So kind, so generous—please. They were just hoping to slap my name onto their family tree for some clout.

All of them had that same greedy glint in their eyes.

Except Paolo.

Back then, he was this chubby little ball of sunshine, running up like an overexcited puppy.

"Grandpa, can we adopt Aurora?" he blurted, then turned to me all serious. "I can take care of you. Come live with us. I'll be your servant—forever!"

I actually laughed. First time I'd ever heard someone volunteer to serve the person they were adopting.

After dealing with scheming adults and bratty kids, the Riccis felt like the least awful option.

So I picked them.

Paolo kept his word. For a while my opinion meant everything to him. He was loyal, clueless, following me like I'd dropped breadcrumbs.

So when Grandpa Domenico was dying, he asked me to marry Paolo. Said Paolo was too soft to handle the Ricci fortune alone and begged me to stick around for three more years—for old times' sake.

I didn't even hesitate.

What I didn't see coming? Paolo flipping the script the very next day.

He became a walking public-relations disaster—dating anyone with a pulse and parading them like trophies right in front of me. Introductions like, 'This is Aurora, my sister.'

At first I figured he was just freaking out about the marriage thing. I tried to talk it through, even told him we didn't have to wed—we could just keep it like siblings.

But he was set on tying the knot.

Took me a while to realize the truth: the guy was just reckless.

Fast forward: he started tossing divorce threats like candy.

Lucky for me I'd already repaid every debt to the Riccis. I had absolutely zero reason to stay.

***

The moaning stopped.

Paolo barreled in, face all toddler-tantrum. "Aurora Aragona! What'd you say to my mom? Why's she calling, asking if I upset you?"

"Got a problem? Say it to me. Quit running to my parents—what's your deal?" He flailed. "You've always been like this! Still are!"

I looked away, cool. "Try putting on some clothes first. You're grossing out my eyeballs."

Silence.

Then he stomped like a five-year-old. "You're always like this! Acting like you're my older sister, not my wife! Can't you smile at me—just once? Say you love me?!"

I stared.

Wasn't marrying him enough proof?

Of course Zoe had to show up. She slid in by the door, sugar-coated and perfect-victim. "Aurora, I know you were close with Paolo's grandpa, but you can't keep using that to act out. Paolo's a good man—you just don't appreciate him."

"In high society, who doesn't have a few mistresses?" she added, all innocent. "Paolo's already good to you—stop making things harder."

Paolo jumped right on that.

"See? Listen to her! I'm good to you! I'm not the problem! Zoe grew up with us too—why can't you be more like her? What are you, a child? We fight and you go crying to my mom so she'll yell at me!"

Backed by Zoe's nodding, he puffed up and kept shouting.

I stood.

He froze. That old fear hit him hard, and he shrank back like a scolded kid.

I let out a smirk. "I wasn't tattling. I wasn't negotiating. I was INFORMING."

You could see it in his twitch—then the switch to venom. "Informing? Please. You're just some orphan we took in. What right do you have to 'inform' my family about anything?

"If Grandpa hadn't taken pity on you, you'd be nothing! You should be begging for my love! Acting all high and mighty—seriously?

"If he hadn't forced me to marry you, I'd rather die than be stuck with you."

He got louder, marched to the bed, and flung a divorce agreement at me. "Our three years are up. I want a divorce!"

I didn't blink.

The divorce was already done. That paper? Trash. Him? Not after closure—he wanted the show.

I wasn't playing.

I was so done with this middle school "you love me, I don't love you" circus.

I packed up and walked out, flowers in hand.

At the Ricci cemetery I laid them on Grandpa Domenico's marble and breathed out a soft, final thing.

"Grandpa Domenico, I did what you asked. I paid back everything. From now on your grandson's your problem.

"Don't pull any strings—up there or down below. I'm done.

"Even if my dad begged me in a dream, I wouldn't come back."

Before I could finish, a voice cut in behind me.

"You're really leaving my family?"

I turned. Paolo stood under a tree, half-hidden in shadow.

"Yeah," I said. "Didn't you want a divorce too? Congrats. We're done. You're free. So am I."

That last dinner—our supposed final bollito misto—had been his no-show. Whatever. I had gone to the Ricci estate, grabbed the papers, and filed them myself at the courthouse.

What I hadn't expected was Patrizia calling Paolo, asking what happened.

Paolo just stood there.

I turned back to the grave, brushing dust off the marble. Grandpa Domenico had been family for over a decade—cleaning his headstone was the least I could do.

Suddenly—

"What right do you have to visit my grandfather's grave?!"

Paolo lunged, arms locking around my waist.

I jerked back, thrashing. "Paolo! Are you insane?!"

He clung tighter, like pain didn't register. His face twisted, trying to force a kiss.

"Why couldn't you just talk to me?! I heard everything—your deal with Grandpa three years ago! I've loved you forever, but you only married me for my family! You never loved ME! Never!"

His eyes were wild—bloodshot, manic. "If you don't love ME—if all you cared about was being a Ricci—then fine. The only way you stay in this family is by carrying a Ricci child!"

He clawed at my clothes like he'd snapped.

"Paolo, you've completely lost it! Let me go!" I shoved, kicked, fought like hell.

"Crazy? Damn right I am! You've looked down on me for years! I've had tall girls, short ones, thick, thin—every kind—and you never even glanced my way! But tonight? Right here in front of Grandpa? I'll take you! I'll make BOTH of you regret it!"

Zoe stood off to the side, watching like she was front row at a show.

She rested a hand on her belly, smug and disgusting.

"Aurora, quit fighting and just accept it. I'm already carrying Paolo's child. Once you finally become his woman for real, I'll be counting on you to take care of me."

Gross. Both of them. Absolutely vile.

"Paolo Ricci, stop!" I screamed, praying something would snap him out of it.

But the more I fought, the more unhinged he got.

"Aurora, you've never been this wild with me," he panted. "Is this it? Huh? You like this? The graveyard, the screaming? Just admit it—you're the twisted one!"

He grabbed my face, fingers digging in, trying to force the words out.

Then—blinding light. The cemetery lit up like midday. A line of cars screeched to a stop.

Then Marco was there—storming in and landing a punch so hard it knocked Paolo flat.

He tore off his coat, wrapped it around me, and stood between us.

"Paolo! Are you out of your mind? Aurora is the sole heiress of Khelmark's Aragona family. You dare lay a hand on her?!"

Paolo, still crazed, tried to lunge again—but Marco's bodyguards stepped in, locking him down.

"Her family's dead!" he screamed. "What heiress?! She's my wife! The lady of MY house—I can do whatever I want!"

I stared, watching him unravel.

Then I took the documents from Marco, walked over, and slammed them against his chest.

"Take a good look. My family might be gone—but our legacy? Still breathing."

Yeah, the whole Aragona line was gone. But their sacrifice—protecting top-level state records—earned them full honors.

The company didn't collapse. It was held in trust until I turned eighteen, run flawlessly by my dad's right-hand man.

On my eighteenth birthday, it was all handed to me.

That's why Grandpa Domenico begged me to stay. Even back then, he knew the Ricci family was circling the drain.

He asked for three years—to hold them up.

"Paolo, do you even know why I said yes?" I said, voice steady. "Because I kinda liked you. Just a little. Never thought you'd turn out this disgusting. That you'd actually stoop this low."

The half-truth he'd overheard years ago finally hit full circle. I wasn't some orphan clinging to the Riccis.

They were the ones clinging to me—feeding off my family's name.

"A-Aurora..." Paolo choked, eyes wide, the truth slamming into him.

He stared at me—at the ice where warmth used to be—and finally saw it. How wrong he'd been.

"Aurora, wait—let me explain... Please, just let me explain..."