I gathered my few belongings and turned to leave the guest room.

The door creaked open. Nina stood there, a cloying smile on her face.

"Miss Alessia? What is it, coming to see your old bedroom? So sorry, the Don says a pregnant woman's needs come first. This room is mine now."

She deliberately raised her hand. On her slender ring finger, a dazzling pigeon's blood ruby ring flashed under the light.

It was the heirloom passed down to every Mancini Donna.

She smirked. "If you're looking for any of your old things, you might want to check the trash. I got rid of all your junk."

"Oh, and I'm sorry, but the Don said the ring that symbolizes the family matriarch is mine now."

I looked at the ring that had once been custom-sized for me, my heart no longer feeling a single ripple.

I lowered my gaze, my voice as calm as a still, dead pool of water.

"Is that so? Then you'd better hold on to it tight."

"What you can steal by scheming today, someone else will steal from you tomorrow."

"I can give you the house, and I can give you the man. But remember this: you won't be the first, and you won't be the last."

The smile on Nina's face froze, her eyes turning venomous.

"Who are you trying to fool? You're just the whore he's tired of. All you have left is that sharp tongue of yours."

"I don't need you to 'give' me anything. Rafael will always choose me. You just wait and see!"

Just then, the sound of firm, urgent footsteps echoed from the end of the hall.

Hearing them, Nina let out a piercing scream.

She snatched a silver letter opener from the walnut desk beside her.

She dragged the blade across her arm, drawing a thin line of blood before letting it clatter to the floor at my feet.

Then she collapsed weakly to the floor, crying out, "Miss Alessia, I was just trying to ask for your forgiveness! Why would you do this to me?"

Before I could react, Rafael kicked the door open.

His gaze instantly locked onto Nina on the floor, then shifted to the bloodied weapon at my feet.

He didn't give me a chance to speak. His expression hardened, his verdict already passed.

Without a moment's hesitation, he strode forward, pulled her up from the floor, and held her tightly in his arms.

"When does it end with you, Alessia?"

Nina hid in his embrace, her hands protectively over her stomach, her voice weak.

"Miss Alessia, I already apologized to you. Why can't you just let me go?"

"The baby is innocent. Once he is born, I am willing to die to atone. I'm begging you, please spare the Mancini bloodline..."

I frowned, about to speak.

A cold command rang out in the hall. He didn't even look at me.

"Hold her down!"

I was forced to my knees, which crashed hard onto the wooden floor.

I looked at him in disbelief.

"You suspect me?"

After placing Nina on the bed, Rafael turned and walked toward me, his eyes filled with raw fury.

"Shouldn't I? First you throw her out of New York, then you shove her, and now this. This is the third time, Alessia!"

"What reason have you given me to believe you?"

I tilted my head back to look at the man who had once promised to love me with his life. The last spark of hope in my eyes died.

All the love I once felt turned to ash.

Rafael left with the injured Nina, leaving me with nothing but the sight of his retreating back.

That night, I sat alone in front of the fireplace.

I took all the love letters Rafael had ever written me, from the citrus groves of Sicily to the streets of New York.

One by one, I tossed them into the roaring flames.

The fire illuminated my face, burning everything to a pile of dead cinders.

At midnight, a message came from Giovanni.

"Principessa, everything is ready. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

I didn't see Rafael for a whole week.

The gossip rags occasionally published paparazzi photos of him.

He was either at an OB-GYN appointment or picking up prescriptions for Nina at the pharmacy.

On the day of the wedding, Rafael, dressed in an expensive custom suit, arrived with his procession of cars and parked in front of the penthouse that no longer belonged to him.

Before he could step out of his car, a black, bulletproof Cadillac screeched to a halt in front of him.

His second-in-command stumbled out of the car, his face pale with terror, shouting frantically:

"Boss, we have a problem. A huge one."

"The Valentino wedding is at St. Patrick's Cathedral... but the groom isn't you. It's Giovanni Russo!"