A sharp pain lanced through my chest. So much for his promises. So much for forever.

"Excuse me. I don't feel well." I managed a weak smile. I stood up. "Please, enjoy your dinner."

"Flora," Eliza's soft voice called from the head table. "You look pale. Should I help you to your room?"

She sounded so sincere. If I didn't know the real her, I might have been grateful.

"No, thank you." I practically fled the room.

Back in my bedroom, I leaned against the door. My chest heaved.

Three years. Three whole years.

The light in Gwen's eyes, the part that was just for me, began to die the day Eliza walked through that door.

I wasn't the brilliant data scientist he once paraded around anymore. I was just a burden. A weight he had to carry.

But Eliza was different.

She was the saint. The grieving widow. A victim who needed his protection.

I changed out of my evening gown and into a silk robe, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Around midnight, I heard a faint noise coming from the study.

I crept downstairs and peeked through the half-open door.

Gwen was at his desk. Not with family business, but with a stack of glossy jewelry catalogs spread before him.

He flipped through them, focused, occasionally marking a page.

"The diamond necklace looks good," he said into the phone. "And the matching earrings. Send them both over."

My heart sank. It was our wedding anniversary. And he was shopping for another woman.

Even so, I had to tell him about Paris.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Gwen."

He looked up, his eyes instantly guarded. "It's late. Why aren't you in bed?"

"I need to talk to you." I walked to the other side of his desk. "I got some news today—"

He cut me off before I could finish.

"Good. Because I have something to tell you, too."

His expression turned serious, like a man about to deliver a verdict.

"I've made a decision," he said, looking straight into my eyes. "The head advisor position for the Falcone Tech Foundation. I'm giving it to Eliza."

My breath caught in my throat.

The head advisor for the Falcone Tech Foundation. He had promised that position to me.

"Don't you remember?" My voice trembled. "A year ago, you said that position was mine. You said my expertise, my reputation, could help the foundation fund projects that would actually change the future."

Gwen let out a cold laugh. "I did say that a year ago. Things have changed."

"What's changed?"

"Eliza needs this. She needs to find a purpose again." His tone was absolute, leaving no room for argument. "And you, Flora? What right do you have to question my decision?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm your wife!"

"Wife?" Gwen stood up, towering over me. "A real wife wouldn't be so damn petty while I'm taking care of my dead brother's widow. A real wife would understand a husband's duties and obligations."

"Duties? Obligations?" My voice rose. "And what about me? What am I to you?"

"You?" He looked at me like I was a stranger. "You're a nerd who stares at a computer all day. Without my money, you couldn't even afford the goddamn machines you need for your 'research.' You should be grateful for what you have."

"What I have?" I almost laughed. "And what is that, Gwen? A husband who never sleeps in our bed? A title everyone in this house looks down on? A heart you shattered with your own two hands?"

Gwen's face darkened. "That's enough, Flora. Your jealousy is making you ugly."

Jealousy.

He really thought all my anger, all my pain, was just jealousy over Eliza.

"You really don't see it, do you?" I smiled, but it was pure bitterness. "You can't see what I feel for you at all."

"Feelings?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "If you really loved me, you'd support me, not throw a tantrum like a child."

I looked at him, the man I once loved so deeply, now a complete stranger.

"I understand," I said, turning for the door. "Congratulations to Eliza on her new position."

*Fine. I don't care anymore. I'm leaving anyway.*

Back in my walk-in closet, I started packing for Paris.

It wasn't much. A few outfits I wore often, and the encrypted hard drives that held my life's work.

And the custom ergonomic keyboard Gwen had made for me, with my name engraved on it.

I tried not to think, but the memories were bitter. He wasn't always like this.

There was a dinner once, with a rival family. The other mob wives were mocking me, calling me a socially awkward bookworm.

Gwen pulled me into his arms and silenced the room with a kiss.

"Listen up," he'd hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "She's my woman. Another word out of any of you, and I'll cut your tongues out." He'd looked down at me then, his eyes full of fire. "With me, Flora, you're the queen of this room."

But then Eliza came.

Gwen's brother had taken a bullet for him in a shootout. Eliza was his widow.

And Gwen seemed determined to wash away his guilt by showering her with everything.

Sometimes, I felt he was crossing a line.

Then, a year ago, I saw it.

I saw Eliza at a private club, meeting secretly with Marco—the underboss of a rival family.

She didn't look like a victim then. She was laughing with Marco, even kissing him in a dark corner.

But before I could tell Gwen, she saw me.

She beat me back to the manor.

That night, Eliza pressed a shard of glass to her wrist, screaming that she'd rather die than have her honor questioned.

"Gwen, Flora's jealous! She wants me gone, so she's trying to ruin me! Does she have any idea what a rumor like this will do? How can I face the family now? Just let me die! My husband died for you, and this is how you treat me? How sad he must be in heaven!"

She sobbed hysterically.

Before I could even speak, Gwen decided I was a liar.

He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall.

"I never thought you could be so vicious, Flora. To make up a filthy lie like that! Have you no respect for my dead brother? He's the only reason we're not both in hell right now! Get out! The Falcone family has no place for a woman like you!"

He pulled the sobbing Eliza into his arms and roared at me to get out of his sight.

After that, we fought constantly over her.

Every argument ended with me being confined to my rooms.

To avoid the conflict, I started staying overnight at the guest apartments at the university, telling him I was at academic conferences.

Just then, the door opened. It was Gwen. He pulled me from my thoughts.

"Flora, what are you packing?"

I snapped the suitcase shut. I turned to face him.

"The charity gala next week..."

I started to explain. He cut me off, impatient.

"Forget it. You're running away again, is that it? Run away again. See if I come looking for you this time."

The words died in my throat.

Fine. He didn't care anyway.

He'd find out everything when I was gone.

My hands tightened on my dress. I made up an excuse.

"I'm just getting my dress ready for the gala."

His expression softened a little.

"Whatever. Get some rest."

Then he turned and left.

I knew I'd be sleeping alone. Again.

The next morning, the roar of an engine woke me up.

I looked out the window. Gwen was helping Eliza into his Maserati.

Eliza wore a white dress. Her smile was sweet. They looked like lovers heading out on a date.

Where were they going? I pulled out my phone. It didn't take long to find out.

My social media feed was a flood of their pictures.

"Falcone Don Spotted in Beverly Hills with Late Brother's Widow."

"A Devoted Brother-in-Law, A Bond Forged in Tragedy."

"Gwen Falcone Personally Shops for Sister-in-Law, A Touching Display of Familial Love."

In the photos, Gwen was gently fastening a diamond necklace around Eliza's neck.

Eliza gazed up at him. Her eyes were full of adoration. Dependence.

They looked like a real couple.

I turned off my phone. I felt sick.

All of Chicago was talking about their "special bond." And me, his actual wife? I was just an outsider.

At dinner, Gwen and Eliza laughed. They talked about their day.

"That sapphire bracelet looked good on you," Gwen said, cutting his steak. His voice was gentle. "I'll have it sent to your room tomorrow."

"Gwen, you're too good to me." Eliza demurred. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"You don't have to." Gwen's voice held a tenderness I'd never heard. "Taking care of you is my duty."

I put down my fork. "I'm done."

I went back to the study, trying to clear my head, to make my final plans for Paris.

But the sight that met me made my world crumble.

The "Star Map"—our Star Map—had been torn from the wall. The frame's glass lay shattered across the floor.

The canvas, the one that held all our memories, was slashed to ribbons.

The glowing dots, our moments of love, were now just shredded fragments.

It was the love poem I wrote him in the only language I truly knew. It was our proof. And now it was destroyed.

Rage burned through me.

I stormed out of the study and stalked toward Eliza's room.

"Eliza!" I threw her door open. "Get out here!"

She was at her vanity, removing her makeup. She put on a mask of terror when she saw me.

"Flora? What are you doing?"

"You did it, didn't you?" I advanced on her, my fists clenched. "The painting in the study!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Eliza scrambled backward, her voice trembling. "I was with Gwen all day—"

"Don't play dumb with me!" I grabbed her arm, my fingers digging into her flesh. "Who else would do something like this?"

"You're insane!" Eliza ripped her arm away and stumbled back, collapsing onto the floor. "Gwen! Help me, Gwen!"

Her shriek tore through the quiet manor.

Gwen burst in seconds later.

All he saw was Eliza on the floor. His eyes went black with rage.

"Flora!" He shoved me, hard. I slammed into the wall, a sharp pain shooting up my back.

He knelt, his voice suddenly gentle—sickeningly so. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Eliza whimpered, melting into his arms. "She said I destroyed the painting in the study, but I was with you... how could I—"

"Enough." Gwen stood up and turned to me, his voice like ice. "Flora, your jealousy has driven you mad."

"Jealousy?" I stared at him, incredulous. "Gwen, that was a gift from our wedding! It represented our entire past! Someone destroyed it on purpose!"

"An accident," Gwen said, his voice flat. "The maid probably knocked it over while cleaning."

An accident.

I looked at him, the man who once promised to protect me for life.

All it took was a single tear from Eliza, and Gwen's heart would melt.

I'd seen this play before. A dozen times over the past year.

Ever since I caught her with Marco, she had done everything in her power to drive a wedge between us, to push me out of this house.

Now, I was done explaining.

But later that night, Gwen knocked on my door.

"The macarons you like. I got them in Beverly Hills today."

He shoved the elegant box into my hands. For a second, his cold expression looked almost... awkward.

"About today... just let it go. She didn't mean it."

He paused, then delivered the final blow.

"And one more thing. For the change of command at the foundation to be official... I need your signature on the waiver."

He slid a document from his pocket.

"The one voluntarily relinquishing your claim."

The hint of a smile on my face died.

So that was it. His little peace offering. It was all for Eliza.

"Fine."

I nodded.

I signed my name on his paper. Then I pulled out a stack of business contracts. My signed divorce papers were hidden inside.

"In exchange, you sign these."

He didn't even look. He just smiled, satisfied. He probably thought it was me asking for money. A little compensation. "See? Why couldn't you have been this agreeable before? Why fight with Eliza over everything?"

He signed them. Then he left.

I threw the box of macarons in the trash. Right where they belonged.

Along with the last shred of hope I had for him.

The day before I left, I asked Gwen to come home early. I told him I was making dinner.

One last meal. A farewell dinner.

I cooked all his favorites. Risotto. Beef Bourguignon. Tiramisu.

I set the table with candles. I wore my best black silk dress.

But Gwen never came home.

I called him. No answer.

At ten, I finally broke down and asked the butler. "Where is the Don?"

The butler hesitated. "The Don and Miss Eliza went to Las Vegas, ma'am," he said quietly. "For a limited-run show."

"When was this planned?"

"Two weeks ago, Donna. Don't worry. He'll be back tomorrow afternoon. You'll see him soon."

No, I wouldn't.

I'd be gone by then.

That night, I just stared at the cold food. Memories flashed through my mind.

Finally, I left the signed divorce decree on his desk.

The next morning.

I took the tickets my mentor arranged. I boarded a private jet to Paris.

I watched the sky from the window.

By now, Gwen would be home.