Then his tone turned serious. I heard the faint sound of him removing his glasses, and the slow, deliberate friction of cloth on a single lens.

"The man you waited ten years for, the man who promised to give you a home, how much could he really love you?"

"You were only ever his backup plan."

"With us by your side, there's no obstacle you can't get through."

If I had not seen those love messages, I might have defended Luca without hesitation. I might have told my uncle with absolute certainty that Luca was my soulmate. That he loved me. That he was only slow to express it. That our ten years had meaning.

But the truth was, those ten years of love had been nothing but a cruel joke.

On my way to the hospital earlier, I still could not understand why he had betrayed me. I could not understand why the man who was supposed to marry me had hidden so much longing for another woman. But the moment I saw him proposing to Serafina, everything suddenly made sense.

He had not come home from service to marry me.

He had come home to marry her.

For years, I had feared that the distance between us might change him. I had feared that during those long separations, he might fall in love with someone else. But I never imagined that person would be Serafina.

And to win her over, he had even agreed to humiliate me at their ceremony.

The thoughts tangled violently in my mind. My vision blurred. I could not focus on the road.

By the time I snapped back to reality, it was already too late.

I slammed on the brakes.

A harsh crash sounded behind me.

My car was rear-ended. My body jolted forward, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my heart pounding so fast it felt like it might tear through my chest.

Just then, my phone rang.

The screen showed Luca's name.

I pressed my thumb to the pulse inside my wrist until my breathing steadied, then stared at it for a few seconds before answering.

His voice came through, calm and familiar, as if nothing had happened.

"Bianca, the doctor said you've already picked up the checkup report."

He paused.

"Where are you?"

Car horns blared from every direction, sharp and chaotic, dragging me violently back from my thoughts.

Only then did I realize my hands were trembling.

I clutched my stomach instinctively, my fingers digging into the fabric of my clothes. Fear spread through me in waves, cold and suffocating, leaving me unable to speak.

On the other end of the phone, Luca seemed to notice something was wrong. His voice tightened immediately.

"Bianca, that doesn't sound right. Did you get into an accident?"

The concern in his tone was unmistakable.

Once, that kind of worry would have made my heart soften. I would have believed it meant he cared about me, that somewhere beneath his restraint and silence, he still loved me.

But now, I knew better.

Luca was simply that kind of person. He was righteous by nature. He could not ignore anyone in danger. His concern had nothing to do with love.

I lowered my eyes and said quietly, "I was in a car accident."

His breathing changed at once.

"Don't be scared. Where are you? I'm coming right now!"

His voice was urgent, filled with anxiety.

But by the time he arrived, stepping out of the black sedan with Serafina beside him, the traffic cops had already finished handling everything.

When Luca saw that I was not injured, the relief on his face was obvious.

But my gaze did not stay on him.

It landed on Serafina.

She was sitting beside him so naturally, as if that seat had always belonged to her. One of his soldiers held the door for her the way they held doors for family.

A dull ache spread through my chest.

I looked at Luca and asked calmly, "When did the two of you become so close?"

He knew exactly what Serafina had done to me. He knew how deeply she had ruined my life. And yet now, she was standing beside him, appearing at my accident scene like someone with the right to be at his side.

Had he already decided to make me her ceremonial attendant? Was that why he no longer even bothered to hide their closeness?

Luca's expression stiffened for a moment. A trace of guilt flashed across his face. His thumb dragged once along the scar at his jaw before he looked away.

"Bianca, I went to the family clinic to pick up our medical clearance and happened to run into Serafina."

He paused, then explained, "When she heard you had been in an accident, she insisted on coming to check on you."

I looked at the two of them coldly, forcing down the emotions surging in my chest. Then I asked, word by word, "Is she here to check whether I'm dead?"

Luca's face darkened instantly.

"Bianca!" His voice turned harsh. "Watch your words. Apologize to Serafina."

Apologize?

I almost laughed.

Before I could speak, Serafina's eyes filled with tears. She reached toward my hand hesitantly, her expression fragile and remorseful. Her fingers smoothed the front seam of her dress three quick times before she spoke.

"Bianca," she said softly, "I've regretted what happened for the past two years."

Her voice trembled perfectly.

"I know I ruined your dream of playing the piano. It was my fault. Can you forgive me?"

The moment those words left her mouth, my fingers curled tightly.

The old pain in my hands seemed to awaken all at once. The severed tendons. The blood. The despair of realizing I would never again touch the piano keys the way I once had. The dream I had spent half my life chasing had been destroyed by her hands.

And now she stood before me, weeping beautifully, asking for forgiveness as if a few tears could erase everything.

After she finished speaking, Luca nudged me gently.

That tiny movement was like a knife pressed against my heart.

He was signaling me to say something. He wanted me to forgive her.

I turned to look at him.

My voice was soft, but every word was cold.

"Do you think I should forgive her?"

For a brief second, guilt flickered across Luca's face.

But it disappeared too quickly.

He lowered his eyes and said, "Back then, Serafina made a mistake in a moment of impulse."

A moment of impulse.

Those four words struck me so hard that I nearly forgot how to breathe.

Was that all it was to him? My ruined hands. My destroyed future. The pain that returned every time it rained. The dream I could never touch again. All of it was just a moment of impulse?

Luca continued, "She answered for it. The sit-down was held, restitution was paid. She's been remorseful for years. Now she's apologizing to you. Why keep holding on to the past?"

Why keep holding on to the past?

So if I refused to forgive the person who nearly killed me, I was the one being petty.

I stared at him, and memories from that year rushed back like a tide.

Back then, Luca had stood beside me in the clinic. He had held my hand while my entire body trembled from pain. He had looked at Serafina with hatred in his eyes and promised me that he would never forgive her.

But now, he was asking me to let it go. He was asking me to reconcile with the woman who had destroyed me.

When he reached for my hand, as if trying to guide me toward some forced peace offering, I slapped it away.

The sound was crisp and sharp. One of his soldiers shifted at the edge of my vision. Nobody moved after that.

I looked at him, my voice trembling with bitterness.

"Luca, you weren't the one whose tendons were severed."

"You weren't the one who lost the ability to play the piano."

"You weren't the one whose dream was destroyed overnight."

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry.

"What right do you have to ask me to forgive the person who almost killed me?"

If Luca had not blocked the knife for me that day, I might not even be alive now. But did that mean I had to be grateful forever? Did it mean that because he saved me once, he now had the right to decide whether my pain mattered?

I was not as generous as he wanted me to be. I could not smile and forgive a woman who had carved a permanent wound into my life.

Luca's face hardened. His tone became stern, carrying the same authority he used when giving orders to his men.

"Bianca, I'm doing this for your own good."

For my own good.

Those words were almost laughable.

"You've always been withdrawn," he said. "For years, Serafina was your only close friend. Why can't you bury the hatchet and rebuild that friendship?"

He looked at me as if I were the unreasonable one.

"People have to move forward in life, don't they?"

His words were firm, almost domineering. But the warmth he once had for me was gone. The tenderness I had once depended on had vanished completely.

Only command remained. Only judgment.

The pain in my abdomen grew sharper, twisting together with the ache in my heart until breathing became difficult.

But even through the haze of pain, I still saw it.

The hidden satisfaction in Serafina's tear-filled eyes.

It was the same look she had worn two years ago, on the day she went mad and destroyed my hands. Pitiful on the surface. Cruel underneath.

Serafina lowered her head, her voice trembling with perfectly performed remorse.

"Bianca, even if you don't forgive me, I'll keep repenting."

She sniffled softly.

"One day, I still hope we can be friends again."

The nausea rose in my throat. Every word from her felt filthy. Every tear felt fake. Every second I stood there with them made me feel as if I were being forced to swallow glass.

Finally, I could not bear it anymore.

I pressed my thumb hard against the pulse inside my wrist until my breathing steadied just enough to speak.

I stared at her and spat out two words through clenched teeth.

"Get lost."

I gripped the car door tightly, using it to keep myself upright.

The pain in my abdomen came in waves, each one sharper than the last. Cold sweat dampened my back, and my legs trembled so badly I could barely stand. The street noise around the fender-bender had gone on without us, horns and voices, but inside the narrow space between the two cars the air was dead still, the way it gets in a room right before a verdict is read.

But Luca did not notice.

Or perhaps he noticed and simply did not care.

Impatience was written all over his face.

"Bianca," he said coldly, "forgiveness is divine. Serafina has already paid the price. Are you trying to force her to die?"

His voice was full of concern.

The same kind of concern he had once shown me when I lay covered in blood after Serafina attacked me. Back then, he had held me in his arms, his eyes red with rage and fear. Back then, he had sworn he would never let anyone hurt me again. He'd made that promise the way made men make promises: with his hand over his heart and the name of his dead father on his lips.

But now, that same fear, that same protectiveness, was all for Serafina.

I stared at him, my heart aching so badly that it almost drowned out the pain in my body.

What had changed?

When did the man who once stood between me and danger become the man shielding my attacker from me?

With the last of my strength, I lifted my head and looked at him. His soldier waited three paces behind, eyes down, hand resting near the holster beneath his jacket. Even the muscle knew better than to interrupt when Luca DeLuca spoke.

"You're right," I said, my voice hoarse but steady. "Either she severs her own tendons, or she dies."

I forced out every word through the pain.

"Otherwise, I will never forgive her."