Samuel messaged me almost instantly.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

The meaning was obvious. A clean break.

I couldn't be bothered to explain. I simply popped the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in two, and logged out of every app that connected me to him.

When I looked up, the car had pulled up in front of the safe house where we used to live.

Samuel didn't come back that night. He'd probably gone back to finish what I'd interrupted with Roxanne.

With that thought, I began to pack my bags.

As I packed my things, I found a pristine letter of offer.

It was a job for the position of chief restorer from the Seattle Art Museum, an offer I had never dared to accept. Samuel didn't want me to leave Chicago, so even though I coveted the position, I had never seriously considered it.

I had tucked the letter away carefully, filing it under "impossible dreams." I was even still planning our upcoming fourth anniversary, just five days away.

Now, I pressed the letter to my chest, my heart filled with a profound sense of relief that I hadn't been so foolish as to throw my entire self away for him.

I sat on the floor, looking around the penthouse apartment we had shared for over two years, and memories still surged uncontrollably.

It wasn't until Samuel and I had been dating for six months that I officially entered his world.

Initially, we were just an employer and his restorer.

He was handsome, dangerous, the king of Chicago's underworld, always flanked by a group of deferential Soldati. And I was just an ordinary art restorer. My boldest move had been pretending to study pigments just to steal a glance at his profile while he cleaned his gun on the sofa.

We were worlds apart.

After that painting was restored, however, he began appearing at my studio frequently. Sometimes he'd bring a new piece from his collection; other times he would just sit quietly to the side, watching me work.

"Trinity?"

One time, he suddenly spoke. I looked up and saw Samuel standing against the light, his features sharp and dangerous in an expensive, custom-made suit. He remembered my name.

I was stunned into silence.

"Trinity Thorne, right?" He strode closer, examining the brush in my hand. "A graduate of the Florence Academy of Art, youngest to graduate with honors. I remember."

My heart was pounding. I could only nod.

Samuel picked up another porcelain piece I had just finished restoring and asked if I wanted to see his private wine cellar. Along the way, he chatted casually about art history, about the bloody stories behind his collection, his tone casual, yet laced with an undeniable pressure.

When we reached the cellar, he handed me a glass of red wine and smiled.

"From now on, you're my exclusive restorer. We'll be in touch."

From that day on, we truly began to "keep in touch."

It started with professional correspondence, which soon bled into dinners together. Before long, he was bringing me to less formal family gatherings. Samuel wasn't much of a talker; most of the time, he would just watch me quietly, his deep eyes swirling with emotions I couldn't comprehend. I would take small bites of food while secretly feeling his gaze on me, my chest thrumming with a dangerous thrill.

On New Year's Eve, he took me to see the fireworks from his private yacht. The sea breeze was cool, and the yacht insulated us from the world's clamor.

As I was lost in the spectacle, he suddenly hugged me from behind, and all his men tactfully turned their backs.

As the fireworks exploded in the night sky, he shouted, "Trinity, I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you! Be my woman!"

I looked into his sparkling eyes, my heart thumping like a drum, and shouted back with all my might, "I will!"

Our beginning was a whirlwind.

He would send someone across half the city in the early morning just to bring me my favorite croissants. When I was sick, he would drop everything to stay by my side, fumbling awkwardly to take care of me. He remembered an out-of-print art book I had casually mentioned wanting to see and would use all his connections to find it for me.

He made me believe I had chosen right.

But then, about six months into our relationship, Roxanne appeared.

She was Samuel's supposed fiancée, the Principessa of the Rinaldi family. It was a well-known fact in the underworld that the two great families were joined by an alliance for mutual benefit.

The first time I met Roxanne, I finally understood what it meant to be "a perfect match."

Roxanne, wearing a couture gown, walked over with a smile and laid a familiar hand on Samuel's shoulder.

"Samuel!"

Only then did she notice me. Her eyes swept over my face before she said with a smile, "So this is the little project you've been keeping? She looks clean enough. Though that dress is a bit…"

She let out a small laugh, the disdain in her eyes unconcealed.

I lowered my head, twisting the hem of my dress until the fabric was wrinkled, my cheeks burning. This was the best dress in my wardrobe, but compared to the diamonds she wore, it looked shabby.

Samuel casually pulled out a chair for Roxanne and asked her why she had come so suddenly. She said she was in a bad mood, that there was some trouble in her family.

That afternoon, Samuel and I had planned to attend a private auction together.

But after listening to Roxanne complain for a while, he turned to me and said, "We'll go to the auction next time. I need to help Roxanne with something first."

I was stunned for a moment, then nodded.

Roxanne immediately linked her arm with his and winked at me apologetically. "Sorry about that. You don't mind if I borrow your man for a bit, do you?"

No one noticed my humiliation. Not even Samuel.