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.

"Elara! Let her go!"

A familiar voice, laced with a murderous rage I had never heard in his voice before, cut through the air from the dock.

I turned. It was Dante, striding onto the yacht with three of his men.

"Dante! Help me!" Ava’s mask of innocence was back on. She struggled in my grip, her voice a desperate sob. "She's crazy! She's trying to kill me!"

Dante's face grew darker. He slowly drew a silver pistol from his jacket and aimed it squarely at my head.

"You crazy bitch. Let. Her. Go."

The hatred in his eyes was a physical blow. My grip slackened.

But in that instant, Ava grabbed my hand and shoved it against herself, propelling her backward. She screamed as she stumbled past the railing and fell into the water. "Ahhh—"

From Dante's perspective, it looked like I had pushed her.

"No!" Dante roared. He dropped the gun and, without a second of hesitation, dived into the ocean after her.

My mind was blank. I watched him swim desperately toward Ava.

Soon, he was back at the yacht's edge, holding a soaked and shivering Ava. His men lowered a ladder and hauled them aboard.

"Ava! Ava, are you okay?" Dante knelt on the deck, clutching her trembling body. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I… I almost died…" Ava clung to him, shaking from fear and cold. "She really tried to kill me…"

Dante stroked her hair, his eyes filled with anguish. Then he slowly stood and turned to me.

CRACK.

His hand whipped across my face, the force of the slap nearly knocking me to the ground.

"You vicious bitch!" he roared, his eyes burning with hellfire. "How dare you! How dare you hurt her!"

I held my stinging cheek, forcing back the tears.

"What if I told you she jumped?"

"She framed me. She killed our baby, she admitted it herself!"

Dante's face was a mask of disappointment. "Ava would never do something like that! And I told you, the baby was an accident. Are you trying to pin that on her, too?"

I wanted to laugh. It was so absurd.

He believed in Ava's goodness without question but had already condemned me as a monster.

I pointed to a corner of the yacht. "There's a security camera. Watch the footage before you sentence me."

Dante hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

But then Ava’s weak voice cut in.

"Dante… my chest hurts… I think I'm dying…"

He immediately spun back to her, scooping her up in a panic. "Don't be scared. I'm taking you to the hospital now."

He held her so carefully, as if she were the most precious porcelain doll in the world.

He paused as he passed me.

"I will look at the footage," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "And if you did this, I will make you pay."

After Dante left, I stared down into the deep, dark water.

My mother's brooch. I couldn't lose it.

Without a second thought, I jumped. I dove again and again, desperately searching the seabed until my limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

My body, still weak from the miscarriage, couldn't take the strain.

I collapsed.

It wasn't until my own security detail noticed something was wrong that I was found and taken to the hospital.

When I woke up, it was the next day.

My phone was filled with missed calls from Dante and our head butler, Roberto.

Ignoring Dante's threats, I called the butler. "Roberto, what's going on?"

Soon, I found out exactly what Dante's revenge was.

"It's terrible, ma'am!" Roberto's voice was frantic. "Mr. Moretti came to the villa with his men!"

"He's… he's going to burn all of your mother's paintings!"

I floored it, racing back to the estate.

In the garden, a dozen of Dante’s men stood in silence. They held my mother’s things—her photo albums, her hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. And in the center, propped on an easel, was a portrait of my mother. Her final painting. My entire world.

A large fire pit sat in the middle of the garden, the air thick with the sickening smell of gasoline.

And Dante stood right beside the portrait, a box of matches in his hand.

"No!" I sprinted toward the garden. "Dante! What are you doing!"

Two guards grabbed me, their grips like iron, holding me back.

"Let me go! Those are my mother's things! You have no right!" I thrashed wildly, my nails digging into their arms.

Dante turned slowly. In the moonlight, his face was a mask of cold fury.

"The security footage showed you pushed her. I gave you a chance to explain," his voice was devoid of any warmth. "But you ignored my calls. Now, you're going to pay the price for hurting Ava."

I shook my head, desperate. "No, the footage… it must have been faked! And I passed out, I was in the hospital!"

But he didn't listen. He raised his hand. "Burn it," he commanded.

"Don't! I'm begging you!" I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. For the first time in three years, I was completely broken before him.

He looked down at me, a flicker of pity in his eyes that was quickly extinguished by cold resolve. "When you pushed Ava into the sea, she was just as desperate."

The flame touched the corner of the painting.

I remembered my mother's words.

"Elara, my love, I hope you marry a man who truly loves you. Remember, someone who truly loves you will never, ever hurt you on purpose."

And now, the man I had once loved was destroying my heart in the cruelest way imaginable.

"Mama!" A raw, inhuman scream tore from my throat as I collapsed. "Mama!"

The fire consumed everything, every brushstroke, every memory. The images of my mother, of our life together, vanished before my eyes.

I cried until I couldn't breathe, my body shaking uncontrollably. It was a pain worse than any physical torture—the utter helplessness of watching your most precious treasure be annihilated.

"Put it out!"

Dante's voice suddenly cut through my grief.

His men rushed forward to extinguish the flames, but it was too late. The self-portrait was mostly gone, only a small, charred piece of the corner remaining.

I lay on the ground, sobbing like a lost child.

Perhaps the sight of my complete and utter despair got to him, because for a split second, Dante's cold mask wavered. But just as quickly, it was back in place.

"This is a warning, Elara," he said, looking down at me. "If you ever touch a hair on Ava's head again, next time it won't just be paintings."

I slowly lifted my head, my tear-filled eyes meeting his.

"Dante," I rasped, my voice shredded. "The biggest regret of my life is ever meeting you."

His pupils contracted, but he said nothing.

A sharp pain exploded in my chest, a tidal wave of grief that drowned my senses.

The world went black. I fainted on the gasoline-soaked grass.

The last thing I saw was Dante's cold, indifferent face, and the smoke still rising from the wreckage of my mother's art.

When I woke, it was the next afternoon.

I was in my bedroom at the estate. Sunlight streamed through the windows as if the nightmare of the previous night had never happened.

But then I saw it on my nightstand: the small, burnt fragment of my mother's portrait. A brutal reminder that it was all real.

A knock at the door.

"Come in," I said, my voice weak.

It was Marco, Dante's second-in-command.

He placed a file from his briefcase on the nightstand. "Mr. Moretti asked me to bring you this compensation agreement. He said that perhaps he went too far last night, and he's willing to offer some financial restitution."

"Furthermore," Marco continued, "Mr. Moretti wishes for you to be more rational and to stop harassing Miss Ava. We are all civilized people, after all. There's no need to make things so ugly."

Civilized people?

When he was setting my mother's life's work on fire, he didn't seem very civilized.

I looked at Marco's polite but cold face, and a volcano of rage erupted inside me.

"GET OUT!" I grabbed the water glass from my nightstand and threw it at him. "Take your damn agreement and get the hell out!"

The glass shattered at his feet, splashing water all over his suit.

Marco took a step back, but his expression remained placid. "Ma'am, I understand you're upset, but—"

"I SAID GET OUT!" I grabbed the papers, tore them to shreds, and threw them at him. "And you tell Dante I don't want his money! I don't want his compensation! Tell him and his little whore to stay the hell away from me!"

Marco finally turned and left.

And I collapsed back onto the bed, completely drained.