I was a nobody, but for three years, I was in love with Dante, the heir to the Blackwood family—Chicago's biggest name in the mob.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I couldn't wait to tell him the good news.

But then I heard his twin brother, Marco, ask him, "Bro, when are you gonna tell Rose it was me in her bed every night, pretending I was you?"

Dante's voice had a coldness I'd never heard before. "At the wedding, in one week. I'll expose everything, then I'll propose to Isabella."

Isabella. The rich girl who used to bully me.

So, this was all just payback for his precious Isabella.

But what Dante didn't know was that the wedding he'd so carefully planned would be missing its bride.

A week before I was supposed to marry Dante, heir to the Blackwood crime family, I found out I was pregnant. At the same time, I found out the truth about our love story—it was all an act to get revenge for his beloved Isabella, just because I’d “stolen her spotlight” back in school.

I didn’t let on that I knew. I quietly scheduled an abortion and submitted an application to become a war correspondent.

I decided to give Dante a “gift” of my own, right at the wedding.

The blood test was clear: Pregnant.

I stared at the word, my heart pounding. Three years. Three whole years with Dante, and we finally had a child of our own. The timing was perfect, right as we were planning our wedding.

The Chicago blizzard was brutal. There were hardly any cabs on the street. I shivered in the wind and snow for over twenty minutes before I finally flagged one down.

On the way, I kept imagining Dante's reaction. He'd freeze for a second, then flash that smile that always made my heart race. He'd pull me into a tight hug and whisper, "I love you, Rose."

The BlackRose Club was the Blackwood family’s private spot, insanely luxurious but in that quiet, old-money way. The guards at the door knew me and just nodded me in.

Dante was probably in a private room upstairs, handling business. I walked up the stairs slowly, my palms sweating. After tonight, everything would be different. We'd talk about baby names, plan our future.

The door to the room was slightly ajar. I could hear the low rumble of men talking and laughing. I took a deep breath, about to push the door open, when I heard a familiar voice.

"The three-year charade is almost over."

It was Dante's voice, but with a chilling coldness I'd never heard.

My hand froze in mid-air. A knot of dread formed in my stomach.

"Boss, you're telling me that girl never suspected a thing?" a gruff voice asked.

Dante let out a cold laugh that made my blood run cold. "Rose? She's so dumb it's almost cute. She still thinks the man holding her every night is me."

What?

My breath hitched. I peeked through the crack in the door.

"But you and Marco don't sound the same..." another man asked, confused.

"I just make up some excuse, and she buys it. Said I was drunk, or had a cold, whatever. Hahaha."

Another sharp laugh. I saw his face through the crack—a face identical to the man I loved. But the expression on it was cruel and cold, something I'd never seen before.

Marco. Dante’s twin brother.

I'd never met Marco; I only knew he existed. Dante had told me Marco handled family business in Europe and rarely came back to Chicago. Whenever I asked, he'd say they didn't get along and told me not to push it.

But what was he saying now?

"Bro, you really never touched Rose? Seriously though, she's a hell of a ride." Marco’s face twisted into a sickening grin that made me want to throw up. I had to fight to hold it down.

Dante sneered. "I'm not interested in her type. If she hadn't pissed off Isabella, I wouldn't have wasted a second on a gold-digging whore like her."

Isabella.

Hearing her name felt like a punch to the gut. Isabella Morrison, the girl who bullied me for three years straight at our private school. She was a princess of Chicago's elite; I was just a scholarship kid. She was always finding ways to humiliate me, to make me feel worthless.

So, this was all her plan.

And a gold digger? I thought about how for three years, I’d refused every expensive gift from Dante, even spending half my salary just to buy him a tie worthy of his status.

I stood at the door, a deep chill running through my body.

The conversation inside continued.

"The boss's plan is perfect. Give Rose hope, let her think she's found true love. Then, right when she's at her happiest, kick her straight to hell."

"When are you going to tell her the truth?"

Dante was silent for a long time, so long I almost thought he felt a flicker of pity for me.

Then I heard his ice-cold reply: "In a week. At our wedding."

"I'm going to make her understand what happens to women who try to climb their way into the mob. The perfect man she thinks she found, Dante Blackwood, was just an act we put on for her."

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, trying not to make a sound.

"And after that, boss?"

Dante paused. Then I heard the cruelest words of my life. "I'll dump her, and then I'm going to ask Isabella to marry me."

I stumbled out of the club, the blizzard's wind cutting my face like razors. Tears froze on my cheeks almost instantly. I curled up on a bench, the words I’d just heard replaying in my head.

Three years. It was all an elaborate lie.

The memories flooded back.

Three years ago, Isabella had poured a bowl of soup on me in the school cafeteria, mocking my secondhand clothes. I’d run to the library crying. That’s where I met Dante.

He was so gentle, handing me a tissue and comforting me. "They're just jealous of how beautiful and smart you are," he'd said.

I thought it was fate, meeting my light in my darkest moment.

Now I knew. It wasn't a chance meeting. It was a setup, with Isabella pulling the strings. She’d paid one of her admirers to build me up, just so they could all watch me break.

My phone rang, making me jump. St. Mary’s Hospital.

"Miss Rose? Your grandmother's condition has taken a turn for the worse. Please come immediately," the nurse said urgently.

My heart stopped. My grandma was the only family I had left. I couldn't lose her.

I tried to hail a cab, but the streets were empty in the blizzard. Just as I was losing hope, a black Range Rover pulled up.

The window rolled down, revealing a man with a strong jaw and a faint scar. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair and dark eyes.

"Need a ride?" His voice was deep and steady.

"I need to get to St. Mary's. My grandmother..." My voice broke.

"Get in." He didn't ask any more questions.

He drove smoothly, not asking why I was crying in a snowstorm, not trying to offer empty comforts. The silence felt safe.

"Thank you," I said as I got out.

He nodded and handed me a business card. "Call me if you need anything."

I snatched it without looking and ran into the hospital.

Grandma was lying in bed, her face ashen. She saw me and weakly squeezed my hand. "Rose, my child..."

"Grandma, I'm here. The doctor said you're just tired, you'll be fine in a few days," I said, holding back tears.

"Don't lie to me, child," she whispered. "I want to see Dante. When are you getting married? I want to see you in your wedding dress..."

My chest ached with a pain so sharp it was hard to breathe. "He's... he's handling some business. He'll be here soon."

"Call him. Tell him to hurry." She gripped my hand tighter. "I need to talk to him."

My hands shook as I dialed the familiar number. Voicemail. I tried again and again. Same result.

My grandmother waited all night, her eyes fixed on the door. She was waiting for the man she thought would be my husband, the man she was ready to entrust me to.

But the door never opened. Not even when she took her last breath.

"Rose... be happy..." were her last words.

I knelt by her bed, sobbing until I couldn't breathe. Not because Dante didn't come, but because I didn't even know who I was supposed to call. The man I had loved for three years didn't exist.

After handling the funeral arrangements, I dragged myself back to my apartment. I mindlessly opened Instagram, trying to distract myself, and saw Isabella's latest post.

It was a picture of her on a man's arm as they stepped off a private jet. His profile was painfully familiar.

The caption read: "Told him not to pick me up, but he insisted on the surprise. ??"

So that's why he didn't have time to see my dying grandmother. He was busy picking up Isabella.

I stared at the photo. That was the real Dante. Isabella’s Dante. Not the fake gentleness he showed me, but real, indulgent affection.

And my "Dante"—the man who made me breakfast, watched sunsets with me, and whispered sweet nothings—was just a performance.

I put down my phone, walked to the bathroom, and looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror.

Enough.

I picked up the phone and called the clinic. "I need to schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."

Then, I opened my laptop and submitted an application to the news agency to become a war correspondent. The departure date was a week from now—my wedding day.

With my grandmother gone, I had nothing left to tie me here.

But first, to make sure I could leave without any trouble, I had to play along.

Finally, I took out the recording from the club—thank God for my reporter's instincts.

Dante wanted to expose the truth at the wedding. Perfect. I had a return gift for them, too.

A gift they would never, ever forget.

The next day, after burying my grandmother, I dragged my exhausted body back to Dante’s mansion. The moment I put the key in the lock, I heard laughter from inside.

I pushed the door open. Three people were in the living room: Dante, Marco, and Isabella.

Their laughter died the moment they saw me. The air, thick with the smell of champagne and expensive perfume, made me sick to my stomach.

"Rose, you're back." Dante stood up, that gentle smile I once loved plastered on his face. "Come, let me introduce you."

I stood frozen at the door.

"This is my twin brother, Marco."

My eyes shifted to the man I knew. The wild grin from the club was gone, replaced by a mask of polite friendliness.

"Hello, my dear... sister-in-law." He held out his hand, looking perfectly welcoming.

The thought of the things I'd done with him made my stomach clench. I fought back the nausea and gave a stiff nod.

"And this is my... friend, Isabella." The pause Dante took made the word "friend" sound like a joke. "Isabella, this is Rose."

Isabella stood up gracefully, a vision in a custom white suit. She walked toward me with a perfect smile. "Rose! It's been so long!" She opened her arms as if to give me a warm hug.

I instinctively wanted to step back, but she was already on me. To anyone else, it looked like a friendly embrace. But as her lips brushed my ear, her voice turned venomous.

"You look well. I trust you've missed our... friendship." Her voice was a whisper, but it landed like a ton of bricks.

I felt dizzy, the memories of her cutting me with a penknife, of her holding my head in a toilet bowl, flooding back…

"Shut up!" I shoved her away with all my strength.

Isabella stumbled back, "accidentally" hitting the corner of the coffee table. A red mark immediately appeared on her arm. She cried out, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

"Rose!" Both Dante and Marco rushed to her side, their eyes shooting daggers at me. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I... she..." I tried to tell them who Isabella really was. But Marco cut me off, his fake smile gone, replaced by cold hostility. "Dante, it seems your fiancée doesn't understand Blackwood etiquette."

Dante gently examined the mark on Isabella’s arm, then his gaze, cold as ice, fell on me. "Marco's right, Rose. You need to be taught a lesson."

He grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

"Go to the basement and cool off," he said, dragging me toward the stairs. "You can come out when you've learned how to apologize."

"No! Dante, don't!" I struggled. Panic clawed at me. I was claustrophobic—severely. And he knew it. Better than anyone.

But he ignored me, dragging me to the basement door. It was a windowless storage room with only a tiny air vent. The thought of being locked in that small, dark space made it hard to breathe.

"Please, Dante, don't do this..." I begged, my vision blurred with tears. "You know I'm afraid of the dark, you know..."

He hesitated for a second. I thought he might soften. But then he shoved the door open with even more force.

"This is what happens when you don't listen," he said, his voice like ice. "Think about what you did."

BANG.

The door slammed shut. The sound of the key turning in the lock was like a death sentence.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I pounded on the door. "Let me out! Please! Dante!"

The only answer was the sound of their laughter upstairs as they continued their party, as if nothing had happened.

I curled into a ball in the corner, hugging my knees, trying to control my shaking.

This basement... I remember Dante saying he'd had it renovated after buying the house. I'd wondered why he'd installed such a heavy door and a complex lock on a storage room.

Now I knew.

This basement had been built for me from the very beginning.

In the endless dark, I could hear the sound of my own heart breaking.