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.

His smug expression froze. The lighter went still in his hand.

The room fell silent.

He exchanged uneasy glances with the others.

Even Lorenzo's face changed slightly.

I looked around at them, one by one.

So that was it.

There was something else they had all been hiding from me.

The meal tasted like nothing.

No matter how carefully Mira Thorne had arranged the dishes, no matter how warmly she smiled at Adriana, everything felt cold and stale in my mouth.

After Vincent's accidental slip about the new operation, the table had fallen into an unnatural silence. Everyone seemed to be eating, but no one was relaxed. The clinking of forks against plates sounded especially sharp in that dining room, where the heavy curtains were drawn and a soldier stood just inside the hall, pretending not to listen.

Mira sat beside me, occasionally glancing in my direction. His expression was calm on the surface, but I could tell he was measuring my reaction, wondering how much I had understood and how much I would ask.

I didn't ask anything.

Sometimes silence was more useful than anger. In this world, it was the only currency a wife was permitted to spend.

After dinner, the rain outside suddenly grew heavier.

It beat against the windows of the estate in thick sheets, blurring the courtyard lights and the wrought-iron gate beyond the glass. The sky was dark, the gravel drive slick, and the sound of the storm filled every room that no one was willing to fill with conversation.

Mira walked toward me with unusual caution.

"Bianca," he said softly, "it's raining too hard. It's not safe for Adriana to go home alone."

I looked up at him.

He paused, then continued, "Why don't you stay here with my Thorne for a while? I'll drop her off first and come back for you."

His words were gentle. Considerate, even. But none of that consideration was for me.

I nodded.

"Alright."

Mira seemed surprised by how easily I agreed. He looked at me for a few seconds, as if he wanted to explain more, or maybe as if he was waiting for me to protest like I used to.

But I only watched him quietly.

In the end, he said nothing. He reached for my hand and squeezed it, a brief, almost guilty gesture, then let go and walked out with Adriana. One of the soldiers by the door straightened as they passed, falling into step three paces behind without being asked.

I watched them leave together. One held an umbrella. The other walked close beneath it. Their backs disappeared into the rain like a scene from some old film, the bodyguard's dark silhouette trailing after them like a vow of protection I had never been offered.

Only I was the unwanted extra standing outside the frame.

As soon as they were gone, I took out my phone and ordered a car. Not one of the Family drivers. A civilian cab from the service that didn't report to anyone.

Mira Thorne tried to stop me.

"Bianca, didn't Mira tell you to wait here? Why are you leaving in this rain?"

I ignored her. The linen napkin beside her plate was folded into perfect thirds, untouched. I didn't want to sit in that house for another second, surrounded by people who had spent the entire evening treating me like an outsider in my own marriage.

When I stepped outside, the rain immediately soaked through my clothes.

Cold water slid down my hair and neck, seeping into my collar. The wind cut through me, and the courtyard lamps reflected off the wet flagstone in broken, trembling lines. Somewhere beyond the perimeter wall, a car engine idled. The estate's security cameras watched me from their posts, small red lights blinking through the downpour, and not one of them had ever kept me safe from anything that actually hurt.

I stood there alone, waiting for my ride, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the rain.

Humiliated. Abandoned. Ridiculous.

Then, suddenly, warmth closed around me from behind.

I stiffened.

Mira's arms wrapped around me, damp and trembling. He was breathless, his hair soaked, his shirt clinging to his body. He must have turned back the moment the car pulled out of the gate.