More than ten days passed, and Alessandro still hadn't come home.

I stayed in the villa, sorting through my mother's belongings and placing her ashes in the church columbarium.

He was in Miami with Isabella—shopping, drinking, watching the sunrise.

He never sent me a single message.

Isabella, however, used a different number each day to send me intimate photos of them together.

She gloated, flaunting Alessandro's affection for her.

All the patience and companionship I had craved, Alessandro lavished on her instead.

After I blocked Isabella's number for the seventeenth time, Alessandro finally came home.

He held out a bouquet of slightly withered roses, acting as if he'd just returned from a short business trip, and spoke to me nonchalantly.

"Elena, I'm tired. Have the kitchen make me something to eat."

He was completely unconcerned about the glaring hickey on his neck or the cloying perfume clinging to his clothes.

When I didn't move, he frowned with a hint of impatience.

"Still angry about Isabella?"

"I told you, it was just a little girl's prank. You're overreacting. I just had to spend some time comforting her."

"Alright, don't give me that look. I've replaced the flowers for you, and I'll have someone replant the rose garden. As for your mother… I've already contacted the best sanatorium in Switzerland. You don't have to worry."

A sharp pang of grief shot through me, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

It had been over half a month, and Alessandro still knew nothing of my mother's death.

He was even using such a clumsy lie to placate me.

I suppressed my heartache and looked at him.

His head was bent as he texted Isabella, the tender smile on his lips blinding.

Three years. Had he already forgotten everything?

Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

Alessandro looked up, startled by my expression, and fumbled to comfort me.

"Don't cry, Elena. I'll spend more time at home with you from now on, alright?"

The words had barely left his lips when his phone rang.

"Don Falcone, the banquet is starting. Miss Isabella has been waiting for you."

It was his Consigliere, Marco.

Alessandro glanced at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but he quickly relented.

"Alright, Elena, I said I'd stay with you, and I won't go back on my word. We'll go together. You can get out and clear your head."

Without giving me a chance to refuse, he dragged me into the car.

The moment I opened the car door, I spotted an earring belonging to another woman on the seat.

Alessandro, looking a bit awkward, quickly tossed it out the window.

"She's just a kid. She doesn't know any better. You need to be more understanding."

I didn't get angry as he had expected. I just calmly took out a wet wipe and meticulously cleaned the leather seat.

Alessandro froze, instinctively shifting his body to block the intimate photo of him and Isabella stuck to the dashboard.

He asked tentatively, "You're not angry?"

"There's nothing to be angry about."

I turned my gaze indifferently out the window.

He didn't know. The moment his pen touched that paper, he became a stranger to me. A target. He wasn't even worth my anger anymore.

The rest of the drive was silent.

Alessandro tried to speak several times but seemed unable to find the words.

Ever since he'd introduced that twisted Mafia code into our marriage, we’d lost the ability to have a civil conversation.

All that remained were endless arguments and rage.

And at this moment, I didn't even have the strength to argue.

My mother's death had drained the last of my energy.

I just wanted to get through these last few days in peace and escape this rotten marriage for good.

When we arrived at the banquet, a crowd surrounded us the moment we walked in.

I was pushed to the side, my lower back slamming hard against the sharp corner of the bar. The pain was so intense I could barely stand.

Isabella, dressed in a sexy red evening gown, glided toward us.

"Alessandro, today is our six-month anniversary."

"I don't want any expensive gifts. I just want to borrow the sapphire necklace your mother left you… Just for a little while. I can pretend… just for a moment… that I'm your wife."

Her performance was a masterful blend of charm and sincerity.

It wasn't just Alessandro; even the family members gathered around seemed moved.

Alessandro strode forward and pulled Isabella into his arms. "I promise."

The media, already poised, immediately swarmed in with their cameras.

They vied to capture the blissful moment as he fastened the necklace around her neck.

I lowered my head, a bitter smile touching my lips.

When Alessandro and I were married, he said we should keep the ceremony simple.

I didn't care about formalities; I only asked to see the matriarch's necklace.

But Alessandro said the time wasn't right, that we would talk about it later.

That "later" turned into three years.

He waited until we were on the verge of breaking apart.

He waited until I had to watch with my own eyes as he placed it around another woman's neck.

He waited until I finally understood that Alessandro hadn't changed—he had never truly respected me.

The love I thought was real?

It was nothing more than a passing game for a Mafia godfather.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts.