It was the fifth year of my marriage with Matteo Mendez when he paraded his latest favorite in front of me without a shred of shame. The love we once shared had become a mere shadow of its former self.

That night, unable to hold back, I asked him, "Is the little girl not enough for you?"

Matteo's eyes, brimming with satisfaction, met mine without a hint of regret. "She’s too perfect to let go," he replied.

In that moment, I knew—it wasn’t that he didn’t want to end things with me; he simply couldn’t. I had learned when to walk away and this time, I did so without hesitation, leaving behind a thin divorce agreement before I moved far away from the country we once shared.

After everything ended, I found myself in an unexpected whirlwind, meeting a charming stranger at a bar. Our encounter was quick and intense. But just as I started to move on, Matteo came crawling back, begging for another chance, his desperation boundless.

I had just wrapped up a family banquet at the old mansion for Matteo when I found myself driving across the city, exhausted, to the Milan Clubhouse.

At the entrance, the manager greeted me warmly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it quickly. “Ms. Argento, it’s been a while. Shall I inform Mr. Mendez you’re here?”

Once, I had been a regular here. The VIP box on the top floor had been our haunt. But those times were over. Today, I was nothing more than a chauffeur, here to pick up Matteo and his new love interest.

“No need. I’ll go up myself,” I said with a dismissive wave.

I stepped out of the elevator and turned right, walking through the long corridor. At the end of it stood Sandra Milo, dressed in a soft gray one-piece dress, her petite frame nearly blocking the doorway. Her face paled at the sight of me and she hesitated before offering a soft, “Hello, March.”

Sandra was Matteo’s new secretary—a fresh graduate from Milan University, with delicate features and a demure charm typical of women from Rome. Her doe-like eyes radiated innocence, tugging at the sympathy of anyone who met her gaze.

“Where is Mr. Mendez?” I asked, my tone flat and detached.

Sandra glanced nervously toward the elevator before lowering her gaze, a flash of something manipulative flickering in her eyes. “He went to get me some honey water. I had too much to drink and Mr. Mendez was worried I’d feel unwell.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. In all the time I had been married to Matteo, I had never experienced such attentiveness. I remembered the time I accompanied him to a business event and was pressured into drinking until I nearly passed out. Not once had Matteo offered me honey water then.

“I told him it was unnecessary, but Mr. Mendez insisted. He always takes such good care of me,” Sandra continued, her voice dripping with false modesty. “Ms. Argento, I hope you don’t misunderstand me. You don’t dislike me, do you?”

She lowered her head, her eyes filling with tears as though she’d suffered a great injustice. But I saw through her theatrics.

“Save your acting,” I said, my voice cold. “That won’t work on me.”

Sandra either didn’t understand or pretended not to. “Everyone in the office says you’re the best, Ms. Argento. I wanted to learn from you, but if you don’t want to, I’ll speak to Mr. Mendez.”

Before I could respond, she suddenly grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry, Ms. Argento. Please don’t be mad.”

And then, just like that, she let out a dramatic gasp and stumbled backward, crashing heavily to the floor. It was a performance worthy of applause.

"March!" A furious shout pierced the air behind me.

I turned and saw Matteo storming toward me. Only then did I realize I had just unwittingly become part of a staged performance—one I hadn’t even initiated. I hadn’t touched Sandra.

“Why are you here?” Matteo demanded.

Inwardly, I scoffed. Wasn’t it you who claimed you were too drunk and asked me to pick you up?

Matteo pushed past me, his attention entirely focused on helping Sandra up from the ground. His dark eyes were clouded with displeasure as they flicked back to me. “Why are you picking fights with a girl like her?”

“Mr. Mendez, Ms. Argento didn’t push me. I just lost my balance,” Sandra said softly, her voice dripping with false humility.

Once, I had believed Sandra to be a meek and well-behaved girl. Now, all I saw was the insincerity behind her sweet facade.

Matteo pulled out a cartoon-themed band-aid from his pocket and carefully pressed it onto Sandra’s palm. His voice was gentle as he instructed, “Try not to let it get wet for a few days.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mendez,” Sandra murmured, her gaze full of gratitude.

I watched in silence, my eyes fixed on the cartoon band-aid. Once, that simple act of care had been mine alone. Now, memory and reality collided painfully, leaving me adrift.

I remembered our first encounter on the grapevine path at Milan University’s School of Economics and Management. A girl had confessed her feelings to him, but he had rejected her by pointing to me and saying, “It’s her I like.”

He hadn’t been lying.

For me, it was love at first sight.

After that, Matteo found every excuse to be near me—inviting me out for meals, helping me with studies, waiting outside the café where I worked part-time just to walk me back to my dorm. One evening, I teased him, “Is your finance program really this laid-back?”

Matteo had looked at me seriously. “March, are you that slow to catch on? I’m chasing you.”

We became a couple soon after. He begged me to move in with him, promising earnestly, “I’ll cherish you for the rest of my life.”

Three days after we moved into our apartment in the elite Centrale area of Milan, Matteo had the entire second floor covered in plush carpet because I liked walking barefoot. He never wanted me to feel the cold.

In the early days, he was always busy with business, often compressing week-long trips into five days so he could rush back and watch the first snowfall of the year with me in Rome City. Even our arguments never lasted long—he would extend his stay during my business trips just to make amends.

I had truly believed Matteo loved me.

But everything changed once the Argento Family acknowledged me. Though my family didn’t hold the same status as the Mendez Family, we were still wealthy and respected. Somehow, that recognition twisted Matteo’s feelings.

He began to despise me, yet refused to let me go. Instead, he kept me around as a tool to manage his affairs and mistresses. When I finally snapped and suggested separation, his response was cold and dismissive. “Don’t even think about it.”

By then, I couldn’t just walk away. I still couldn’t understand how someone’s heart could change so drastically and so suddenly.

And now, here I was, accompanying him as he escorted Sandra home. I watched helplessly as he sent her upstairs with care, only to return with me to Centrale.

The moment we stepped inside, Matteo cornered me against the wall. His touch was a mix of roughness and longing and his kisses came fast and suffocating, leaving no room for words—or escape.

My body still responded to him, every nerve awakened and sensitive. Entangled breaths filled the room, but once the passion ebbed, a familiar emptiness began creeping in.

Matteo stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his fingers. Still caught in the remnants of our intimacy, I asked tentatively, “So, Sandra couldn’t satisfy you?”

He paused mid-drag, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “She’s too well-behaved to give up.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he just couldn’t let her go.

His words were like a punch to the gut, each syllable plunging me deeper into a cold abyss. I stood there, stunned and empty, as Matteo dressed quickly. Without sparing me another glance, he walked out the door. The click of it closing resonated like a gavel. Moments later, the distant roar of his car's engine signaled his departure.

Before tonight, part of me still held onto hope, clinging to the fragments of our past. But now? I realized Matteo’s father had been right all along: when love is gone, why hold on to something rotten?

With trembling fingers, I picked up my phone and dialed. When the line connected, I spoke calmly, “I accept. I’ll divorce Matteo.”

I set the phone down, surprised by the weight that lifted from my chest. This was not the life I wanted—a marriage built on deceit and mockery. I craved a life that moved forward, one with a clear heart and unshackled freedom.

The next day, I went to the Mendez Group offices, my mind clear and resolute. As I approached the entrance, I overheard whispers from the secretaries’ office.

“Have you noticed how Mr. Mendez treats her differently? The project Ms. Argento was managing is nearly complete and yet it’s being handed to the new girl. Isn’t that giving away credit for free?”

“Why else? The boss obviously likes her.”

“I know! But poor Ms. Argento… I always rooted for her and Mr. Mendez.”

“Typical. The new girl gets all the smiles while the old ones are left with tears.”

The chatter abruptly halted when they noticed me. One of them, clearly uncomfortable, greeted me weakly, “Good morning, Ms. Argento.”

“Good morning,” I replied evenly.

My marriage to Matteo had never been publicly acknowledged; the Mendez Family had refused to recognize it. There had been no wedding ceremony, no fanfare. Even after joining the Mendez Group, I had kept our relationship under wraps to avoid rumors. In hindsight, I realized how fortunate it was that it never became public gossip. Now, my private anguish remained just that—private.

Settling at my desk, I noticed the project folder was gone from its usual place. The workstation opposite mine was also conspicuously empty. I asked, “Is Sandra not here today?”

A coworker replied, “She’s with Mr. Mendez.”

My eyes drifted to Matteo’s office. The blinds were closed tightly, but muted laughter seeped through. I recalled when Sandra first joined. With her warm smile and slight resemblance to me, she had been treated generously, even welcomed as an alum from the same university. In retrospect, it all seemed like a cruel irony.

Determined not to dwell on it, I focused on wrapping up my work. Since I was leaving both my marriage and this job, there was no point in lingering any longer than necessary. I began organizing and documenting my current projects for a smooth handover.

Then, the phone on my desk buzzed. Matteo’s voice came through, commanding as ever. “Come to my office.”

When I entered, the sight before me was almost laughable. Sandra sat at Matteo’s computer and he leaned over her shoulder, their hands almost touching on the mouse.

“Oh no, Mr. Mendez! I accidentally deleted everything!” Sandra exclaimed, feigning distress.

“Don’t worry,” Matteo replied smoothly. “I’ll help you.”

The scene was painfully familiar—a spectacle of calculated naivety and indulgence, like watching an old script play out once more.