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."

My phone vibrated. A picture from an unknown number.

My blood turned to ice.

It was Ava, holding my mother's brooch over the deep, dark sea, looking like she was about to drop it.

If you want it, Marina Bay, dock seven. You have one hour. After that, it's gone. —Ava

I knew this was a trap, but I didn't care. I had to get my mother's brooch back.

When I stepped onto the yacht, Ava was leaning against the railing, a glass of champagne in her hand.

"You finally made it." She turned, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. "I was starting to think the great Romano princess was too good to see someone like me."

"The brooch. Give it back," I said, cutting to the chase.

"Not so fast." Ava walked over to a sofa on the deck and sat down, crossing her legs elegantly. "Let's chat. After all, this might be the last time we get to talk alone."

She pulled the diamond brooch from her purse, turning it slowly in the sunlight. The flashes of light stung my eyes.

"It's beautiful," she sighed. "Dante told me it was the only thing your mother left you. Such a shame she died so young. She never got to see her daughter marry such a wonderful man."

"Give it back to me," I said, fighting to keep my voice from trembling.

"Oh, I forgot." Ava feigned surprise."You're not Dante's wife anymore. He told me you just got divorced. I almost died laughing."

She stood up and walked toward me.

"You know what he said? He said, 'Elara finally let go, so now we can be together for real.'" Her voice was dripping with triumph. "Then he picked me up and spun me around, and told me I was the woman he's been waiting for all these years."

Every word was a knife in my heart. But I wouldn't let her see it.

"Should I congratulate you?" I said, my voice flat. "Now, can I have the brooch back?"

Ava smiled, a look both sweet and vicious. "Seeing as you're about to be a washed-up divorcée, I might consider it."

She stuck out a foot shod in a white high-heeled shoe.

"Kneel. And shine my shoe."

I thought I'd misheard her. "What?"

"You heard me. Kneel and shine my shoe." Ava's smile widened. "Do it, and I'll give you the brooch. It's not too much to ask, is it? It's my property now, after all."

The sea breeze howled in my ears. I felt dizzy.

"What's wrong? The great Romano princess is too proud?" Ava taunted. "Fine. If you don't want it, I'll just throw it away right now."

"Wait!" I cried out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Then, I knelt.

"Good girl. That's more like it," Ava's voice was smug. "Use your sleeve. I want them spotless."

My hands shook as I reached out and began to wipe her shoe. The white leather gleamed in the sun as my tears fell, one by one, onto the deck.

"You know, Elara," Ava said, looking down at me, "I've hated you since the first day I met you. I hated your high-and-mighty attitude, your confident smile."

I didn't answer, just mechanically continued the humiliating task.

"But look at you now," she went on. "Kneeling at my feet like a servant. Is this the great Romano princess? A pathetic divorcée who couldn't even hold on to her own baby?"

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stopped.

"It's clean," I said, getting to my feet, my voice eerily calm.

"Hmm, not bad." Ava inspected her shoe and nodded. "Well then, a deal's a deal…"

She pulled the brooch from her purse and dangled it in front of me.

Then, before I could react, she drew her arm back and threw it. The brooch sailed through the air and disappeared into the sea with a small splash.

"Oops. My hand slipped," she said, her expression one of theatrical shock. "How clumsy of me."

I stared at the spot where the last piece of my mother had vanished into the blue water. My mind went blank.

She stood up, smoothing her dress.

"Thanks for the shoeshine, Elara. It's probably the most useful thing you've ever done. After all, you're not good for much else—couldn't even hold on to a baby. How does it feel to lose a baby? That's what you get for taking the spot that should have been mine. And this is just the beginning."

I understood her meaning then—my miscarriage was her doing.

My sanity snapped.

A wave of pure hatred crashed over me. I grabbed Ava's wrist and dragged her to the railing.

"You vicious bitch!" I tightened my grip on her throat. "You killed my baby!"

There was no fear in Ava's eyes, only triumph. "So what if I did? Who's going to believe you?"

I was breathing heavily, determined to expose her, to make Dante see the monster he was protecting.

Just then, Ava looked over my shoulder and a strange smile spread across her face.