"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"You've always been withdrawn," he said.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."

The veins on Luca's forehead bulged. His thumb dragged once along the scar at his jaw, slow, deliberate, as if reminding himself he still got to decide how the story was told. His face darkened with visible anger.

I suddenly remembered that he had once looked at Serafina the same way. Back then, he had called her vicious. He had said that anyone who could destroy another person's future was unforgivable.

Now, that same fury was aimed at me.

"She can't play the piano anymore either," he snapped. "Do you really have to be this cruel?"

His eyes were full of disappointment, even disgust.

"I don't want a wife the families see as heartless. If you keep clinging to hatred like this, no wonder you don't have anyone left."

The words struck harder than any slap.

For a moment, I could not even breathe.

So this was how he saw me now. A cold, petty, friendless woman who refused to let go. And Serafina, the woman who ruined my hands and destroyed my dream, had become the pitiful victim who merely made a "mistake."

I looked at his face, at the disgust he no longer bothered to hide.

How had I never seen it before? Or had I seen it, but refused to believe it?

The man who once promised to protect me with his life was gone. The Luca who had stood by my side, who had hated Serafina with me, who had held my trembling hands and told me I would still have a future, no longer existed.

All that remained was a stranger wearing his face.

The pain in my abdomen suddenly intensified. My vision blurred. My knees gave way, and I collapsed.

Luca reacted quickly and caught me before I hit the ground. His grip was hard, automatic, the reflex of a man trained to catch falling things before they shattered on the pavement. Only then did he finally notice the blood staining my dress.

For one brief second, his expression changed.

But the softness that appeared on his face was not understanding. It was a careless assumption.

"Now I get it," he said, his tone easing slightly. "You're acting like this because you're on your period, aren't you?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

He continued, as if he were being generous. "Fine. I won't force you to make peace today. But next time, don't be so unreasonable."

The pain tore through me so fiercely that I could barely speak. I clutched his sleeve with trembling fingers and forced out a whisper.

"Take me to the hospital…"

But Luca still thought I was only suffering from cramps. He frowned and turned toward the car, rummaging around for painkillers.

At that moment, Serafina suddenly knelt in front of me.

Her eyes were red, tears falling perfectly down her pale face. Her fingers smoothed the front seam of her dress three quick times, precise and practiced, flattening the performance into place.

"I'm sorry, Bianca," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to make you so angry."

She looked so fragile. So guilty. So pitiful.

But before she could finish her performance, Luca rushed back and pulled her up in a panic.

"Why are you kneeling to her?" he scolded, though his tone was painfully gentle.

Then he turned to me. The tenderness vanished from his face. His voice became sharp again.

"Bianca, haven't you caused enough trouble today?"

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

"You don't want her to curse herself by kneeling to you, do you?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The pain had swallowed my voice.

Serafina leaned weakly into Luca's arms, her face pale as if she were about to faint. And just like that, Luca panicked. The same way he had once panicked for me. Only this time, it was for her.

He lifted her into his arms without hesitation.

Then he ran. He ran through red lights to rush Serafina to the family clinic.

And I was left behind.

I lay on the cold ground, curled in pain, surrounded by noise, dust, and silence. The soldier who had been standing three paces behind was gone. He had followed Luca. Of course he had followed Luca.

No one came back for me. No one heard me call for help.

By the time I was finally taken to the emergency room, my body was nearly numb from pain. The discreet family physician examined me and told me I needed to be admitted immediately to protect the baby.

Baby.

That word made my fingers curl against the bedsheet.

Out of habit, I reached for my phone and dialed Luca's number. Only after the call connected did I realize what I had done. Even now, after everything, my first instinct in pain was still to look for him.

How pathetic.

Fortunately, he did not answer. The ringing ended in silence.

And in that silence, something inside me finally settled.

After ten years of love, Luca and I had finally become strangers.

I lowered the phone slowly and looked at the doctor. I pressed my thumb to the pulse inside my wrist until my breathing steadied. When I spoke, my voice was calmer than anyone in that room expected.

"No need to save it," I said.

"I want the surgery today."

When I woke up after the procedure, the world was quiet. My abdomen felt empty. My heart felt even emptier.

My uncle had already arranged my plane ticket. The flight was scheduled for the day of Luca's alliance ceremony. Seven days. Just seven days left.

Enough time to pack. Enough time to disappear. Enough time to bury the last ten years of my life.

Luca was right about one thing. People had to move forward.

From this moment on, I would cut myself away from everything that had once belonged to him. The love. The pain. The promises. The child. All the happiness I had imagined. All the suffering I had endured.

I would leave it all behind.

And this time, I would not look back.