“Consigliere, I want out. Draft the papers for my separation from Don Desmond… and my resignation from his syndicate. I need both documents ready.”

The consigliere’s brows dipped, his voice lowering as if afraid the walls might be listening.

“Signora Valentina, marriages within the Famiglia aren’t dissolved lightly. Think carefully before you sever ties with the Don.”

Valentina had served as Don Desmond Hackett’s personal aide for three years—and secretly, as his wife since the very beginning.

A month earlier, she had been abducted by a rival crew. That night, they bombarded Desmond’s phone with ransom demands, hoping to extort a fortune from the Hackett Family.

He didn’t answer a single call.

When the captors realized no rescue was coming, they hurled her into the freezing dark waters of the harbor. She would have drowned if an old fisherman hadn’t spotted her and dragged her out.

While she was fighting for her life, Don Desmond was at a luxury hotel suite… with Selene—Valentina’s younger sister by blood and the golden girl of their adoptive parents.

That night, the truth shattered everything she had ever held dear: her stubborn devotion, their years together, the illusion she had been clinging to.

She finally woke up.

“I’m not hesitating anymore,” Valentina told the consigliere, her tone steady as stone. “Don Desmond won’t oppose it.”

She had always known—deep down—that the Don never loved her.

But she had adored him since their youth. When he asked her to marry him three years back, she had agreed through tears of joy.

Their third anniversary was approaching.

Her last gift to him would be simple: divorce—freedom from her existence.

---

That night, Valentina returned to the Hackett estate. She found the Don in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist as he prepared dinner.

He was notoriously obsessive about cleanliness, especially when it came to cooking. During their first year of marriage, he had walked into the kitchen while she was preparing a meal and grimaced, muttering, “Did a dump truck explode in here?”

But Selene once mentioned she enjoyed a man who could cook—so Don Desmond took culinary lessons just to impress her.

He set the food on the table. “You said the famiglia’s operations were quiet today. What kept you so late?”

Even in simple clothes, his towering figure and cold charisma radiated authority.

Valentina masked her weariness and replied smoothly, “The new recruits came in today. I had to arrange training protocols.”

He accepted her explanation without a second thought. In his mind, she was always the one buried in paperwork.

“Alright. Let’s eat.”

She sat. He placed a slice of bitter gourd on her plate. “I remember you liked this. Cooked it just for you.”

Something twisted painfully in Valentina’s chest.

Selene loved bitter gourd.

Valentina was allergic.

Three years by his side, and he still didn’t know.

If he had paid even an ounce of attention, he wouldn’t confuse her with another woman.

When he noticed her hesitation, he frowned. “Lav? Eat.”

Instead, she slid the dish away and reached into her bag, pulling out two folders.

“Dinner can wait. I need you to sign these.”

He disliked discussing business during meals. “What’s so urgent?”

Just as he reached for the paperwork, his phone buzzed.

He moved quickly to cover the screen—but she caught the caller ID anyway.

Selene.

The Don stood abruptly and stepped onto the balcony to answer. His sudden motion toppled a glass dish, sending shards crashing to the floor.

A sliver of glass sliced Valentina’s fingertip. Blood dripped onto the cold tiles.

Desmond didn’t notice. He spent fifteen minutes on the call, then returned only long enough to grab his coat.

“I’ve got business tonight. Don’t wait up.”

Valentina spoke quietly. “You haven’t signed.”

He exhaled sharply, irritated, skimmed the last pages, and scribbled his signature.

“There. Satisfied? I’m leaving.”

She stared at the two signed documents, her voice dull. “Go ahead.”

As if the estate suffocated him, Don Desmond walked out without looking back.

Valentina let out a soft, humorless laugh.

If he cared even slightly, he would’ve realized one paper was a resignation.

And the other—a divorce.

He didn’t even notice her bleeding hand.

But Desmond had always reserved his affection for Selene—the favored daughter of the Marwoods, the woman the world believed to be the true heiress.

Twenty-five years ago, their nanny and Vivienne Marwood had given birth in the same hospital. One mistake swapped the babies.

Valentina—the real heiress—was raised by the nanny.

Selene lived in luxury as the prized princess of the Marwood line.

When the nanny passed away five years later, the truth surfaced.

The Marwoods accepted Valentina into the household, but they clung to Selene as well.

Vivienne had once told her gently, “Avy, we raised Yannie like our own. Now that her mother is gone, she only has us.”

They insisted that revealing Selene’s real identity would invite ridicule. So publicly, Selene kept the title of heiress, while only the Marwood and Hackett families knew the truth.

Desmond and Selene grew up side-by-side. They were bound to be engaged—until Selene met a wealthy French socialite and ran off to chase her fantasies in Paris.

To avoid insulting the powerful Hacketts, the Marwoods pushed Valentina into the engagement instead.

Desmond, heartbroken and apathetic, agreed.

But a month ago, Selene returned—

And Desmond threw Valentina aside.

To force her out of the Hackett syndicate, he even leaked intimate footage of himself and Selene online.

Valentina had watched the clip where they whispered to each other:

Desmond: “Valentina did nothing wrong. But if I just ask for a separation, both families will push back. We need to destroy her reputation so that no one can object.”

Selene: “Three years married—did you ever love her?”

Desmond: “She was a placeholder. I married her to keep the peace, nothing more.”

Valentina had once believed that loyalty and devotion could melt even the coldest heart.

She had been a fool.

Tears blurred her sight as she pulled a small notebook from her bag.

Three years ago, she had set herself a rule:

If he disappointed her ninety-nine times, she would walk away.

The video had been the ninety-ninth.

That night, she placed three items into a box, locked it inside the safe, and closed it with a final click.

Her last anniversary gift to Don Desmond.

He might even appreciate it.

With everything done, Valentina picked up her phone and dialed a number she hadn’t touched in three years.

“Rafael… my divorce cooling period ends in a month. Come for me when it does.”

Valentina braced herself, expecting a long wait before anyone answered her call. But the line had already connected on the first ring.

“Valentina,” a voice came, low and sharp as a knife, “don’t think you’re playing games with me.”

She didn’t speak.

“I’ve been hunting you for as long as you pined after Desmond,” he continued, each word edged with steel. “Seven years, cold as ice, and now suddenly… you’re surrendering? What changed?”

Rafael Leon. Her old flame. One of North Carolina’s most feared and respected operators.

He had pursued her relentlessly for seven long years. She had almost given herself to him once. But on the night she was supposed to choose, Desmond—Don Desmond Hackett—had offered her a glimmer of hope.

And so, she had turned her back on Rafael.

Faced with his questions, Valentina inhaled deeply. “I… I wasn’t thinking straight. Forget I even called.”

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the speaker—something heavy had hit the floor.

“You think I’m someone you call when bored and drop when it suits you?” His voice cracked like a gunshot. “Huh, Valentina? You chose me this time. Don’t you dare try to run.”

“I’m giving you one month,” he continued, the threat plain in every syllable. “Take care of that bastard. After that… I’m coming for what’s mine.”

Rafael didn’t give her a chance to protest. The line went dead with a single click.

A faint, wry smile tugged at her lips. Some things never change, she thought.

That night, Don Desmond didn’t return to the estate. Valentina passed the hours in silence, moving through the villa like a ghost—sorting closets, folding garments, tucking away gifts into boxes. When the morning sun spilled through the windows, the front door finally opened.

He stepped in, shirt still rumpled from the night before. “What are you tossing out?”

She flinched ever so slightly, then composed herself, brushing her hair back. “Just… some junk.”

He strode over, peering into a box crammed with clothes and past presents he had given her.

“You call these… junk?”

“Old gifts, old clothes,” she replied lightly. “They take up space. I thought I’d donate them in your name—some kids up in the mountains could use them. Might polish your reputation a bit, too.”

At that, Desmond’s thin lips curved slightly, a ghost of a smile. “Smart move.”

She exhaled softly, relieved that he believed her story. But she knew better. It wasn’t trust—he simply didn’t care to waste more energy on her.

Suddenly, a crash behind her cut through the room. She spun around, and there was her sister.

Selene. Wide-eyed, standing over a shattered sculpture. Her smile was innocently mischievous, the sort that could ensnare anyone.

“Oops… sorry, Mondy, Avy. Didn’t mean to,” Selene murmured.

Desmond didn’t even flinch at the broken pieces. He brushed past Valentina, checking her sister for injuries.

Seeing her unhurt, the storm in his eyes softened. “It’s fine. Nothing matters more than you.”

But Selene wasn’t satisfied. She turned her gaze to Valentina, tilting her head with faux innocence. “You don’t mind, right, Avy?”

Valentina’s eyes dropped to the floor.

The sculpture had been unique—commissioned after a trip, carved with the faces of both her and Desmond. Now, all that remained were fragments.

If this had happened years ago, she would have lashed out, sharp words flying. Now, she simply looked up and said, “It’s alright.”

A flicker crossed Selene’s face—gone almost immediately. She smiled sweetly. “Aww, you’re really kind.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned to Desmond. “With a sister like that, I’m sure she won’t mind my next little favor either.”

He didn’t glance at Valentina as he spoke.

“Yannie’s just returned to North Carolina. Her parents are away, and she doesn’t like staying home alone. In the meantime… let her live here.

“Oh, and—your room gets the morning sun. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Make sure she has it.”

Even after three years bound in marriage by blood oath and ceremony, they didn’t always share the same bed.

Don Desmond had claimed he preferred solitude at night.

Valentina understood—it wasn’t just anyone he didn’t want beside him. It was her.

She also knew how careful he’d always been with Selene. The Don had probably rehearsed a long, smooth explanation for her presence, but when Valentina didn’t resist, didn’t argue, it caught him off guard.

“Alright,” she said softly, almost casually. “Most of my things are in that room anyway. I’ll take them all out myself.”

In truth, it made no difference whether she removed her belongings now or later.

The instant she mentioned moving her things, Desmond’s lips parted slightly, a protest almost forming. But before a word could leave, Selene stepped in.

“Thanks, Avy.”

Valentina didn’t reply. She bent to haul a heavy box toward the stairs, her thin arms straining under the weight.

There was far too much crammed inside. Her foot slid on a shard of glass hidden in the shadows, and she tumbled hard. Her knee smashed the floor, shards cutting into her skin.

Pain flared like fire up her leg and into her spine. Beads of sweat dotted her back. She bit her lip to keep silent, gritting her teeth through it.

But Don Desmond didn’t see. Selene had already pulled him away.

Valentina stayed there, trembling as the pain sank deeper. Tears welled and fell, one by one, onto the cold tiles.

In the Marwood mansion, Desmond would never have let Selene lift even a handbag.

“Our Yannie is our princess,” he’d say, voice warm and indulgent. “She deserves nothing but care.”

Yet when Valentina—the maid’s daughter turned wife of the richest man in the city—bore the same weight, no one blinked. No one cared if she got hurt.

Still, everyone sided with Selene. Unquestioningly. Without hesitation.

Valentina had learned to accept it.

The afternoon crawled by as she sorted through her things. By sunset, every item was loaded onto a waiting truck.

“You didn’t need to throw so much away,” Desmond said, frowning as he watched. “Yannie’s only here temporarily. When she leaves, you’ll move back. What’s the point?”

She didn’t flinch. “They’re old,” she replied evenly. “Time to let them go.”

“You’ve never been wasteful.”

No, she hadn’t. She’d never known a life of ease. Every possession she owned had been earned, cherished, made to last.

She only smiled. “They’ve been with me a long time. Sometimes, you need space. Out with the old, right?”

Just like people, she thought.

Her reasoning sounded fair enough. If Desmond pressed further, he’d look petty—so he let it slide.

“There’s an auction tonight,” he said, shifting the topic. “The organizers invited me. You’ll attend. With Yannie.”

She opened her mouth to refuse. He cut her off.

“You’re my secretary,” he reminded her coldly. “I can’t appear at that kind of gathering without one.”

She looked at him, countless words clinging to her throat—And bringing Selene is acceptable?—but none escaped. She only nodded. One final obligation before she walked away forever.

Night fell. Inside the grand hall, chandeliers cast light like noon over the polished floors.

Every important figure in the city’s underworld was present—polished, practiced, dangerous.

The Hacketts had risen fast over the last two years. Jade, the hostess, came out quickly, her expression polite.

“Don Hackett. Your seat is ready. Right this way.”

Jade gestured to a pair of chairs. “I heard you married? The second seat is for your wife.”

For a heartbeat, everyone froze.

The Don’s marriage had always been secret, hidden behind careful walls. No one was supposed to know.

Valentina turned to him, waiting. Two women. One extra seat.

His choice wasn’t unexpected.

“I’m not married,” Desmond said smoothly. “Not sure where that rumor came from.”

The hostess blinked, confused. “And these two?”

He stepped forward, taking Selene’s hand first.

“This is Selene, daughter of S. Marwood Co.’s CEO.”

“Ah… Selene Marwood,” Jade said, nodding politely.

Then, almost reluctantly, Desmond added, “And the one beside you is my secretary.”

Valentina didn’t flinch. She had anticipated this introduction. But knowing the truth didn’t dull the sharp sting in her chest.

Still, she held herself tall, swallowing the hurt and preserving her dignity.

Desmond and Selene took their seats while Valentina lingered behind them, standing.

Maybe it was the chill in the hall. Maybe it was everything. But a stabbing pain hit her lower abdomen, sharp and insistent.

She pressed a hand to her belly and slipped away toward the restroom—silent, like a shadow fleeing from the spotlight.