It was heading toward the hospital.

For one brief second, my heart still moved.

I even reached for my phone, wanting to ask him why he was there.

Then I saw Vincent's post.

So that was why.

Not for me.

Never for me.

Their circle had always been close. Four made men and one protected woman. They had grown up together in the same neighborhood, shared secrets over Sunday dinners, drank together at the social club, laughed together, and guarded each other like blood.

And in that circle, Lorenzo and Adriana had always been the perfect pair.

The golden boy and the jade girl.

Everyone thought they would end up together.

If Adriana hadn't been persuaded to marry a foreign associate back then, I probably never would have had the chance to marry Lorenzo at all.

But now Adriana had returned to the States.

Divorced.

With a young son.

And just like that, I became the villain.

No one blamed Adriana for leaving Lorenzo years ago. No one blamed her for coming back and leaning on a married man. Instead, they all looked at me as if I were the intruder.

As if I had stolen a love story that was never meant to belong to me.

That group loved to drink late into the night at the social club on Mulberry Street. Lorenzo had a weak stomach, so whenever he stayed out too long, I would call to remind him not to drink too much and to come home early.

I thought I was caring for him.

But in their eyes, I was controlling. A wet blanket. A jealous wife who ruined everyone's fun.

Behind my back, they called me The Tigress.

And whenever they came to our home, they never treated me like Lorenzo's wife. They treated me like a glorified housekeeper. Someone who should cook, clean, pour drinks, smile politely, and then disappear.

Tonight, once again, Lorenzo had chosen them over me.

Chosen Adriana over me.

Maybe that was for the best.

At least now, I would no longer be tempted to soften.

At least now, I could finally stop lying to myself.

Around three in the morning, Lorenzo finally came home.

The bedroom door was closed, but I heard him moving around outside. The estate was so quiet at that hour that every sound carried: the soft click of the front lock, the enforcers shifting on their rotation outside the windows, then his footsteps. His steps were unsteady, heavy with alcohol. He lingered in the kitchen for a while, probably expecting to find the sobering soup I used to make for him every time he came home drunk.

But tonight, there was nothing.

A few minutes later, he quietly pushed open the bedroom door.

When he saw that I was still awake, panic flashed across his face.

It was quick.

Almost too quick to catch.

Then he walked over as if nothing had happened and gently pulled the quilt higher over my shoulders.

"No sobering soup for me tonight?" he asked softly.

I hummed faintly and turned my gaze away.

The smell of alcohol clung to him, thick and bitter.

But underneath it, there was something else.

A faint trace of perfume.

Sweet.

Delicate.

Feminine.

My stomach turned. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wedding band until the stone bit into my palm.

Lorenzo seemed to want to say something. He looked at me for a while, his lips parting slightly, but in the end, he only sighed.

Maybe he was waiting for me to question him.

Maybe he was waiting for me to cry, to argue, to demand an explanation the way I used to.

But I said nothing.

And silence, it seemed, made him more uneasy than any accusation.

After a long pause, he finally said, "You're pregnant. Get some rest."

Then he turned and left.

I lay there, staring into the darkness. Somewhere beyond the bedroom wall, the grandfather clock in the hallway marked the hour. Outside, the faint crunch of gravel told me a soldier was completing his circuit around the estate. The house was full of men sworn to protect the DeLuca name, and not one of them had been sent to find me tonight.

Pregnant.

He still remembered that I was pregnant.

But he had forgotten that I could be hurt. Forgotten that I could feel pain. Forgotten that I was his wife.

And in that moment, I finally understood.

A man who only remembers your pregnancy but forgets your suffering is not protecting you.

He is only protecting the child he thinks belongs to him.

The next morning, I arrived at the front office earlier than usual.

No matter how tangled and suffocating my personal life had become, the ledgers still had deadlines. Accounts would not wait for my heartbreak, and the men who depended on clean numbers would not care that my marriage was quietly rotting from the inside.

For too long, I had been late because of Lorenzo.

I had stayed up making him sobering soup, woken early to prepare breakfast, reminded him of sit-downs, washed his shirts, packed his things, and cleaned up every mess he left behind.

I had mistaken all of that for love.

Now I only found it exhausting.

My early arrival clearly surprised my supervisor. When she walked past my desk, her brows lifted slightly, but she didn't say anything.

After the morning briefing, she called me into her office.

"Bianca," she began, her tone measured, "there's an opportunity to work at one of our foreign territory fronts. Marseille. Are you interested?"

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

"I've always valued your skills, but I was concerned about your family situation before, so I wasn't sure if you would be willing to leave."

Before she could finish, I nodded.

"I'm interested," I said calmly. "I'd be grateful for the opportunity. Thank you."

My answer came so quickly that she blinked in surprise.

For a moment, she seemed unsure whether she had heard me correctly.

Then her expression softened.

"I also noticed you threw away a bouquet last night," she said hesitantly. "Did you have a fight with your husband?"

I gave a small smile and shook my head.

A fight?

No.

Lorenzo never truly fought with me.

Whenever I questioned him, he would look at me with that patient, indulgent expression, as if I were a spoiled child throwing a meaningless tantrum.

He never argued because he never thought I was worth arguing with.

To him, my anger was noise.

My pain was drama.

My disappointment was something he could wait out until I eventually softened.

Just then, my phone vibrated twice.

I glanced down.

Lorenzo.

I answered.

His voice was gentle, but beneath that gentleness was a faint edge of displeasure.

"Busy today?" he asked. "Why did you leave without making breakfast?"

There it was.

Not, "How's your ankle?"

Not, "Did you sleep well?"

Not, "Are you feeling okay?"

His first concern was breakfast.

I said nothing.

After a short pause, he added, "Yesterday was our anniversary. I got you a gift."

"Oh?" I asked lightly, hiding the flicker of curiosity that still rose in me despite everything. "What gift?"

"A small box in my coat pocket," he said. "A ring."

I heard the rustle of fabric on the other end, followed by his low mutter as he searched his pockets.

"Strange. It's not here."

Then he seemed to realize something. His tone changed quickly, becoming almost too casual. I could picture him smoothing the strap of his watch flat against his wrist, already turning the lie into something that sounded reasonable.

"It must've fallen out in the car. I'll get you another one."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

In the photo from last night, Adriana had been wearing a ring on her finger.

So even my anniversary gift had to be tried on by his protected little saint first.

How thoughtful.

How disgusting.

"No need," I said. "I forgot to get you anything anyway."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Bianca?" Lorenzo's voice tightened. "Are you upset? I really did buy you a gift."

"Yeah," I replied flatly.

Then, before he could say anything else, I added, "If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now. I'm busy with work."

I ended the call.

From that day on, my relationship with Lorenzo settled into a strange, uneasy calm.

We lived under the same roof in that guarded estate, but the warmth between us had gone cold. The soldiers posted at the gates saw us come and go at different hours. If they noticed, they said nothing. Men in this world were trained not to notice.

He seemed to sense that something was wrong, yet he still assumed I would eventually return to the way I used to be.

He didn't understand that some things, once broken, did not make noise.

They simply stopped existing.

A few days later, the DeLuca matriarch invited me over for Sunday dinner.

That had never happened before.

She had never liked me.

In her eyes, Adriana had always been the daughter-in-law she truly wanted. I was only the woman who had stepped into a position that should have belonged to someone else.

Still, I did not refuse.

When I arrived by car, the matriarch was in the dining room, directing Lorenzo's associates as they set the table. Heavy silverware, wine already breathing, the good linen. She folded and refolded her napkin into perfect thirds without looking up when the door opened.

The moment I walked in, the room fell strangely quiet.

Someone muttered under their breath, "Why invite her? She won't let Lorenzo drink with us."

I heard it clearly.

But I ignored it and sat down.

Not long after, Lorenzo arrived.

And Adriana was beside him.

Of course she was.

She walked in with him naturally, as if they had come home together a thousand times before.

My gaze fell on her hand.

The ring she had worn in the photo was gone.

A faint chill passed through my chest.

Adriana moved into the kitchen with practiced ease, chatting warmly with the matriarch. She rolled up her sleeves, smiled sweetly, and acted as if she belonged there more than I ever had.

Lorenzo sat down beside me.

Then he pulled out a ring box and held it up, his expression almost proud.

"I told you," he said smoothly, without the slightest hesitation. "It was in the car the whole time."

He lied so naturally.

So effortlessly.

As if truth and falsehood were only tools he could choose between depending on what suited him best.

Before I could react, he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger.

The metal was cold against my skin.

I looked down at it, and a wave of disgust rose inside me.

This ring had already been worn by Adriana.

This lie had already been polished by him.

And now he wanted me to accept both as if nothing had happened.

How many times had he lied to me like this?

How many times had I believed him because I wanted to keep loving him?

From the kitchen, the matriarch's voice floated out, warm and indulgent in a way she had never once used with me.

"Oh, Adriana, let Bianca handle these things. You're a guest here. How could I let you do this?"

Adriana clung to her arm and smiled softly.

"Auntie, I missed you."

"Missed me, did you?" The matriarch teased.

Then she glanced in my direction before pulling Adriana closer.

"Then why don't you visit me more often? I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about Lorenzo and me."

The meaning behind her words was not subtle.

She was not treating Adriana like a guest.

She was treating her like family.

Then the matriarch turned to me, wearing a smile so fake it barely covered the sharpness underneath.

"Oh, Bianca, have I properly introduced Adriana to you? She's my adopted daughter, Lorenzo's dear sister. You really shouldn't worry about their closeness. It's perfectly natural."

She paused, then added, "In fact, there's no need to keep checking on Lorenzo when he goes out. Don't you trust your own husband?"

The room went quiet.

Every pair of eyes seemed to land on me.

Before I could answer, Adriana lowered her lashes, fingers drifting to the tiny gold crucifix at her throat, and spoke softly.

"Yes, Bianca. You're always checking up on Lorenzo. It makes me feel uncomfortable, you know? We're all decent people here. None of us would drag Lorenzo into anything improper."

Her voice was gentle.

Her words were reasonable.

But every syllable carried the smugness of someone who knew she was protected.

Vincent Caruso, one of Lorenzo's closest soldiers and the loudest champion of Lorenzo and Adriana's so-called perfect bond, immediately chimed in. He flicked his silver lighter open and shut once, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

"Exactly," he said with a smug laugh. "Besides, we're just getting the new operation off the ground. Long nights are part of the deal, right?"

He leaned back in his chair, speaking as if he had finally found a righteous reason to lecture me.

"Adriana even ended up in the clinic after drinking with a contact. Lorenzo was just helping her. And honestly, if those two had feelings for each other, they would've been together ages ago. No need to worry, Bianca."

My eyes narrowed.

Operation?

New venture?

What was he talking about?

Wasn't Lorenzo running the DeLuca waterfront like he always had?

Since when had he become involved in some separate crew?

The moment Vincent finished speaking, he seemed to realize he had said too much.