My marriage to Dante Moretti shocked everyone.

I’ve got a fiery temper and I don’t back down. Three years into our marriage, the entire Chicago underworld knew we were at each other's throats.

Except in bed.

There, our bodies just fit. The only time we weren't at war was when we were tangled in the sheets, lost in a storm of desperate kisses and raw pleasure.

Countless times, he’d tell me he was obsessed with my body, always right as he was sinking into me.

I thought it was his way of saying he was falling for me.

That all came crashing down at an auction, when he snatched my mother's heirloom from me, only to give it to her—a fragile-looking girl named Ava.

That’s when he showed me a cruelty I’d never seen.

"It's time for a reality check, Elara," he’d said, his voice cold as ice. "Marrying you, fucking you… it was all just to keep the peace between our families. Ava is the one I want to protect."

But the day I finally left Chicago, the day I announced our divorce to the world…

That cold, calculating Mafia Don hunted for me like a man possessed.

Three years of marriage. We fought constantly, and we fucked like our lives depended on it. I thought that was just our thing. Until he told me his heart had belonged to someone else all along.

"Is that all you've got?"

I gasped for air, sweat slicking my back as the man beneath me gave one last, final thrust. Dante’s hands dug into my hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

This was us. Even in bed, it was a battle.

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pushed deeper, his lips brushing against my ear. "You always talk a big game, Elara—but your body never lies."

I bit my lip, refusing to let a moan escape. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

But Dante knew my body like the back of his hand. He knew every sensitive spot.

He trailed soft kisses along my neck, a stark contrast to the brutal, perfect rhythm of his hips slamming into me.

Until we both shattered.

I couldn't stop myself from digging my nails into his broad, powerful back.

"Satisfied, Elara?" Dante pulled away and slipped on his shirt. As usual, he grabbed a damp towel to clean me up.

It was the only time he was ever tender.

I forced the blush from my cheeks and shot him a defiant smirk. "Barely. You were adequate."

His movements paused. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

"Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

"I'm going to the underground auction tonight," I said, getting up to dress. I made my voice sound casual, bored. "There's something I have to get."

"What is it?"

"My mother's brooch." My voice trembled slightly, but I hid it. "The diamond one."

It was the last thing she left me. Lost three years ago during a family clash, and it had finally resurfaced on the black market.

Dante fastened his cufflinks, his tone indifferent. "If you don't win it, I'll buy you something else to make up for it."

My heart skipped a beat. A warmth spread through my chest.

Was that… concern?

Maybe. Maybe he wasn't completely heartless.

The auction was held in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Dim lights cut through the gloom, illuminating the faces of the city's most dangerous players. Dressed in a black gown, I sat in a corner, waiting.

"Next up, a 19th-century diamond brooch. Bidding starts at five hundred thousand."

The auctioneer's voice echoed. My palms started to sweat.

"Six hundred thousand!"

"Seven hundred!"

"One million!"

I raised my paddle. "One and a half million," I said, my voice clear.

The room fell silent. That price was far beyond the brooch's actual worth.

I thought it was mine.

Then I saw him. Dante. And next to him stood a delicate-looking girl.

She sighed. “Oh my god, that brooch is beautiful. I wonder who will be lucky enough to own it. Someone like me, with my background… I could never be worthy of something like that.”

She looked down, the picture of heartbroken innocence.

I saw Dante’s eyes flick to me.

There was no surprise in his gaze, just a cold, calculating calm.

"Two million," he said, raising his hand. His voice was low and powerful.

My blood ran cold.

"Dante, what are you doing?" I shot to my feet, my voice shaking.

He ignored me and raised his paddle again. "Three million."

No one else dared to bid against the heir to the Moretti family.

I gritted my teeth. "Four million."

Dante didn’t even look at me. "Five million."

"Sold!"

The auctioneer’s gavel fell like a hammer blow to my heart.

I watched, paralyzed, as Dante walked on stage and took the brooch. The pink diamond glittered under the lights. It had been my mother's favorite.

Then, he turned and pinned it to her chest.

His voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "If you want it, who would dare say you're not worthy?"

The girl, Ava, beamed. "Dante, you're so good to me."

She glanced at me, and I saw the triumph in her eyes. "But... isn't this Miss Elara's mother's brooch...?"

Dante finally looked at me. "Ava loves it. Be generous and let her have it. I'll compensate you with anything else you want."

Compensate me?

As if money could replace my mother's memory.

This cold man couldn't be the same one who had held me in his arms an hour ago.

I forced the words through clenched teeth. "I don't want anything else. I want my mother's brooch."

Dante's expression turned to ice. He spoke the words that plunged me into hell.

"Don't forget what this marriage is, Elara. It's a deal. Nothing more. Ava is different. She's the one I'll spend my life protecting."

I trembled. “Spend your life protecting… What do you mean?”

“I love Ava. She's the one I truly want to marry… Elara, don’t look so heartbroken. We never had feelings for each other, did we? I'll still play the part of a good husband, as long as you don't interfere with me and Ava.”

I didn't cry as I walked out of the auction house, but my chest felt like a gaping black hole.

My mind was a loop of Dante's words as I stumbled down the stairs.

Just then, a young man in a waiter's uniform rushed past, a tray in his hands. He slammed his shoulder into me.

"Ah!"

I shrieked as I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs.

A dull thud shot through my back, followed by a sharp cramp in my stomach.

I lay on the cold ground, my vision blurring. Through the haze, I thought I saw Dante bursting through the doors.

On the other side of the room, Ava cried out and sank to the floor, clutching her ankle. "Dante… my ankle… it hurts so much…"

I saw Dante's gaze whip between us. He hesitated for only a second before striding toward Ava.

"Damn it, how could you be so clumsy?" He scooped her up, his voice tight with worry. "I'm taking you to the hospital." He didn't even glance back as he left.

Beneath me, a warm pool of liquid was spreading, staining the white marble red.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, you're bleeding!" a server screamed.

Then, everything went black.

I woke up in the hospital, a sharp pain still tearing at my abdomen.

Dante stood by my bed, his expression a mix of pity and something I couldn't read. "Elara, you were pregnant."

"What?" I couldn't believe it.

I had once dreamed of having a child with Dante. But of course, it had to happen now, after I knew he didn't love me.

And the worst part—

“You lost the baby. The fall was too severe.”

"No, no…" I could barely breathe. "There has to be a way, Dante. You have to save our baby."

I grabbed his hand, my grip desperate.

But he just shook his head, his voice cold. “You need to accept it. Maybe this baby was never meant to be.”

He turned to the door. "Doctor, take her for the procedure."

"I don't want to—"

Doctors and nurses swarmed in, holding down my arms and legs.

Dante just watched, a bystander to my struggle.

I knew then. He didn't love me, so he felt nothing for our child.

I was awake for the whole thing.

I felt something being taken from my body.

When I came to, Dante was still in the room.

I just stared at him in silence.

He stepped forward, reaching out as if to wipe the sweat from my brow.

I turned my head away.

It was the first time his touch felt revolting.

His voice was quiet. "The doctor said the surgery was a success."

Success? Succeeded in killing our child?

"I've dealt with the man who bumped into you. As compensation, I can cede the North District's turf to the Romano family," he continued. "It's worth a billion. That should be enough to cover this loss."

"I don't want your territory." My voice was a raw whisper. "I just want you to answer one question."

"What?"

"When I was hurt, why did you choose Ava?" I stared into his eyes. "Aren't I your wife?"

Dante froze, and then his face hardened.

"So that's what this is about." He dropped my hand. "It was an accident, Elara. Ava is fragile, she needs to be taken care of. If you're still not satisfied, I can add to the compensation."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, a tribute to the child I’d lost.

A child who was clearly less important than that girl's ankle.

"Be rational, Elara," Dante said, standing up and adjusting his cuffs. "Our marriage is a political alliance. Let's not complicate it with emotions."

He paused at the door. "And one more thing. I want you to keep the pregnancy quiet. Marrying you already hurt Ava. If she knew you were pregnant, she would be devastated."

So that was his real goal.

I smiled, a dead, empty smile. "As you wish."

"Fine," I whispered, turning my face to the wall. "Just go."

Dante frowned but finally turned and walked toward the door.

"I'll have the best doctors and nurses sent to look after you. Get some rest."

As he stepped out, I heard him speak into his phone, his voice suddenly soft. "Ava? What is it, baby? Don't cry, I'm on my way…"

A week later, I was discharged.

For seven days, Dante never showed up. A nurse mentioned that someone sent the best food and fresh flowers every day, but it was never him.

I knew what he was busy with. Busy comforting his Ava, busy giving her all the tenderness I had craved.

The mansion was the same: cold and opulent.

I pushed open the door to Dante's study.

This was his sanctuary, filled with his collection of antiques and art. Trophies on the shelves, photos with politicians on the walls.

And our wedding photo.

In the picture, I was radiant in a white gown, smiling brightly. Dante, in his sharp suit, looked impassive, but he at least played the part of a dutiful husband.

We looked so perfect.

It was all a lie.

I grabbed a crystal vase from his desk and hurled it at the bookshelf with all my might. The shattering sound echoed in the silent room.

Then another. And another.

I destroyed every one of his precious collectibles, tore every photo from the wall. Finally, I stood before our wedding portrait, staring at the naive girl in the picture.

"You're such a fool, Elara," I whispered to the bride, before ripping the photo to shreds.

The wreckage in the study was still on the floor when my phone buzzed.

A text from Dante.

"Done with your tantrum? I'll have someone replace everything. This ends now."

This ends now?

I stared at the words, a wave of dizzying absurdity washing over me. I lost our baby, I destroyed his study, and to him, it was just a tantrum that needed to "end"?

My phone trembled in my hand. Not from anger, but from absolute despair.

And just like that, my heart was dead. Stabbed, the knife pulled out, leaving a gaping hole that would never heal.

I dialed the Romano family lawyer.

"Mr. Peterson, it's Elara. I need you to draw up divorce papers."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Ma'am, are you certain? This could impact the business alliance between the two families…"

"I'm certain," I said, my voice so calm it was chilling. "As fast as you can."

"And... regarding the division of assets? The prenuptial agreement states that if you initiate the divorce…"

"Follow the prenup to the letter," I cut him off. "The house, the cars, the shares—I don't want an extra dime. All I want is my freedom."

Peterson was clearly shocked, but he was a professional. He didn't ask any more questions.

"Very well, Mrs. Moretti. I'll have the documents prepared immediately."

I hung up and walked into our bedroom. Or rather, my bedroom. Dante rarely slept here. Even when he did, it was just to fulfill his husbandly duties before retreating to the guest room.

I opened the closet and started packing.

After three years of marriage, I had so little to show for it. Most of my things were what I'd brought with me from the Romano estate.

Good. It would make leaving that much easier.

Dante came home at ten.

I was waiting for him on the living room sofa. Three copies of the divorce agreement were laid out neatly on the coffee table.

He walked in and froze when he saw the documents.

"What is this?"

"Divorce papers," I said, gesturing to the table. "Just sign."

Dante walked over, picked up the papers, and gave them a cursory glance before scoffing.

"Elara, do you think we're in some soap opera?" He tossed the documents back on the table. "Three years, and you're still the same spoiled brat."

Spoiled brat?

After my mother died, I had to wear a mask of fire and steel just to survive.

But after marrying Dante, I had slowly let my guard down, seduced by his rare moments of gentleness. I kept bending, hoping one day I'd become the wife he wanted.

Clearly, he'd never even noticed.

I swallowed the bitterness. "I'm serious."

"Serious?" Dante sat down across from me, crossing his legs in a posture that was both relaxed and threatening. "Then let me seriously remind you of something. The partnership between the Romano and Moretti families is a three-billion-dollar deal. Do you really think your father will let you throw that away over a little temper tantrum?"

I just watched him, silent.

"And another thing," he continued, his voice growing colder. "Your sister Luna's medical bills are a million a month. Our private hospital gives her the best drugs and equipment in the world. Do you think the Romano family, in its current state, can afford that without me?"

He stood up, looming over me.

My heart ached, but I forced a smile, the same one I used every time we went to war. "You sound so sure of yourself. But what about your precious Ava? Don't you care? If we don't divorce, she'll always be nothing more than your infamous mistress. It seems you don't love her that much after all, Dante."

We stared at each other, the air thick with tension.

Finally, he grabbed a pen, scribbled his name, and threw the papers at me.

"Happy now? Stop this pointless drama. And don't forget your sister still needs me." He snatched his jacket. "I have business to attend to."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

I looked at the signed papers on the table, and the tears finally came.

But this time, crying felt like a release.

Dante didn't know that Luna had been in remission for six months. I'd used my own money to find her the best doctors and then sent her to France. She was in Paris now, studying art, healthy and happy.

I never told anyone, not even my father. I knew that as long as Luna was "sick," it was the leash that bound me to this marriage.

But I finally understood. The real reason I stayed was never my sister. It was my own stupid heart. I thought one day, Dante would see me. That he would love me as a wife.

What a pathetic fantasy.

I picked up my phone and sent a text to Peterson: "Papers signed. File them with the court tomorrow."