He tightened his grip around my wrist, his fingers cold against my skin.

"Bianca," Adrian said, his voice low, almost careful. "Why are you acting like this?"

I looked down at his hand, then slowly lifted my eyes to meet his.

For ten years, I had loved this man with everything I had.

When I was eight years old, I was sent to the DeLuca household because of my heart condition. Back then, Adrian was already the most dazzling boy I had ever seen. He was proud, quiet, and distant, like someone born to stand above everyone else. The kind of boy the old men in the parlor already called il principe, the heir who would one day sit at the head of the table.

But he was also the first person who sat beside my hospital bed and peeled an apple for me with clumsy hands.

He was the one who carried me on his back when I was too weak to walk.

He was the one who promised me, under the old fig tree in the DeLuca courtyard, that when we grew up, he would marry me.

I had believed him.

I had believed every word.

So for the next ten years, I followed him like a shadow. I loved what he loved, waited where he told me to wait, and forgave him every time he chose someone else over me.

And then, on the tenth anniversary of our relationship, he secretly arranged a grand church wedding for my cancer-stricken best friend.

Viviana Caruso's final wish was to marry him.

And Adrian DeLuca agreed.

He did not tell me. He did not ask me. He did not even give me the dignity of hearing it from his own mouth.

Instead, he blocked every piece of news, ordered everyone around him not to inform me, and tried to hide the entire ceremony from me like I was some shameful inconvenience. Every associate, every soldier, every cousin who might have whispered the truth to me had been told to keep their mouths shut. Omertà, but turned inward, aimed at me.

But Viviana live-streamed the whole ceremony for me to see.

I watched the man I had loved for ten years stand before another woman in a white wedding dress, the altar candles burning behind them like something sacred was actually happening.

I watched him put a ring on her finger.

I watched him lower his head and kiss her forehead while everyone applauded.

That night, I cried until my chest burned, until my heart spasmed with pain, until the world went black and I fainted on the cold floor.

After the wedding, Adrian stayed with Viviana at the family's island estate.

And later, when my heart condition suddenly flared up, he rushed to take her to the hospital instead, leaving me behind as if my life meant nothing.

That day, I almost died.

It was also on that day that something inside me finally shattered beyond repair.

So when Dominic Moretti, the Don who controlled Seattle's port territory and half its shipping lines, proposed to me, I said yes.

Not because I wanted revenge.

Not because I wanted to provoke Adrian.

But because I was tired.

I was tired of waiting for a man who only remembered me when Viviana did not need him.

I was tired of being the person left behind.

Dominic kept confirming it over and over again.

"Bianca Bellandi, are you truly willing to marry me?"

Every few minutes, his message would appear on my screen, as if he was afraid I would regret it, afraid this happiness was too sudden to be real.

After I agreed, he sent me more than a dozen diamond ring designs.

Each one was breathtaking.

"These are rings I acquired at auction," he wrote. "Do you like any of them?"

When I did not reply immediately, another message came only seconds later.

"If none of them suit your taste, there's a jewelry auction in London soon. I'll take you there myself, and you can choose whatever you like."

I stared at the photos for a long time.

The diamonds sparkled coldly beneath the light, beautiful and distant, like another life waiting for me.

Finally, I pressed the voice message button and said softly, "The Graff pink diamond is beautiful. Let's use that as our wedding ring."

The moment I finished speaking, I sensed someone behind me.

I turned around.

Adrian was standing there.

He must have heard the words "wedding ring," because for the first time in a long while, that calm, untouchable expression on his face cracked.

A trace of panic flashed through his eyes.

"Wedding ring?" he asked, staring at me sharply. "What wedding ring?"

His gaze was so intense that it almost felt like interrogation. Somewhere deeper in the house, I heard footsteps pause on the marble, as if even the soldiers could feel the temperature change.

Once, if he had looked at me like this, my heart would have raced. I would have panicked, explained, tried to prove my innocence before he even asked.

But now, I only looked back at him with quiet indifference.

I was just about to make up an excuse when my phone suddenly rang.

The name on the screen was Viviana Caruso.

I answered.

Her weak, tearful voice came through immediately.

"Bianca… is Adrian with you? I just had another nosebleed. I'm so scared…"

Before I could say anything, Adrian snatched the phone from my hand.

"Viviana, don't be afraid. I'll come over right now."

His voice was urgent, gentle, and full of concern.

Then he turned and left.

No explanation.

No hesitation.

Not even a glance back at me.

I stood there alone, watching his figure disappear through the doorway.

Only then did I remember that tonight, he had promised to take me on a night cruise along the harbor.

He said it was to make up for missing our tenth anniversary.

I had once waited for that promise.

Now, I only found it ridiculous.

So this was what it felt like to truly let go.

Watching him run toward another woman, I felt no pain, no anger, no jealousy.

My heart was calm.

So calm it felt almost numb.

As if even the deepest wound had finally stopped bleeding.

My phone rang again.

This time, it was Dominic.

"Bianca," he asked gently, "are you ready? I'll send someone for you in Boston tomorrow."

My thumb pressed against the inside of my sleeve hem, running along the stitching. Then I let go.

I looked out into the distance. The night outside the window was vast and silent. Somewhere below, a black sedan idled at the curb. One of Adrian's soldiers, always watching the perimeter. Even the DeLuca security didn't know what was coming.

After a while, I said, "Give me one week. I need to settle everything here first. After that, I'll come to Seattle, and we'll get married."

Dominic's voice softened.

"Alright. I'll wait for you. If anything happens that you can't handle, remember, I'm here."

After hanging up, I called Enzo DeLuca to say goodbye.

Enzo DeLuca and my grandfather had once been bound by the kind of loyalty only forged through blood and survival. They had fought on the same side, covered each other's debts, and sworn oaths that outlived them both. Because of that bond, the DeLuca family had taken me in when I was eight.

Back then, doctors had diagnosed me with a severe heart condition. My grandfather had searched everywhere for treatment, and the DeLuca family's private clinic in Boston was one of the most renowned on the East Coast, especially famous for cardiology. Old connections, old favors. My grandfather called in the last one he had.

So I was sent to the DeLuca household.

From that day on, Adrian's parents treated me like their own daughter.

Enzo cared for me even more deeply, always worrying about whether I had eaten, whether I had taken my medicine, whether I was tired.

Now that I was leaving Boston and crossing into Moretti territory in Seattle, it was only right that I say goodbye.

That night, Adrian did not come home.

Near midnight, Viviana sent me a message.

"Look at you with cake all over your face. So cute."

Attached to the message was a photo.

In the picture, Adrian was leaning down to take a bite of cake, while Viviana smiled sweetly beside him, smearing cream onto his cheek with her finger.

The two of them looked intimate, natural, and happy.

A few seconds later, the message was deleted.

Then Viviana sent another one.

"I'm sorry, Bianca. I sent that to the wrong person. Adrian thought it was cute and asked me to send it to him. You're not upset, are you?"

I stared at the screen for a moment.

Then I turned it off.

I did not reply.

Instead, I returned to my room, opened my suitcase, and quietly began packing my things.

The next day at noon, Adrian finally came home.

He was carrying a gift box in his hand, clearly something he had prepared as an apology.

"Bianca," he said, watching my expression carefully, "Viviana's condition became serious last night. I took her to the clinic."

I said nothing.

He handed me the box.

I opened it.

Inside was an elegant Van Cleef & Arpels watch. The strap was circled with diamonds, exquisite and expensive, glittering under the light.

It was beautiful.

It was also painfully familiar.

Because I remembered that not long ago, he had given Viviana a similar watch.

Mine was merely the more expensive version.

That was all.

Noticing that I did not react, Adrian's brows furrowed slightly.

"Bianca," he asked, his voice carrying a trace of unease, "are you angry?"

I closed the box and answered calmly, "No."

He seemed startled by how flat my voice was.

I continued, "Viviana is sick. You should stay with her."

Adrian looked at me for a long moment.

Perhaps he finally sensed that something was wrong.

In the past, whenever Viviana was involved, I would argue with him, cry, question him, ask why he always chose her.

But this time, I did none of that.

No accusations.

No tears.

No trembling voice.

Only peace.

After a while, he sighed in relief, as if convincing himself that everything was fine.

"I'm glad you're not angry," he said. "After all, we still have a long future ahead of us. But Viviana…"

His eyes reddened slightly.

That familiar look appeared again.

Guilt.

Pity.

Tenderness.

All for another woman.

I no longer had the patience to listen.

"Then spend more time with her," I said.

With that, I turned to leave.

But Adrian suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist.

His grip was firm, almost desperate.

"Bianca," he said again, his voice heavier this time. "Why do I feel like you don't care anymore?"

When I lifted my eyes, my face was calm, almost empty of emotion.

"What is it?" I asked.

Adrian stared at me, a faint trace of irritation crossing his face. It was as if my indifference had offended him, though even he could not explain why.

Before he could speak, his phone rang again.

He glanced at the screen, then looked back at me. "Bianca, I have to handle some business out of town for a few days. I won't be around."

"You take care," I replied lightly.

His absence was convenient. It would give me time to visit the DeLuca estate and say my goodbyes without having to deal with him.

The next morning, I gathered the gifts I had prepared and drove to the DeLuca family residence. The iron gates opened slowly, as they always had for me, the guard nodding once before waving my car through. Ten years of coming here, and the gravel drive still smelled like boxwood and old stone.

When Sofia DeLuca heard that I was returning to Seattle, worry immediately filled her eyes.

"Bianca, what happened? Haven't you been doing well here in Boston? Why are you leaving so suddenly?"

Vincent DeLuca's reaction was far more direct. He removed his glasses and folded them with exact care, then set them on the table beside his coffee. His expression was dark with anger.

"And where is Adrian? Why didn't he come with you? Did that boy mistreat you?"

My throat tightened.

For a moment, I almost wanted to tell them everything.

I wanted to tell them that Adrian had married Viviana behind my back, in a church ceremony I was never meant to know about until it was too late.

I wanted to tell them that he had abandoned me when my heart condition flared up.

I wanted to tell them that the boy who once promised to protect me had become the person who hurt me the most.

But in the end, I swallowed it all down.

"No," I said quietly. "Nothing like that. I've just been away from home for too long. I want to go back and reconnect with my family."

Sofia still looked unconvinced. "Does Adrian know you're planning to return?"

To avoid further questions, I nodded. "Yes, he knows."

After that, they seemed to understand that I had already made up my mind. They tried to persuade me a little longer, but when they saw that I would not change my decision, they could only sigh and let it go.

After exchanging a few more words, I stood to leave.

But just as I reached the door, it suddenly opened from the outside.

Adrian stood there.

And beside him was Viviana.

Her expression was calm and composed, as if entering the DeLuca family home was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers drifted to the base of her throat, a small, practiced gesture, before she spoke.