When Michele Barone, the Underboss of the Moretti family, proposes to me, I receive a video call from another version of myself, who's five years in the future.

In the video call, my older self is already shaved bald. She's also trapped in the Moretti family's basement.

"Don't marry him! You have to get rid of the unborn baby in your belly and get out of here right now!"

I throw the ring to the table on the spot before going through an abortion right away.

When Michele finds out the truth, he breaks down and cries his heart out. At the same time, he keeps demanding answers from me.

All of my family and friends keep blaming and accusing me. They even claim that I've gone nuts.

Meanwhile, Michele's childhood friend, Gianna Grasso, hides outside the room with a hand clamped over her mouth as she giggles secretly to herself.

"AI nowadays sure is powerful! I can't believe she actually believes that the woman in the video call is actually her future self five years from now!"

My lips curl into a small smile.

Honestly speaking, I can tell right away that it's just a fake AI video, based on how shabbily it's made.

It's quite simple as to why I've done those things, though—I've received an actual video call from my future self for real.

Emilia's POV

"Are you done kicking up a fuss? Even if you're jealous of Gianna, you shouldn't risk your own health like that."

Michele Barone, the Underboss of the Moretti family, was sitting beside the hospital bed, while I was leaning against the headboard and gazing out of the window. A dull, post-surgical ache still lingered in my lower abdomen.

"Michele, this is all my fault." Gianna Grasso stood to the side, her voice frail. "I just thought that AI was interesting and wanted to play a joke on Emilia. I never imagined she'd take it seriously."

Michele raised a hand and patted her back.

"Don't cry, Gianna. With your heart condition, you can't afford to get upset. This isn't your fault. Emilia was just being too willful."

He reached out, wanting to stroke my cheek. But I turned my head away to avoid his touch. Displeasure flickered across his face, but he quickly suppressed it.

"Be good and stop throwing tantrums. We can always have another baby later. You mustn't do such ridiculous things again."

Watching him defend Gianna so openly, I only felt a deep weariness.

He would never know that the reason I gave up the baby and turned down the engagement without hesitation had nothing to do with that fake video.

Before I received that fake video, I really did get a call from the future. The gaunt, hollow-eyed woman on the video was me, five years from now.

I didn't want to argue with him, so I followed his lead and said, "I'm very tired. I want to get some rest."

Michele, seeing that I wasn't quarreling as usual, assumed I'd given in.

"Okay then, have a good rest. I'll have Gianna temporarily take over the underground trade routes you were in charge of."

He bent down to straighten the edge of my blanket. "You need to take it easy after surgery. Don't push yourself. Once you've calmed down, I'll arrange other work for you."

I watched it all unfold, clearly catching the smugness in Gianna's eyes.

I spent nights staying up, running from one stronghold to another, just to finally secure the trade route. Yet, with just a casual word, he handed my hard-earned efforts over to his childhood sweetheart.

"Do whatever you want." I closed my eyes and turned away, my back facing him.

A brief silence fell over the hospital room. Then, two sets of footsteps slowly faded away.

With my eyes closed, that eerie video replayed in my mind once more.

My future self, her face streaked with tears, was wearing a prison uniform.

"This is my only chance to contact you. I beg you, leave Michele. No matter what, you must escape that place."

I didn't know what exactly would happen five years from now. But seeing that face, identical to mine and etched with torment, I answered inwardly without a moment's hesitation, "Alright, I promise you."

Gathering my thoughts, I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

"Don Cosimo, this is Emilia Amato. May I ask if I can still join that cross-border humanitarian aid project you asked me about before?"

A pleasantly surprised voice came from the other end. "Of course, Emilia. But the area is an active war zone, so it's extremely dangerous. Are you sure you want to go?"

I looked at the birds soaring past the window and smiled, as if a weight had been lifted off me.

"Yes, I'm sure. The sooner I leave, the better. And I'd like this to be kept confidential. Please don't let Michele know."

Emilia's POV

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Michele came to pick me up.

Sitting in the passenger seat, I spotted two pink suitcases on the back seat at a glance. They belonged to Gianna.

I turned to Michele and asked, "What's this about? Are you having her move in?"

Michele remained perfectly composed. "It's not a permanent move. Gianna's depression has relapsed. I didn't feel comfortable leaving her to live alone, so I'm having her stay with us temporarily. The guest bedroom in our house has always been empty anyway—it'll be perfect for her."

But that was supposed to be our marital home. I spent six months carefully picking out every single detail and getting everything just right.

I hadn't even officially moved in yet, whereas Gianna had already settled in as if she owned the place.

"I see."

I leaned back calmly against the seat and closed my eyes to rest.

The car pulled into the estate.

There was now a pair of bunny slippers sitting by the front door.

Gianna, wearing one of Michele's oversized shirts, was sitting bare-legged on the carpet, fiddling with some trinkets.

"Michele, you're back!"

Hearing the door open, she immediately jumped up and ran to Michele's side. Then, she looked at me and said, "Emilia, you're back too. I'm so sorry. It's because I'm in such a bad state that Michele insisted I come and stay for a while."

I changed into my own shoes. Then, without sparing her a single glance, I walked straight into the master bedroom and began packing up my things.

There wasn't really much to pack. Apart from a few changes of clothes and my important documents, I planned to throw everything else away.

Gianna made dinner.

Michele brought a bowl of thick seafood chowder over to me and said gently, "Gianna went to all this trouble making this. Have a little—think of it as accepting her apology."

The sight of the seafood in that bowl made me sick to my stomach.

I had a severe seafood allergy. Years ago, I accidentally ate seafood and nearly went into anaphylactic shock. At the time, Michele had carried me on his back, running two full blocks to get me to the emergency room.

With reddened eyes, he'd sworn he would never let me come into contact with seafood again.

But now, here he was, bringing me a bowl of seafood chowder, all to stick up for Gianna.

"I'm not hungry."

I picked up the porcelain bowl and threw it—soup and all—straight into the trash can.

After the dull crash, the living room fell deathly silent.

Michele stared at the bowl in the trash can, his displeasure now fully surfacing.

"Emilia, your temper is really getting out of hand. Gianna slaved away in the kitchen for two hours and even burned her hand, and this is how you trample on her thoughtfulness?"

As I watched him go on defending Gianna and blaming me, all I felt was numbness.

"Michele, I'm allergic to seafood. Eating it will send me into anaphylactic shock."

Michele stiffened. It finally came back to him, and panic flashed across his face. But he quickly masked his emotions, his tone turning irritable.

"It's just a bit of seafood. It's not as serious as you make it sound."

Instead of replying, I turned around and walked into the bedroom. Once inside, I locked the door.

From outside came Michele's stifled sigh.

"Gianna, don't cry. Emilia has always been like this, so don't take it personally."

I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. But the tears wouldn't even come, for I had already died inside.

Emilia's POV

Gianna ended up staying at the house for half a month.

To keep Gianna's depression at bay, Michele went out of his way to please her in every way imaginable.

Every day, he bought her gifts, took her on outings, and even introduced her to all the major family connections and networks I had spent years cultivating.

I remained remarkably docile, leaving early and coming home late every day to take care of my emigration paperwork and handle my assets.

One afternoon, I came home earlier than usual to retrieve a very important blueprint. It was the original layout of the stronghold that my papa, Anzo Amato, left me—and also the only thing I truly cared about now that I was leaving.

I opened the locked drawer in the study, only to find the blueprint inside had vanished.

My mind went blank, and I immediately went to the living room.

Gianna was lounging on the couch, nibbling on fruit like she didn't have a care in the world.

I looked at her coldly. "Where's my blueprint?"

Gianna put on an innocent expression. "Emilia, why are you taking your anger out of me just because you lost something? I've never even set foot in your study."

No sooner had she finished speaking than my eyes landed on her designer bag sitting on the couch. Through the open top, I could see the corner of some brown kraft paper sticking out.

I strode forward and grabbed the bag, dumping everything out. Sure enough, the blueprint Papa had left behind was mixed in among her cosmetics.

"Why are you going through my things?" Gianna shrieked, reaching out to snatch the blueprint.

"This is my property," I replied, gripping the blueprint tightly.

The two of us pulled back and forth.

Gianna suddenly yanked with all her strength, and the sound of paper tearing cut through the air.

The blueprint that represented Papa's life's work had been ripped in two.

Her half of the paper knocked over a glass of juice on the table. Ink and juice spread across the surface, destroying the blueprint completely.

I stared at the wreckage before me, fury surging inside me. I raised my hand, only for my wrist to be seized tightly from behind.

"Emilia, what do you think you're doing?"

Michele shoved me away forcefully and shielded Gianna behind him.

Gianna's eyes immediately reddened. "Michele, I was just curious and wanted to take a look at the blueprint. But Emilia tried to hit me."

Michele looked at me with eyes full of reproach.

"Emilia, you've gone too far. You would resort to violence over such a small thing?"

"A small thing?" I pointed at the ruined blueprint on the table.

Not only was it the only memento Papa had left me, but I had also spent an entire year perfecting it. But now, it was utterly ruined.

Yet, to Michele, it was just a small thing?

Michele pulled a checkbook from his suit pocket and wrote down a figure.

"The blueprint is already destroyed, so there's no point in arguing anymore. Here's 100 thousand dollars—consider it compensation. Let Gianna have whatever's left of it for reference. And from now on, you are to stay out of this matter."

I looked at his check. The project Papa had left behind was worth well over one million dollars, yet Michele wanted to buy it off with a mere 100 thousand dollars. Worse still, he wanted to hand it over to Gianna.

I didn't bother fighting back. There was nothing left in this house worth staying for, so I turned around and walked straight out the front door.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Michele.

The moment he saw me walking away so resolutely, it seemed he realized how harsh he had been and chose to back down.

"Emilia, I was wrong just now. With Gianna being sick this whole time, I've been neglecting you. There's a party tomorrow night—come with me. I'll propose to you again. Let's put everything in the past behind us and start over."

I took a deep breath of the cold outdoor air. Before I could reply, my phone lit up again.

An email and a notification popped up. My visa had been processed, and my flight had been booked. The departure time was set for the next evening—the day of the party.

I'd never told anyone that over these years, aside from managing the Moretti family's underground trade routes, I'd been secretly studying medicine.

I used to shadow the Moretti family's personal physician, Carlo Mancini, around, observing and gaining hands-on experience, all so I could be ready to tend to Michele at any moment. He was always out there, risking his life in gunfights and getting hurt.

Thus, I was leaving for good this time.