When my husband, Matteo Romano, comes over to pick me up so that we can attend an auction on our wedding anniversary, I spot a woman sitting in the front passenger seat of his car.

"This is Sofia Bianchi, the one I've been telling you about. She's still very young, so you must take good care of her."

So, this is the woman, huh?

The same woman who's been making waves in my family, and also the one my subordinates have warned me to watch out for, hmm?

Sofia is clad in a simple white dress that makes her look pure and innocent. The way she acts delicate yet prideful gives me a weird feeling.

She casts me an aggrieved look while biting her bottom lip. Reluctantly, she says to me, "Hello, Mrs. Romano."

I reply kindly, "Hello!"

At the same time, I open the car's back door. "By the way, your seat's at the back."

The aloofness in Sofia Bianchi's expression instantly crumbled, and she called out with a choked voice, "Matteo."

"I told Sofia to sit here. She's sensitive to the cold and isn't feeling well. Also, she's used to sitting in this spot," Matteo Romano explained in his usual cold and deep voice.

I stood still and looked at him with a faint, knowing smile. "Oh, I see. You're not feeling well, huh? Then wouldn't sitting on Matteo's lap be even cozier? He could even hold you."

Then, I turned my considerate gaze toward Sofia. "What do you say, Sofia? Go ahead and sit over there. You'll even get to enjoy Matteo's scent more strongly. It's perfect for curing whatever's bothering you."

I kept my eyes fixed on Sofia and completely ignored the seething Matteo beside me.

When he saw my indifferent reaction, Matteo's low voice turned sharp with reproach. "Elena, just what are you trying to do?"

I didn't answer, but I saw Sofia's face flush instantly. With reddened eyes, she pushed the car door open and stepped out, affecting an air of pride.

"Matteo, I appreciate your kindness, but I won't be attending the auction after all. Not everything the crowd hypes turns out to be a dazzling gem. People are like items up for sale—there's no inherent hierarchy of worth.

"What's often missing is just the right opportunity and a discerning eye that recognizes true talent. So, all I have to do is be true to myself."

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow—I truly wanted to applaud her performance.

Over the years, I had dealt with countless women who approached Matteo with all sorts of motives. Some were after money, some for gain, some for his looks, and some for fame. I had seen them all.

But I had never come across this type of self-righteous, artificially innocent, and fragile pick-me girl before.

This explained why Matteo had been unable to forget since seeing Sofia dance at the nightclub. He sent her a constant stream of jewelry, trinkets, and flowers, and even planned to send her abroad for further studies.

And on our very anniversary, he insisted on bringing her along.

Matteo immediately followed Sofia out of the car and caught her hand as she tried to leave.

"Sofia, there's a piece at today's auction that you've wanted for a long time. It'd be a shame to miss it. I'll have Elena apologize to you right now."

I watched with an impassive expression as they held hands. The tattoo on the inner side of Matteo's wrist was no longer the same sword that matched mine. Now it was entwined with lilies. In other words, our couple's tattoo had been defaced.

"No, it's okay. I would never ask you to do anything difficult for my sake. Nor would I force myself to swallow this humiliation just because of some empty apology."

Sofia played the role of the cold, dignified, and wounded party to perfection. Looking at her face, I suddenly felt a long-unfamiliar itch in my hands. I held back, again and again, and decided to just get into the car.

But just as I lifted my foot to step into the passenger seat, a vivid and glaring bloodstain on the white leather caught my eye. The back of Sofia's white dress was stained the same color.

Matteo also noticed the soiled dress. "Sofia, wait." He quickly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her waist. "I'll run to the convenience store. Wait here for me."

The two of them gazed at each other. Sofia then lowered her head shyly and nodded almost imperceptibly.

They looked perfectly in sync.

Finally unable to hold back any longer, I slapped Matteo hard across the face.

The sharp smack brought back the memory of the time I pursued Matteo, who was singing in a bar. To make my point, I had smashed hundreds of bottles of expensive red wine right in front of him.

The moment the wine bottles exploded, every woman who had designs on Matteo was struck silent. And so, all the obstacles in my path were cleared.

"Tell me, how does she plan to compensate me for dirtying the car?"

I hadn't lost my temper in so long that Matteo mistakenly assumed I had mellowed with time.

Matteo quickly tried to salvage the situation. "Sofia didn't do it on purpose. I'll have the car cleaned."

I let out a light, mocking laugh. "You'll have it cleaned? Can you wash away the stench inside? Either buy me a new car or replace the whole interior—the choice is yours."

Sofia stared fixedly at me. At the same time, she didn't forget to put on a teary-eyed performance for Matteo.

"Mrs. Romano, it's not my fault that I'm poor. But insulting me like this? That's entirely on you."

I couldn't help but laugh in exasperation at her manipulative, faux-innocent words.

"Did I insult you? Why don't you take a good sniff inside the car to see if that's your scent all over it? Besides, having principles isn't an excuse to weasel out of responsibility."

At that, Sofia turned to Matteo with tears now streaming down her face.

"Enough!" Matteo snapped, looking at me with visible irritation. "I'll handle the compensation. Sofia is innocent. Don't use your narrow-mindedness to tarnish someone else's goodness."

For a moment, despite the sweltering heat, I felt a chill creep straight into my heart. A wave of powerlessness, unlike anything I had ever known, washed over me.

I watched as Matteo walked into the convenience store and began picking out tampons with practiced ease.

Sofia suddenly stepped closer to me and said in a tone laced with provocation, "Ms. Russo, you'll never understand the bond between Matteo and me. He understands what my dancing truly means, and I understand the burdens he carries.

"All you have is money, whereas what Matteo and I share on a spiritual level is something you could never reach."

She held her head high smugly. "We started from different places. I don't have a mafia father as you do, nor a powerful family to back me up. But my heart is sincere and burning with passion. When Matteo married you back then, it was only because you forced and manipulated him into it.

"The person he truly loves has never been you. If we had met just a few years earlier, there would've been no place for you in his life. And he wouldn't be like he is now—seemingly radiant on the outside, yet lonely and hopeless within."

Matteo lonely and hopeless?

When I first met Matteo at 18, he was working five different jobs and perpetually run-down from the grueling hours.

But he would barely get his hands on his earnings before his gambler of a father would snatch them away. The staggering gambling debts also fell, one after another, onto his shoulders.

It was precisely at this time that I first met Matteo.

Dressed in rags and gaunt to the bone, he was begging a restaurant owner for work in the bitter cold of winter. For some reason, I followed him after he was turned away, all the way to the shelter under the bridge.

As I watched him sit in the corner and at his beautiful but hollow, lifeless eyes, I felt a pang of heartache for the first time. I didn't understand what pity was. I only knew how much I loved those eyes of his, and that everything he lacked, I happened to have in abundance.

And so, just like that, I pulled him out of the gutter.

I forced him to accept my kindness, to look up and meet my gaze, and to return to school and finish the education he had been compelled to abandon.

Later, everyone in the Verdian mafia circles knew I had coerced a down-and-out man from the lowest rungs of society to marry me.

It wasn't until I personally molded Matteo into a formidable legend within those same circles that the narrative shifted, and people began to envy my good fortune once more.

Yet, no one knew that every bit of feeling I invested had nothing to do with luck.

"He's his own person, a man who stands tall in his own right—not your accessory."

Soffia's incessant chatter kept buzzing in my ears, and my hand began to itch uncontrollably again.

But when I saw Matteo hurrying back and Sofia deliberately trying to provoke me, I changed my mind in an instant.

"Yeah, you're right. He's indeed a man, but he is my man—not yours. If you want him to be yours, you'll have to ask for my permission first. And more importantly, you'll have to ask him whether he's willing to betray his family and become an outcast all for your sake."

My voice was steady and firm, just loud enough for Matteo to hear as he approached. His steps didn't falter in the slightest.

"Elena, you've misunderstood. I only see Sofia as a sister. You shouldn't spout nonsense like this, as it could harm her reputation. And you also shouldn't believe every rumor you hear."

Sofia's eyes dimmed instantly, her reddened rim highlighting the resentment she felt inside.

I should have felt a rush of satisfaction, yet I couldn't summon any joy.

"Go ahead to the auction first. I'll take Sofia home and join you later," Matteo added.

Sofia leaned into Matteo, and he didn't pull away. Instead, he caught her as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

I watched silently as Matteo scooped Sofia up in his arms and settled her into the car seat. Then, he got ready to leave.

Just as the car was about to pull away, Matteo said, "Since you think the car is dirty, take a cab there yourself. I'll go with you to pick out a new car another time."

I couldn't help but recall that when I was 18, Matteo had looked at me with the same hollow, unresponsive gaze, never once saying no.

My love breathed life into him and, more than that, endowed him with the formidable bearing of a mafia man.

He always indulged my whims. Even after rising in the family ranks, he still placed my needs above all else.

Yet now, he had placed Sofia's needs before mine.

I watched calmly as the car carrying them slowly drove away from me, leaving me with nothing more to say. Refusing to let them disrupt my plans, I attended the auction as scheduled.

To be honest, I never cared much for auctions. If I wanted something, it would be brought to me without effort.

But Matteo loved them. He loved the thrill of bidding extravagantly, the admiration and praise others showered on him. Thus, choosing the auction for our anniversary was all an attempt to please him.

I never expected him to feel indebted or grateful, for I just wanted to give him a better life.

But by the time the auction ended, Matteo still hadn't shown up.

Distracted and unsettled, I wrapped up the event and arranged for the items to be sent directly back to the villa.

When I saw the family car parked outside the villa, my heart sank.

I hurried inside and found Matteo sitting on the sofa, watching the financial news as he often did.

On the seat beside him lay the tailored suit jacket he had wrapped around Sofia's waist earlier to hide the stain. His exposed forearms were still dotted with tiny droplets of water.

My intuition told me something had slipped beyond my control.

"Why is the car at home?" I demanded.

Before Matteo could answer, a woman's startled cry came from the master bedroom. My mind instantly went blank for a second, then I saw Matteo rise and stride swiftly toward the door, his knocking unmistakably urgent and panicked.

"Sofia, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Mrs. Romano's dress didn't quite fit me. While changing, I bumped into the wedding photo on the headboard, and it accidentally fell and broke."

I shoved Matteo aside hysterically and stormed into the room. Once inside, I slapped Sofia hard across the face while she was still partially undressed. Watching her clutch her cheek and collapse to the floor in stunned disbelief only fueled the fire inside me.

But when I noticed her wearing the 1.8-billion-dollar diamond necklace Papa gave me for my sweet 16, the rage in me blazed beyond control.

Clothes were strewn all over the walk-in closet, and the dirty, unchanged water in the bathtub sat there like a murky mirror, jeering back at me.

The air was thick with the scent of men's cologne and a faint, foul odor. Wave after wave of nausea washed over me, threatening to make me sick.

Matteo rushed over and wrapped Sofia in a bedsheet before demanding sharply, "Elena Russo, have you lost your mind? Sofia just came to take a shower and borrow some of your clothes. Who are you putting on this crazy act for?"

He thought I was being unreasonable. But he had forgotten that this was our marital bedroom, not a place anyone could enter and trample over as they pleased.

Scattered across the floor of the walk-in closet were the lingerie I had carefully chosen to please Matteo. They represented intimate moments between husband and wife, yet now they had been carelessly tossed aside and soiled by Sofia.

"Apologize to Sofia right now," Matteo commanded, his voice cold and low as he held Sofia in his arms.

I forced down the metallic taste rising in my throat and looked at him with disappointment. "No way."