"Walk away? You want to walk away over something this trivial?"

He looked at me, eyes bloodshot, disgust and impatience all but spilling over.

And yet, when we first swore ourselves to each other, I had been his whole world, his gaze full of love whenever it landed on me.

Marco said flatly, "Adriana, you really are getting more and more boring."

My eyes drifted past him to the glass wall behind his desk, the city's harbor lights smeared cold across it.

Today I was in another plain dark suit, having rushed out without even bothering with my face, faint shadows still smudged under my eyes.

I did look boring.

I asked him, "Then who, in your eyes, counts as interesting?"

Marco blanked for a second and didn't answer.

His phone screen was still open to his messages with Gianna, the wallpaper a photo of the two of them at some seaside resort.

In the light they were laughing in matching colors, cheek pressed to cheek, bright and vivid.

Marco had probably forgotten that we used to be just as warm.

So this was what they called the thrill of something new.

"Marco, do you have any idea? While you and Gianna were off playing on the coast, I was sitting across a table from a tributary associate who could have buried this whole crew, drinking until my stomach bled just to keep him loyal."

"While the two of you had candlelit dinners in places men kill to be seen in, I was alone in this office past midnight, no time to eat, gnawing on cold bread."

"So I'm boring because my head is full of the Family's business, and Gianna's interesting because she travels the world eating and laughing on your arm. Is that it?"

Marco softened his voice. "Adriana... it's not like that..."

"Let's both just calm down, all right? I don't agree to ending this."

He came to my side, reaching out to pull me into his arms, the old possessive gesture of a man marking what he believed was still his.

But all I felt for him now was revulsion.

I shoved him away hard, repulsed, and turned to find that the office door had opened at some point.

Gianna stood there, already crying her eyes out.

"I heard everything. You're leaving him because of me? Adriana, if you have to blame someone, blame me. It's all my fault. Don't be angry with Marco." Two fingers pressed to the hollow of her throat, as if the words had wounded her there.

Marco watched her tears, and pain flickered through his eyes.

"Gianna, this has nothing to do with you."

I just found it absurd.

Gianna walked over and grabbed my hand. "Adriana, it's all my fault. Will you forgive me? Please don't fight because of me, all right?"

Marco chimed in too. "That's enough, Adriana. Gianna already apologized. It's all a misunderstanding. There's no need to be so harsh with her. Isn't she the closest friend of this house?"

I looked at the scene in front of me and let out a cold scoff. "Marco, I'll say it again. We're done. I'll let the two of you have each other."

Marco's brow knotted, but before he could speak, Gianna burst into tears and ran out.

His eyes chased after her wronged little figure, frantic, his anger boiling over. "Adriana, is this what you wanted? Are you happy now that you've blown everything up like this? You've gone too far."

The moment the words left his mouth, he spun around in a panic to chase after Gianna.

The door slammed shut.

The vast, empty office was left with me alone again, only the faint hum of the city beneath the glass and the distant clink of the front-business floor below.

I smiled bitterly. It was fine. I was used to it by now.

Between Gianna and me, he would always put Gianna first.

I went back to my desk. The crew who'd been gawking from across the floor all lowered their heads, the way men do when they sense rank shifting and don't yet know which way to bow.

"What's going on? Isn't the boss's woman Gianna? How did Adriana get dragged into this?"

"No idea. These tangles are such a mess. But Gianna and the boss really are easy to root for."

"Right? You don't think Adriana's the other woman, do you?"

"Hmph. Who knows."

I reached up and slipped one earring free, setting it down on the desk with absolute care.

I gave myself three days to erase every trace of myself from this operation and from the home we'd shared, to withdraw the protection he never knew he stood on, and then leave this territory for good.

For all three of those days, I didn't see Marco.

My feeds kept pushing me another one of Gianna's little broadcasts, the kind that circulated through every social club in the territory.

In it, she was blackout drunk, her makeup smeared across her face, rubbing off onto her clothes and the white pillow.

The shot cut, and a large hand with sharply defined knuckles was carefully wiping her makeup away.

It was Marco's hand. There was an indulgent, doting smile on his face.

Marco was a germophobe.

Once, I'd overslept and rushed out the door, bringing breakfast to eat in the back of his car, and all it earned me was a tongue-lashing the whole drive.

If I had any makeup on at all, I wasn't allowed to lean my face against him.

Yet in that broadcast, he could wipe Gianna's makeup off without the slightest hesitation, her lipstick and eyeshadow smudged across his white dress shirt.

Can loving someone really be faked?

The clip wasn't even over when I added Gianna's account to my blocked list.

What I didn't expect was that the scene of the three of us in the office that day had somehow been filmed and put out where everyone could see it.

The talk spread fast, every whispered table in every club passing it along.

What surprised me was that almost all of it was tearing into Gianna, calling her a homewrecker, and the tribute flowing into Marco's crew had dried up hard, his standing collapsing by the hour.

But I didn't really care. I was withdrawing anyway, so none of it had anything to do with me.

I was hauling my suitcase toward the door when—

Marco came storming back, Gianna trailing behind him. The door hit the wall and stayed open, the hallway silent behind them.

"Adriana, did you put that word out?"

He flung his phone at me.

On the screen was a post from an anonymous burner account, and right there in plain sight it named Gianna the homewrecker, with a sealed document attached, the kind that ruins a name in this world.

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "I have no interest in doing something like that."

"You think I'd believe that?" His voice was frighteningly cold.

"Gianna already apologized to you. What more do you want? Now her name's being dragged through every club, her standing—the crew's standing has dropped, and you have to drag it this far?"

He cracked the knuckles of one hand, then the other, the sound too loud in the quiet room.

Gianna cried, "Adriana, what will it take for you to forgive me… do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you?"

As she spoke, she grabbed hold of me, making a show of dropping to her knees to plead. Two fingers pressed to the hollow of her throat, as though something inside her had been wounded.

Marco clenched his fist,

grabbed my arm,

then shoved me away hard and pulled Gianna into his arms.

I lost my footing, my lower back slamming into the corner of the low cabinet, and a sharp pain shot through me all at once. My face went bloodless in an instant, my body going weak, unable to stand.

In a daze, I saw Marco reach a hand out toward me.

The next second, he pulled it back.

"Marco, I think I twisted my ankle, it hurts so much…" Gianna said, trembling.

"Gianna, are you okay? I'll take you to a doctor."

Every word dripped with tenderness and concern.

He scooped Gianna up in his arms, and when he looked back at me, his face was nothing but plain, glaring disgust.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth.

It could finally all be over.

Marco rushed Gianna off to the doctor,

while I forced my body upright, reached up, and removed a single earring, setting it down on the cabinet with great care. Then I hailed a cab to the airport, and left the territory.