After Dante rushed off to the clinic with Angelina, I took the annulment papers and drove straight to his headquarters at the Moretti compound.

"Miss Romano, the Don is handling an urgent matter. He can't be disturbed," his Consigliere, Marco Vescovi, said, blocking my path.

Handling an urgent matter?

My gaze drifted to the narrow crack in the heavy oak door.

What drifted from the crack in the door wasn't the voice of a Capo reporting on family business, but the soft, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

In what was supposed to be one of the most secure offices in Chicago, the screen wasn't displaying the family's accounts.

It was monitoring Angelina's vital signs in real time.

The man who could orchestrate a bloody turf war without batting an eye was now staring at a medical monitor, his face a mask of raw panic.

How absurd.

I still remembered, early in our marriage, I was delivering documents to him when my finger caught the edge of a bullet casing, drawing a single bead of blood.

The moment Dante saw it, he’d flung the cigar cutter across the room.

"Eliana, I hate imperfection in any form," he had said coldly, his fingers clamping around my wrist. "Clean it up. Don't let me see it again."

From that day on, I wore double-layered gloves even to prune the thorns on my roses.

"Miss Romano..." Marco's voice pulled me from the memory.

I let out a bitter laugh. "It's fine. Just have him sign this when he's free."

Marco nodded, took the document from my hand, and disappeared into the office.

I thought I would have to wait.

Surely he would watch Angelina's heartbeat on the monitor a little longer before sparing me a shred of his attention.

But in less than thirty seconds, the door opened.

Marco handed the document back to me.

Dante's jagged signature was already scrawled on the last page.

He hadn't even looked at the terms.

My fingers clenched the agreement, a suffocating tightness seizing my chest.

Ever since I was fifteen, I knew I would marry Dante.

He was the ruthless king of a dark empire—cold, untouchable, incapable of love.

And I had naively believed that if I were perfect enough, I could be the exception.

It turned out that role had long been reserved for someone else.

Now, with a few strokes of his pen, he had turned all my foolish hopes into a cruel joke.

When I returned to our estate, I ordered the maid to take down the massive portrait symbolizing the union of our two families.

"But...this painting is your favorite. You commissioned the most famous artist in Edevia for it..."

She was right.

I had once seen that painting as proof that I had tamed this cold-blooded man—I had trapped him in a gilded frame and made him my husband.

But I forgot that a leopard never changes its spots.

Dante hadn't changed; he'd just been biding his time.

"Burn it," I said dismissively. "I don't want it to be an eyesore for his new 'angel'."

The cooling-off period for the annulment was about to end.

During this time, Dante hadn't returned to the estate once.

That evening, I was wandering aimlessly when I found myself at the café outside the church.

To my surprise, I saw Angelina inside.

She was still wearing that faded shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing the unhealed wound on her arm.

Suddenly, she looked up and saw me. Her eyes lit up, and she hurried over.

"Thank you for your help the other day. My boyfriend would like to take you to dinner, to thank you."

In my past life, Dante had said that Angelina was different from the women who chased his power—her eyes were clear and innocent, like a blank slate.

I used to find that laughable.

But now, meeting her clear, sincere gaze, I couldn't bring myself to argue.

"There's no need. I was just passing by," I said evasively.

After we sat down, her eyes suddenly reddened.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She lowered her head, tears spilling from her lashes. "I think I might be pregnant. But he's been avoiding me these past few days. Do you think… he doesn't want the baby?"

So, they had slept together.

I should have expected it, but the truth still felt like a cold hand squeezing my heart.

I had foolishly hoped that Dante's obsession with her was just a phase, that he would grow tired of it and eventually return to me.

It seemed I was only deluding myself.

"Do you think he's... seeing someone else?"

That question sent a chill down my spine.

If she discovered Dante's identity and his marriage, with her conscience, she'd surely leave.

And knowing him, he would unleash his fury on me—and on my sister, Bella.

In my past life, when Bella was attacked by a rival family, Dante was the first to get the news.

But he stopped the family's doctor from going to save her.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, forcing myself to remain calm.

"No, don't overthink it," I told her softly.

After comforting her, I made an excuse to use the restroom. I pulled out my phone and called Leo.

"Move up Bella's flight to Switzerland. Tonight. Book the ticket and tell her to head to the airport now."

The moment I hung up, I called Bella.

Her voice, warm and familiar, came through the receiver—and a cold dread washed over me.

"Eliana, did you and Dante have a fight?" she asked.

I wanted to tell her everything. That in our past life, she died. That he had my legs broken, then locked me away in a mental asylum to rot.

He would never allow anyone to threaten the life he had built for his precious Angelina.

The memories churned in my gut. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, choking back a sob.

"Eliana, whatever you do, I'll always be on your side. We only have each other," Bella said.

Her voice was a warm balm, but it only amplified my terror.

I was afraid Dante would find out she was leaving and, in a rage, drag her back just as he had in our past life.

I was afraid this call was being monitored.

I was afraid all my plans would fall apart.

Most of all, I was afraid Bella wouldn't run fast enough, and he would catch her again.

"I love you, Bella. Wait for me. We'll be together again soon."