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.

For three days, I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing all the curtains.

Roberto knocked on my door repeatedly, but the food he brought was left untouched outside. I could hear him sighing, muttering things like, "Miss, you'll make yourself sick," but I didn't care.

I just lay in bed, clutching the burnt scrap of my mother's portrait, not moving.

But someone wouldn't let me have my peace.

Ava kept sending me texts.

Photos of her and Dante walking on the beach. A video of a necklace he'd bought her for a fortune. A blurry picture of them tangled together in bed.

"Thank you for setting us free. —Ava"

I should have deleted them. Blocked her number.

But I didn't.

Like a masochist, I stared at the images, watching my husband dote on another woman, until my heart grew numb and the pain finally subsided.

And whatever love I once had for Dante Moretti finally died in the process.

On the fifth day, my phone rang. It was my friend, Sophia.

I hesitated, then answered.

"Elara? God, you sound awful. What's wrong?" Sophia’s voice was full of concern.

"Nothing, just a cold," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Listen, I know this is a huge ask, but I'm desperate," she said, her words rushed. "There's a charity gala tonight, and I was supposed to play the violin, but my mom was just hospitalized. I have to get to Boston."

"Do you remember?" she said, pausing. "In college, you were always a better violinist than me, it's just that later…" She trailed off. "Anyway, can you please, please cover for me? It's just one piece, 'Ave Maria.' I know you still remember it."

'Ave Maria'.

It was my mother's favorite. She said it held the purest love and the deepest longing in the world.

After a long pause, I agreed.

I did my makeup carefully, the delicate details a shield. A white chiffon dress added an ethereal, almost holy quality to my appearance.

I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

It was the first time since my mother's death that I hadn't hidden behind an aggressive, intimidating facade.

Before going on stage, a young crew member asked me, "Nervous?"

I shook my head. Strangely, I wasn't. In fact, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in years.

Music had always been my sanctuary. No matter how much pain life threw at me, I could always find serenity when I held my violin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our solo violinist, performing 'Ave Maria.'"

The host's voice filled the hall as a spotlight hit center stage.

I took a deep breath and walked into the light.

The audience quieted, their eyes on me.

I didn't look at them. I just closed my eyes, settled the violin on my shoulder, and let my fingers find the strings.

The first note soared through the ballroom.

In that moment, the world fell away.

The melody of 'Ave Maria' flowed like silk, every note precise, filled with emotion. In that music, I poured all my memories, all my love, all my pain, and all my letting go.

When the final note faded, the hall was plunged into a dead silence.

Then, thunderous applause erupted.

I opened my eyes and took a deep bow.

As I straightened up, I saw him.

Dante. Sitting in the third row, dressed in a black tuxedo, staring at me. His expression was one I'd never seen before—shock, awe, and something else, something complex and unreadable.

Beside him, Ava, in a pink gown, was tugging at his sleeve. "What's wrong with you?" I couldn't hear her, but I could read the annoyance on her face. "Why are you staring at her?"

Dante didn't answer her. He just kept looking at me.

Our eyes met across the room, and for a second, time stopped.

He was seeing a version of Elara he never knew existed—not the hot-headed wife he was forced to marry, but a woman made of fragile strength.

And I was seeing a man I once loved, and now had to completely let go of.

I broke the gaze, gave the audience one last bow, and walked off the stage.

The applause continued behind me, but I knew this performance wasn't just for Sophia. It was for me.

This was my farewell. A final goodbye to the old me.

A final goodbye to Elara Moretti.

From now on, I was starting over.

After the performance, the organizers insisted I stay for the dinner. I tried to refuse, but they were persistent.

I found a quiet corner, hoping to eat quickly and leave, but I could feel a pair of eyes burning into me.

I didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Dante, you're acting weird tonight."

Ava's voice, sharp with annoyance, carried from a nearby table. I glanced over. She had her arm looped possessively through Dante's.

"It's nothing," Dante replied, his voice flat.

"Really?" she snapped. "Then why have you been staring at your ex-wife ever since she got on stage? What's so special about her scraping on a damn violin?"

"Ava, watch your mouth," Dante warned.

"Did I say something wrong?" Her voice grew shrill. "Don't tell me you still have feelings for her. Dante, don't you forget, she's the one who filed for divorce! She was never worthy of being a Moretti!"

I'd heard enough. I stood up to leave.

Just then, a man in a black suit hurried to Dante's side and whispered something in his ear.

I saw Dante's face darken instantly.

"When did this happen?" he demanded.

"Three hours ago," the man replied. "The Castellano family is saying we leaked the trade route. They lost five million in product."

"Do we know who leaked it?"

"We're investigating, but… less than ten people in the organization knew that route."

A mole.

There was a traitor in the Moretti family.

"We're leaving," Dante said in a low voice.

But as he turned to go, Ava grabbed his arm.

"Dante, wait." She shot me a venomous look. "I think you should know—I saw Elara meeting with a strange man a few days ago. Maybe…"

She let the sentence hang, but her insinuation was clear.

I looked at her coldly. "You'd better have proof, or I'll sue you for slander."

Dante frowned. He knew I would never jeopardize the family business. "Ava, that's enough."

Her eyes filled with a jealous fire, then brimmed with tears. "Dante, I'm not lying."

"I have proof."

She pulled out her phone and played a video.

On the screen, a woman who looked exactly like me was laughing with a known underboss from a rival family.

But I knew, with sickening certainty, that it wasn't me.

Ava pressed her advantage. "This was right after you burned her mother's things. Maybe she just snapped. Wanted revenge..."

I saw Dante's expression shift.

He was wavering.

"That's enough, Ava," I said, my voice low but firm. "I swear on my family's name, I am not a traitor."

Ava smirked. "Then where were you yesterday afternoon?"

"At home," I said, meeting her gaze. "Is there a problem?"

"Can anyone prove that?"

I fell silent. Roberto had been out for groceries. I was alone.

"See?" Ava said triumphantly to Dante. "She doesn't even have an alibi."

"Ava, you're insane," I said, trembling with rage. "I don't know anything about a trade route. Why would I do this?"

"For revenge," Ava said, as if it were obvious. "You hate that Dante chose me, so you decided to destroy him."

"I…"

"Enough."

Dante finally spoke, his voice dangerously low.

I thought he would defend me, that he would shut down Ava's insane accusations.

But he looked at me with cold, hard suspicion.

"Marco," he said to his man. "Take her back."

I froze. "What?"

"Take her back to the estate," Dante said, not looking at me. "Lock her in the Penance Room."

The Penance Room.

I'd heard of it. It was a converted cold-storage unit in the basement, kept at freezing temperatures, where the Morettis interrogated traitors.

"Dante, are you crazy?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You actually believe her?"

"The families are watching," he finally said, his eyes meeting mine. "Until you're cleared, you're a liability."

He tried to soften his tone. "Just until we clear this up. You'll be fine."

His words were meant to be reassuring, but a chill ran down my spine.

He might not believe I was guilty, but he wasn't going to protect me.

If it were Ava, would he be this ruthless?

The question echoed in my mind as two guards grabbed my arms.

"Dante," I said, not struggling. I looked him dead in the eye. "You will regret this."

He had already turned away, giving me nothing but his cold, unforgiving back.

Ava followed him, glancing over her shoulder at me with a victorious smirk.

She'd won. With a few lies, she had turned me from a victim into a criminal.

The car pulled through the gates of the estate. This place, once my home, was now my prison.

The Penance Room was in the deepest part of the basement. When the heavy iron door slammed shut behind me, a bone-deep cold instantly enveloped me.

Within ten minutes, my teeth were chattering.

My body, still weak from the miscarriage, couldn't handle this. A healthy person might endure it, but for me, it was torture.

Just as the time he promised was approaching, I heard a man's voice outside the door.

"The Don said half an hour is too short. Add another hour."

The guard on duty hesitated. "An hour? Isn't that too long?"

"It's the Don's order! You just follow it!"

"…Yes, sir."

I listened, numb.

I didn't know if it was truly Dante's order or another one of Ava's schemes.

Either way, the truth was the same. Dante had abandoned me. Again.