He effortlessly turned the blame back on me.

His theatrics only made him look more guilty.

I rubbed my temples, suddenly drained of any desire to argue. “You know whether it’s true or not, Vincent.”

With that, I turned and walked away.

His cold voice followed me. “Fine. I know perfectly well. Don’t you ever come looking for me again. Stop pestering me, begging me to marry you!”

This time, I didn’t look back. I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood.

I had only taken a few steps when my phone buzzed with a text message: “Isabella, didn’t manage to get married again, did you? Such a shame. But don’t worry. You can beg Vincent to marry you again. The eighth time’s the charm, right?”

I read that text message three times.

I didn’t have to be a genius to know she was mocking me.

Although I had already guessed the real reason for Vincent’s absence, Sophia Lombardi’s text still felt like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs.

Vincent and I grew up together. We were childhood sweethearts, inseparable.

As a little girl, I vowed I would marry him when I grew up.

This vow had made both our parents ecstatic.

And Vincent had always been good to me.

Until we became adults.

Then he brought another woman home—Sophia Lombardi. Watching their sickeningly sweet interactions, it hit me: whatever Vincent felt for me, it had never been love.

The realization terrified me.

A few years ago, I jokingly suggested we get married.

Our parents were all for it, but Vincent—he turned me down flat.

Over the next few years, I must have proposed a dozen times.

He only agreed seven times—and on all seven of those occasions, he stood me up.

And every single time, like clockwork, Sophia would send a taunting text.

Just then, my phone vibrated again.

I thought it was Sophia and my thumb instinctively moved to decline, but I saw it was my friend, Maria Costa.

She was inviting me to a family get-together that evening.

Without thinking, I asked, “Is Vincent going to be there?”

“Don’t worry, Isabella. I know how things are between you two, so I already gave him a heads-up. He’s coming!” she said cheerfully.

“Never mind, then,” I replied. “If he’s going, I’m not. Maybe next time.”

The other end of the line went dead silent, as if Maria was stunned.

Everyone knew I had been chasing Vincent for years.

I shamelessly sent him flowers, pulled strings for him within the Family, and spent my days running his house and cooking his meals.

Once, at a friend’s birthday party, someone remarked how lucky he was to have me.

But Vincent just scoffed coldly. “She’s annoying as hell. Who gives a damn what she does?”

Back then, I didn't care. I thought one day he would see my worth.

Now, I cared.

After hanging up, I sent a group message to our mutual friends. “From now on, if Vincent’s coming, please don’t invite me.”

Then, I called a cab and went back to my apartment.

After a shower, I started gathering Vincent’s things. I packed them all into a suitcase and called a courier to have it sent back to him.

My best friend, Maria Costa, showed up at the same time as the courier, having already heard the news.

When she saw the packed suitcase, she blurted out, “Isabella, are you leaving?”

I smiled and opened the suitcase to show her. “What are you talking about? This is all Vincent’s stuff. I’m sending it back.”

Maria froze. After the courier left with the suitcase, she looked at me in disbelief. “Weren’t you and Vincent supposed to get your license today? What happened that it came to…?”

She trailed off, the answer dawning on her.

She knew about all the other times. She was trembling with rage. “He stood you up again? That bastard. No wonder you sent that group text. I bet Sophia was behind this. Come on, we’re going to go have it out with her.”

Despite my protests, Maria dragged me to the party.

We had just reached the door of the private room when we heard Vincent’s voice from inside. “Oh, don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s been years. Isabella says harsh things all the time, but has she ever really left me? She’s just throwing a tantrum.”

“Once she cools down, she’ll come running back, just like always.”

Standing outside the door, I bit the inside of my cheek, the sharp, coppery tang of blood flooding my mouth.

After everything I had given him, I was nothing more than a tantrum in his eyes.

Seeing my reddened eyes, Maria gently squeezed my hand.

Just as she was about to push the door open, I stopped her.

In that moment, I never wanted to see Vincent’s face again.