When my friend moved abroad and asked me to look after their flat, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for Catalina to have a place of her own.

I never expected her to burst into tears the moment I brought it up.

She clung to my arm, sobbing as though I had wronged her.

"Seraphina, please don't make me leave. Please don't kick me out..."

I was still trying to calm her down when Niccolo walked through the door.

The moment he saw Catalina crying, his expression darkened.

Without hesitation, he stepped between us, shielding her behind him as though I were some kind of threat.

"Seraphina, where's your compassion?" he demanded coldly. "How could you bully Catalina behind my back?"

Then he turned toward her, his voice instantly softening.

"Don't worry, Catalina. This is my house. No one has the right to make you leave."

I took a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm.

"That's not what happened. I just think it's inconvenient for Catalina to keep living with us. My friend's flat is nearby, and she'd probably be more comfortable having her own space."

But Niccolo wasn't listening.

Instead, he looked at me as though I were the unreasonable one.

"Catalina is trying to build a life for herself in Edinburgh," he said. "She's still learning how everything works. She doesn't know the area, doesn't know who she can trust. Half the time she gets lost just trying to find her way around the offices."

He shook his head.

"How am I supposed to feel comfortable letting her live alone?"

Then his gaze narrowed.

A trace of suspicion appeared in his eyes.

"Or are you jealous of her?"

His voice carried a hint of mockery.

"Afraid she'll take me away from you?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misheard.

This was the same man who had once promised that I would be the only woman he would ever love.

Yet now, standing in front of me, he felt like a complete stranger.

A stranger I no longer understood.

A stranger I was suddenly afraid to face.

From that day on, our relationship descended into a cold war.

I slept in the bedroom.

He moved into the study.

In the past, our arguments never lasted more than a few hours.

Niccolo had always been the first to give in.

He would knock on my door, rub the back of his neck awkwardly, and apologize until I forgave him.

But this time was different.

The silence stretched on for two full weeks.

Then one morning, I opened my bedroom door and saw Niccolo walking out of Catalina's room.

My heart skipped a beat.

Noticing my expression, he explained casually,

"Catalina had a fever last night. I didn't want to wake you, so I stayed in her room to look after her."

His tone was so natural that it sounded as though nothing was wrong.

But from that moment on, I began noticing all the little changes I had previously ignored.

Whenever Catalina needed help, she no longer came to me.

She went directly to Niccolo.

Even for something as trivial as needing tampons, she would call him and ask him to stop by the store.

And every single time, he went.

Without complaint.

Without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Niccolo grew increasingly distant from me.

He rarely spoke to me anymore.

Whenever he was home, his attention revolved entirely around Catalina.

Little by little, the flat that had once belonged to the two of us no longer felt like home.

Every day it seemed to shrink around me.

And I became little more than a ghost wandering through it.

Last weekend, neither of them came home.

When I finally managed to reach Niccolo by phone, he told me Catalina's mother had fallen seriously ill.

After work, he had immediately driven with her to the countryside.

For two entire days, they ignored my messages.

They didn't answer my calls.

Didn't send a single explanation.

Two days of complete silence.

For people living in our world, silence was never accidental.

It was always a choice.

On the third day, they finally returned.

When I opened the front door, I froze.

Catalina was wrapped tightly in Niccolo's arms.

Her face was buried against his chest as she cried.

"Niccolo... my heart belongs to you. I can't lose you..."

His hand moved gently through her hair.

His voice was impossibly tender.

"Don't worry."

"I won't let you marry someone else."

"I'll marry you myself."

The world seemed to stop.

Only after they pulled apart did they finally notice me standing there.

No one spoke.

The radiator clicked softly behind the wall.

The flat fell into complete silence.

A moment later, Niccolo pulled me into the narrow hallway.

The light there was dim.

The walls felt suffocatingly close.

His face carried obvious frustration.

"Catalina's mother is critically ill," he explained. "She doesn't have much time left."

"Her greatest wish is to see Catalina married."

He sighed heavily.

"To fulfill that wish, Catalina was prepared to marry some random man."

His hand rose to the back of his neck, lingering there.

"I can't just stand by and watch that happen."

"And besides, everyone in her hometown already thinks I'm her man."

"If I don't marry her, her reputation will be ruined."

Every word felt like a knife twisting inside my chest.

Tears spilled down my face.

"What about me?" I whispered.

Niccolo frowned.

His hand dropped.

His jaw tightened.

And in that instant, the boy who used to apologize to me disappeared completely.

"Seraphina," he said coldly, "you're being selfish."

"Right now, Catalina needs me more than you do."

His voice remained calm.

Reasonable.

Almost gentle.

Which somehow made it hurt even more.

"I'm not abandoning you."

"I'm just giving Catalina a wedding."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

He betrayed me.

He hurt me.

And somehow, in his version of the story, I was the selfish one.

Had he forgotten why he rushed to propose to me earlier this year?

My grandmother had been nearing the end of her life.

Her greatest wish was to see me walk down the aisle before she passed away.

Back then, Niccolo had knelt before me in front of my grandmother and my entire family.

He had promised her that he would cherish me for the rest of his life.

In our world, a promise made before the dying was more than words.

It was an oath.

And an oath was never meant to be broken and forgotten.

The wedding date was set, the gown chosen, the announcements hand-delivered to every crew boss and allied family between Edinburgh and the coast. Yet it wasn't my wedding.

That evening, Catalina brought me tea, her expression dripping with mockery.

"Seraphina, even if the Cavalli name carries more weight than mine ever could, what does it matter? Niccolo still chose me."

As she spoke, the teacup in her hand tipped over, spilling scalding tea onto my leg. I jumped in pain, instinctively letting out a cry.

At the same time, Catalina shrieked dramatically, clutching her hand.

Niccolo came rushing in, his attention immediately on her. He grabbed her hand with a mix of panic and tenderness, inspecting the redness from the spill. Then he turned on me, his voice filled with reproach.

"Seraphina! Catalina came to apologize to you and this is how you repay her? How could you be so cruel as to burn her like this?"

Before I could respond, he was already pulling her away to treat her injury, leaving me standing there, my knee burning and the skin already broken from the scalding.

"Seraphina, do you think this gown suits me?"

Catalina's voice snapped me out of my memories. I looked at the phone she handed me.

On the screen was a photo of her wearing a stunning, luxurious gown — my gown. The one that had been fitted to my measurements at the atelier on Victoria Street, the one I'd paid for in full three months before she ever set foot in our home.

She smiled smugly. "Niccolo said you'd already paid for this dress, so I thought, why waste it? I'll take it."

Before she left, she flaunted the ring on her finger, twisting her hand in the light. Not a diamond from some jeweler's case. A pledge ring. A Krenn family piece that Niccolo had sworn would only ever belong to his wife.

"Seraphina, isn't this ring beautiful? Niccolo picked it out just for me."

Watching her saunter away, my hands balled into fists at my sides. The cold metal of my own ring pressed into my skin — a ring I had worn for five years.

It was the first gift Niccolo had bought me when his earliest rackets started turning real money. Before the crews, before the territory, before any of it. Just a boy from nothing, pressing a ring into my palm outside a chip shop on Leith Walk.

His promise echoed in my mind.

"Seraphina, this ring is my commitment to you. I'll never marry anyone else in this life. And on the day I make it — the day I have real power — I'll give you a bigger, finer ring, and every man in Edinburgh will know you're mine."

I slipped the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash without hesitation.

Then I packed my bags, moved into a friend's vacant flat across the city and left the place I once called home. The building's front-door lock clicked shut behind me, and I did not look back.

The next day, Niccolo finally noticed my absence.

He called me, his tone filled with frustration.

"Where are you? Catalina found the ring I gave you in the trash. What's the meaning of this?"

He didn't wait for me to answer.

"I've explained everything to you. Can you stop being so unreasonable? It's just a ceremony and a ring! Whatever Catalina has, I'll make sure you have, too."

He paused before adding, "You've already waited for me for so many years — what's two more?"

I felt a wave of clarity wash over me. My voice was steady as I said, "Niccolo, we're over."

Then I hung up, blocked his number and cut off all contact.

I severed every tie to his operation the same day. No calls, no messages, no forwarded ledgers. Seven years of silent partnership, dissolved in an afternoon.

A week later, I finished handing over what remained of my responsibilities. The people I'd worked alongside — bookkeepers, logistics men, a few soldiers' wives who had become something close to friends — took me to a restaurant on Rose Street for a farewell dinner. The atmosphere was surprisingly lighthearted, until Tomaso Sinclair, three whiskies deep and emboldened by the looseness of the evening, decided to confess his interest in me in front of everyone.

Tomaso was notorious for his shameless mouth — a low-ranking soldier who talked more than he should and drank more than he could handle. I rejected him politely but firmly.

Feeling humiliated, he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

"I've heard all about you. Your man's dumped you and marrying some nobody from the south. It's a miracle anyone in this city would still want you, so why act all high and mighty?"

His vulgar tone sent a chill down my spine. I opened my mouth, ready to shut him down, when a shadow moved past me.

In a flash, a fist connected with Tomaso's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. His chair went with him, clattering against the tile.

Niccolo stood over him, radiating cold fury. The restaurant went silent. Every head turned. Two of Niccolo's men flanked the doorway, hands inside their jackets, watching.

"Do you think a scumbag like you has the right to insult my woman?" he said icily.

The room erupted in chaos. Chairs scraped back, voices rose, and the low murmur of gossip spread from table to table like a fire finding oxygen.

For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, Niccolo still cared for me.

But as soon as we stepped outside into the cold Edinburgh night, he dropped my hand, his face impatient and cold.

"Let's end this charade already," he muttered.

"Break up with me and you'll never find another man as good as me," Niccolo declared smugly. His hand drifted to the back of his neck, gripping it once before he caught himself and let go.

I stared at him coldly, my voice steady. "Why are you here?"

He smirked and handed me a wedding invitation. Heavy card stock, black ink, embossed. The names Niccolo Krenn and Catalina Orozco in formal script.

"I'm here to personally invite you to my wedding with Catalina. She said you're her only good sister in Edinburgh and hopes to have your blessing."

The audacity of his words struck me like a blow, but I maintained my composure. I forced a smile.

"Of course. I wish you a happy wedding."

Relief washed over his face, as if my response justified his betrayal.

"Now that's more like it," he said with a self-satisfied grin. "Don't worry, once her mother's dying wish is fulfilled, I'll give you an even grander ceremony. A proper one."

I didn't respond. Inside, my heart was filled with cold amusement.

Niccolo, I don't need anything from you anymore.

My hand drifted to my bare collarbone, and my fingers closed around nothing. He didn't notice. He never had.

That afternoon, I boarded a train south to London.