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."

We stared at each other—neither of us showing any sign of softening—until my vision blurred with tears.

Finally, Matteo said with a sigh, "After all these years by my side, I thought you'd have learned some empathy. Elena, you've truly disappointed me."

His words struck like a sharp blade, plunging straight into my heart. The pain made my lashes tremble, and tears began to fall instantly.

For Matteo, I had defied my Papa, Giovanni Russo, and the perfect match he had chosen for me. I gave up the chance to become the Don's wife of the Caruso family, the most powerful mafia clan in Solmark.

Though I was born the Principessa of a mafia family, I learned to cook zuppa and run a household for Matteo, all while supporting his climb to the top.

The most determined thing I had ever done in this life was choosing him without hesitation and reshaping my bold and fiery nature into the version that best suited him.

Yet in the end, all I earned was his icy, heart-gutting disappointment.

I refused to allow myself to wallow in sorrow. Wiping away my tears, I walked to the study and retrieved the document from years ago. Then, I placed it before them.

"Then sign the divorce papers," I said calmly.

Matteo's sharp, mocking laugh cut through the room's silence. "Why don't you continue to keep the papers safe? You'll have plenty more chances to use it in the future."

The scorn in his tone was so palpable it felt like the sharpest arrow piercing straight through my heart.

A sudden, ill-timed chuckle rang out.

Sofia seemed to forget the sting of her swollen cheek. His words broke through her defenses in an instant, pulling a laugh so pained it twisted her expression into something raw and distorted.

My hands clenched into fists, and the last flicker of hope within me vanished completely.

Matteo was the one who had drawn up the divorce papers the year we got married. The day he brought up divorce, my world nearly crumbled.

Back then, I spent every day in restless anxiety, questioning how the man I had nurtured and poured all my love into could still slip through my fingers.

I cried until I could barely breathe. Tears streamed down my face as I begged, threatened, and pleaded with him not to leave.

In the end, he relented.

Later, I gave him money, status, the finest resources, and brought him smoothly into my family. Slowly, I learned to rein in my sharp edges and tread carefully until my entire world revolved around him.

In time, the indifference in his gaze softened, warmed even.

But my own sense of security faded faster and faster. Thus, I began using the unused divorce papers as a tool to test Matteo's love for me time and again.

In the beginning, when he still needed me, he would at least try to cajole me. But as he grew stronger, he would only say I was making a scene again whenever he saw the divorce papers.

Even now, he still believed I was merely pulling them out like before to scare him, to test him, and turn it into some petty game for attention.

I looked him calmly in the eyes and said, "There won't be a next time."

At the same time, I removed my wedding ring and tossed it into the trash. "Let's get a divorce."

After walking out of the villa, I contacted the family lawyer, Marco Ricci, to begin the process of dividing our assets. I also arranged for someone to clean the clothes Sofia damaged and to compile a compensation list for her.

Once everything was arranged, I tapped open my phone and sent a message.

"Tonight at Club Ace—we drink until we drop! Who's in? My treat, hurry over!"

My friends instantly responded with excitement. We used to hang out all the time, but ever since I met Matteo, it had been years since we last gathered. Thus, they were understandably over the moon.

Amid the excited reactions, a voice of reason chimed in, "Elena, don't you usually spend all your free time with Matteo? How do you have time to hang out with us today?"

He had asked what everyone was wondering about.

"Doesn't Matteo hate it when you go out with us?"

The heartfelt concern from my friends reached me one after another, filling my heart with warmth.

"We've already started the divorce proceedings," I replied with a relaxed tone.

The news exploded like a thunderbolt, instantly setting everyone abuzz. I calmly replied to a few messages before switching my phone to silent mode.

Before heading to the club, I treated myself to a spa session and picked up the limited-edition dress I had ordered online. For the first time in what felt like ages, I went back to the bold, dramatic makeup I wore before I got married.

By the time I arrived at Club Ace, my friends were already there.

I felt completely at ease in their presence. After downing several cocktails in a row, a pleasant dizziness washed over me, leaving me light and relaxed.

I excused myself to go to the restroom, hoping to walk off the effects of the alcohol. Leaning against the railing, I glanced to the side and spotted a shameless couple standing in the corner.

They looked somewhat familiar. A closer look revealed it was Sofia, dressed in a dancer's outfit, and Matteo. In my slightly hazy state, I could see Sofia nestled in Matteo's arms.

"Sofia, just tell me what I need to do for you to give up this job. Don't you remember what I told you? This place is no sanctuary of art. The complexities here are beyond what you can imagine, and a woman as innocent as you is especially vulnerable."

Large teardrops rolled down Sofia's cheeks. "I know my work can't compare to yours. But to me, this is where I can showcase my talent—it's my temple of art. Besides, I still owe Mrs. Romano so much money, so I have no other choice."

"Don't worry about any of that. I'll pay her back the money. All you have to do is focus on studying abroad without any worries."

Sofia buried herself deeper into Matteo's arms, her sobs growing heavier as she choked out, "But that's your money. I can't let you go through trouble for my sake. You know me—being with you was never about your money."

I was watching the scene with keen interest when someone suddenly whispered teasingly in my ear, "Ma'am, you really shouldn't let that woman fool you."

I turned in surprise and saw a man dressed in a waiter's uniform standing beside me. The corner of his mouth was tilted upward in a rather captivating way, but I was too preoccupied with what he had said to admire it.

"Do continue," I urged.

"That woman is one of the most skilled operators here. Just in the past two weeks, I've seen the two of them together like this three or four times. Every time, she strikes the same pose—playing the innocent, stubborn, yet dignified type, all while shedding tears and saying things that tug at a man's heartstrings.

"Playing the long game to reel in the big fish is one of the most common tactics around here, and the outcomes are usually quite rewarding."

As he spoke, his cheeks flushed slightly. "Ma'am, I noticed you standing here for a while. You're really mesmerizing, you know? But don't worry, I'm not like her. I genuinely like you."

Before he could finish, I asked, "And what about that man?"

His eyes lit up at my question. "That guy is clearly a player. Just look at how he's dressed—he's obviously wealthy. He's clearly married but thinks taking off his wedding ring will hide it, though the mark it left only gives away what he's trying to conceal.

"He wants to play the savior, which is a common pitfall for men. Rich men are often players, wanting to have their cake and eat it too. Their attitude is basically if a woman comes their way, they won't say no."

I let out a soft, derisive laugh and glanced at the waiter with amusement. "You seem to know men quite well. Go on, bring a few more bottles of expensive red wine. It'll count toward your commission."

A surprise and grateful "thank you" echoed in my ears, and I couldn't help but chuckle softly.

As I turned to head back to the private room, my gaze unexpectedly met Matteo's.

Under my indifferent stare, Matteo's expression darkened gradually. "What are you doing here?"

I scoffed and replied, "Can't you tell? I'm here to have fun, of course."

"Come home with me right now."

Leaning lazily against the railing, I couldn't help but let out a faint, dismissive hum. "Sofia has run off."

Matteo glanced toward the flustered Sofia, who was already nearing the corner, and took a step as if to follow her. But then, as though remembering something, he turned on his heels and walked toward me instead.

"I'll take you home first."

I couldn't help but chuckle lightly. "That won't be necessary. Plenty of people can take me home, so there's no need to trouble yourself. Besides, that place isn't my home anymore, because I don't want it."

"Was that man just now one of the many people you claim you can take you home?" Matteo accused sharply. "You'd even accept someone like him?"

"Oh? And just what kind of person are you referring to?" I retorted sarcastically. "Surely you haven't forgotten that you once worked as a waiter too."

I knew full well this was his sore spot. He hated nothing more than others bringing up the darkest moments of his past and the inglorious beginnings that would always be a thorn in his side.

Matteo's face turned ashen. Without another glance in my direction, he turned and walked away.