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.

"I'm sorry, Bianca," he said, his voice low and full of regret. "I shouldn't have put you in this position."

For one brief second, his warmth felt familiar. Almost painful.

Then he continued.

"It's just that Adriana has a child. I brought her here, so I felt responsible for making sure she got home safely."

The warmth vanished.

So even his apology had to include her. Even when he came back to me, he still had to explain why she mattered more.

Then his tone shifted slightly.

"Why didn't you just wait at my Thorne's house?" he asked. "It's raining so hard. You're carrying our child. What if something happened?"

There it was again. The complaint hidden beneath concern.

I turned in his arms and looked at him.

"Are you the only person who can take her home?"

Mira froze.

"What?"

"You and Vincent both drove here tonight," I said calmly. "Are you really the only one who can see Adriana home?"

His expression changed. First confusion. Then embarrassment. Then annoyance. His lips pressed together, and for once, he seemed unable to find the right excuse.

"I…"

I didn't let him finish.

"You wanted to take her home."

The words were simple. Quiet. But they landed heavily between us, heavier than the rain hammering the stone beneath our feet.

A shadow crossed Mira's face. He sighed, sounding tired, as if I had forced him into another unreasonable conversation.

"Bianca, are you jealous again?"

Again. That word almost made me laugh.

"I only see Adriana as a sister," he said. "You know that."

I said nothing.

He continued, his voice softening into the familiar tone he always used when trying to make me feel guilty.

"She's alone. Her husband is dead. She has a child to raise by herself. Life isn't easy for her. We grew up together in this world. I'm just helping her."

Helping her. He always made it sound so noble. As if every time he abandoned me, it was an act of kindness. As if my pain was proof of my selfishness.

I pushed him away.

His body warmth disappeared, leaving only the cold rain against my skin.

"Helping her so much that you left the Family's waterfront operations and started a new crew with her?"

Mira's face changed. For a second, he looked genuinely caught off guard. His hand drifted to his wrist, smoothing the strap of his watch flat against the skin, the way he always did when he was about to make a betrayal sound reasonable.

But he recovered quickly.

"You misunderstood," he said. "The operation isn't just me and Adriana. It's a joint effort. All of us saw an opportunity, and we're trying to build something together."

He adjusted the watch again, forcing himself back into that composed, affectionate version of a husband. The version that used to fool me.

"Don't overthink it," he said gently. "You're going to be a Thorne soon. Why are you still so jealous?"

Then he smiled faintly, as if he were saying something reasonable.

"You wouldn't want to raise a jealous child, would you?"

My fingers curled at my sides. My wedding band pressed into my palm, the stone biting hard against the flesh.

Our child is gone.

The words rose to my throat. For one second, I almost told him. I almost wanted to see his face collapse, wanted him to know that while he was busy playing savior to Adriana and father to her child, he had already lost his own.

But before I could speak, his phone rang.

The moment he answered, a small, cheerful voice came through the speaker.

"Dad, why don't you come see me? I miss you!"

Dad.

The word cut through the rain sharper than thunder.

Panic flashed across Mira's eyes. He immediately covered the receiver with his hand and turned away from me, walking quickly toward the house as if distance could hide what I had already heard.

A few minutes later, he came out changed into fresh clothes. Ready to leave. Again.

"I'm sorry, Bianca," he said, guilt written all over his face. "Adriana said Nico is sick and wants to see me."

I looked at him. The rain was still dripping from my hair. My ankle still ached. My body was still weak. And he was leaving. Again.

I shook my head and smiled faintly.

"I'm fine. You should go."

He seemed relieved. That relief was more painful than any argument could have been.

He leaned down and kissed my cheek gently.

"Once I finish dealing with this, I promise I won't contact her alone again," he said. "I'll make more time for you and the baby."

The baby.

I almost laughed. But I didn't. I only watched him leave, watched the taillights flare red through the rain and swing past the open gate where the night guard didn't even bother to check. The Underboss came and went as he pleased. Everyone moved for him. Everyone except the woman who bore his name.

As soon the gate closed behind him, my phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

Messages from Vincent and a few of Mira's crew appeared one after another.

[Sister-in-law, something happened to Adriana. Can you ask Mira to go over?]

[Sister-in-law, Adriana's kid is crying for Mira. Help us out.]

[Sister-in-law, don't be angry. This is urgent.]

I stared at the messages, feeling nothing.

They had never respected me as Mira's wife. But whenever they needed me to make things easier for Adriana, suddenly I became "sister-in-law." How convenient.

I ignored every message.

Then I opened my chat with my supervisor and began discussing the Marseille transfer in detail. Work location. Transfer timeline. Documents needed. Possible start date.

For the first time in a long while, I felt the fog in front of me begin to clear.

Later that night, I opened one of the private social feeds that circulated through Family-adjacent circles.

Adriana had posted a new update.

The two most important men in my life.

Attached was a photo. In it, Mira and Nico were sleeping side by side. The child was curled against him, two small fingers hooked into the fabric of Mira's shirt, gripping tight, refusing to let go even in sleep.

Mira's face was peaceful. Soft. At ease. Like he had finally returned to where he truly belonged.

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then I quietly turned off my phone.

Some truths didn't need to be questioned anymore. They only needed to be accepted.

Mira's so-called venture into running his own front went more smoothly than I had expected.

Not long after the operation was set up, he secured his first arrangement.

That day, he was almost glowing with excitement. The moment he came home, he pulled me into his arms and told me he wanted me to attend the celebration dinner with him.

"Bianca," he said, his voice unusually sincere, "from now on, I'll be there for you and the baby."

He held my hand tightly, as if afraid I would pull away.

"If you ever feel that something is wrong, just tell me. I'll change. I'll make it right."

His words sounded so earnest.

So familiar.

Once, I would have believed him without hesitation.

Now, I only listened quietly.

Some promises were like cheap glass. They looked clear and beautiful under the light, but the moment you touched them, they cut your hand.

Still, I went with him.

When we arrived at the restaurant, Mira seemed to be in a good mood. He led me inside, his hand resting lightly on my back, acting every bit like a considerate husband. The kind of man the Family expected him to be in public. The kind of man who kept his wife close enough that no one at a neighboring table would think twice.

But the moment the waitress saw us, her smile froze.

It was only for a second, but I caught it.

She looked at Mira, then at me.

Her expression became strange.

As she guided us toward the private room, she leaned slightly closer and whispered in a voice just loud enough for me to hear.

"Why did you change partners?"

My steps stopped.

The words fell into the air like a stone sinking into deep water.

Change partners?

So he had been here before.

With someone else.

No.

Not someone else.

Adriana.

A chill spread through my chest, slow and heavy.

Before I could react, my phone vibrated.