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.

Emilia's POV

The next day, Michele took my hand and introduced me to everyone at the party.

"This is my fiancee, Emilia."

I maintained a poised smile the entire time.

The party reached its climax. The lights in the entire venue went out, a single spotlight falling on Michele and me. Every gaze in the room converged on us.

Michele brought out the ring box and slowly got down on one knee.

Just as he was about to speak, his phone suddenly rang with the exclusive ringtone he had specially set for Gianna.

Under the watchful eyes of the entire crowd, he instinctively pulled out his phone. The moment he saw the message, his expression drastically changed.

"Emilia, Gianna cut her wrist while slicing fruit in her apartment. She's lost a lot of blood and has been afraid of seeing blood since she was little. I have to go save her."

He snapped the ring box shut and stood up. Then, he casually patted my shoulder and said, "Be good and wait here for me. Also, help me explain things to the guests. I'll be back very soon."

With that, he pushed through the crowd and rushed out of the hall without sparing me another glance.

Hundreds of sympathetic gazes fell upon me. I stood alone beneath the spotlight, watching Michele disappear.

Calmly, I stepped down from the stage and entered the lounge. There, I took off the high heels that had been chafing my feet and changed into the ballet flats I had prepared in advance.

I glanced up at the time. It was 8:00 pm. There wasn't much time left before my flight was due to take off.

I pushed open the back door of the lounge and walked into the night.

…

Third-Person POV

At 10:00 pm, Michele sat on the couch in the apartment, watching Carlo tend to the shallow wound on Gianna's wrist.

Gianna leaned against Michele's shoulder, weeping.

"Michele, I'm sorry for causing you trouble again."

Michele comforted her, but his gaze kept drifting to his phone.

In the past, whenever he'd abandoned Emilia for Gianna, she'd call and message him relentlessly, demanding an explanation. But this time, there was nothing but silence from her.

Her unusual behavior gave rise to a growing unease within him.

Just then, his phone buzzed urgently. It was his Soldato, Luca Russo.

He immediately answered and asked irritably, "I sent you to the lounge to look for Emilia. Did you find her?"

The voice on the other end was filled with panic. "Mr. Barone, Ms. Amato wasn't in the lounge. We checked her exit and entry records. She applied for a visa and booked a one-way flight to the Listoria war zone tonight. According to the time, that flight took off 15 minutes ago."

Michele shot to his feet, startling Gianna.

"Michele, what happened?"

He ignored her and kept dialing Emilia's number instead, only to have a cold, automated voice tell him, "The subscriber you are trying to reach is not available now. Please try again later."

Right at that moment, breaking news flashed across the television screen.

"Latest update—the cross-border flight bound for Listoria, which departed at 9:45 pm tonight, has lost all contact with ground control after encountering a severe thunderstorm."

Michele stared blankly at the news. Listoria was a perilous region, a constant hotbed of conflict.

With trembling hands, he contacted the airline. "Can you please check the passenger list to see if there is a passenger by the name of Emilia Amato on board?"

After a brief silence, the airline staff replied, "Sir, Ms. Amato is indeed on the list."