Harper’s POV

When Dante returned as Ash, he generously offered to move me back into the old Moretti mansion so he could “take better care of me” as my brother-in-law.

I couldn’t have been more grateful. He even put me in the room directly across the hall from his—where he and Gianna stayed.

Except now, thinking back, Dante hadn’t taken care of me for a single day. The best he ever did was stop by once in a while to ask how my pregnancy checkup had gone.

I used to think he was just busy—after all, Dante’s sudden “death” had left a mess for the family to clean up.

Now everything was all crystal clear. Moving me in was never about caring for me. It was about controlling me—the widow with the money.

And that whole performance of “taking care” of me? Just guilt-bait.

See? Your husband’s brother is looking after you. Shouldn’t you be grateful? Shouldn’t you give us more money?

To think I’d felt even a flicker of guilt—moved, for one stupid second—by all those lies. Rage surged through my chest like a second heartbeat, wild and unbearable, clawing to get out.

Just wait, Dante. Just wait. The day I walk out of here, I’m taking every single thing I ever gave this family with me.

…

When I got back to my room, I sat down and tried to breathe.

Leaving Dante and the Moretti—and taking my money with me—might’ve hurt them. It would’ve left a bruise, maybe even knocked the wind out of them for a while.

But ever since Dante took the Don’s seat, the Moretti had grown larger, stronger. Even stripped of my resources, he’d recover and rebuild eventually.

And the vengeful pulse in my chest told me bruising him wasn’t enough.

I didn’t want Dante and the Moretti inconvenienced. I wanted them ruined.

I wanted this family to fall—brick by brick, legacy by legacy—until Dante and Gianna had nowhere left to stand but at my feet, begging.

Starting with… Dante walked back into this house as “Ash.” Everyone already believed Ash was the gentle one, the soft-spoken brother who could never lead a mafia family.

I could use that. I’d gather support quietly, collect evidence, then force a family vote and strip “Ash Moretti” of any possibility of inheriting the Don.

Even better, I could take the seat myself. I was, after all, legally married to Dante Moretti. Legally entitled to inherit everything he “left behind” after his so-called death.

And with my father backing me—the first non-Moretti Don in Moretti history?

Oh, Dante would look like absolute shit. And Gianna? I could already picture her face.

I was still mapping this plan out in my mind when my phone buzzed.

Dr. Zane.

My heart skipped. I answered fast. “Hey, Dr. Zane. Is something wrong?”

Not the baby. My baby…

“Mrs. Moretti…” she hesitated. She never hesitated.

A chill climbed down my spine.

"We ran the most recent tests. And… the fetus has stopped growing.” Her voice went quiet. “Which means—”

Which means I failed again.” My hand dropped instinctively to my belly.

Did you hear him, too? My baby, did you hear what your father said—and decide not to come after all?

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over.

"I’m so sorry, Mrs. Moretti,” Dr. Zane said gently. “We suggest you come in today and run a few test.”

She’d been with me through it all. Every round of IVF. Every injection. Every heartbreak.

She knew how stubborn I was. That’s probably why she was speaking so carefully, afraid to break whatever pieces of me were still intact.

Zane added quietly, “I know what happened with Mr. Moretti. We still have a few of his samples stored here. If, in the future, you’d ever like to try again…”

“No,” I said softly, cutting her off. “I’ll come in tonight. And please—destroy whatever Moretti samples you have left. I won’t be needing them.”

The pain was still there. Sharp. Heavy.

But I knew what I had to do.

I placed a hand over my belly and whispered, “Maybe it’s for the best, little one. You deserve better than a man like that for a father. And as for me… I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you better.”

I wiped my face, steeled my spine.

Then came Dante’s voice from the hall. “Harper? Come downstairs. It’s dinner time.”

It would be the first time I saw them—her and him—since everything came crashing down.

I turned to the mirror. Stared at the reflection of the woman they thought they could break.

“You can do this, Harper,” I whispered. “Remember who you are.”

I pulled on a smile and headed downstairs.

…

Dante sat with Gianna tucked neatly at his side. Nicholas and Viola—his parents—occupied the opposite end of the table.

And they’d left me the head seat.

“Come, Harper. Sit,” Dante said, all warm concern, pulling my chair out like the perfect, considerate Ash.

Goosebumps prickled up my arms.

“Thanks,” I replied evenly, careful to let none of the discomfort reach my face.

"Harper, are you feeling unwell?” Viola asked, her voice sugar-sweet. “You don’t look like yourself.”

I smiled, lifting my water glass. “Nothing,” I said, taking a sip.

Across from me, Gianna was busy feeding Dante a piece of fruit from her bowl, then lifting a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t the fruit I feed you the sweetest in the world?” she cooed.

Dante leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You are the sweetest, babe.”

As if cue me to look at them, Gianna turned and said, “Oops, we forgot that we are not along right now.”

Dante caught my gaze from the corner of his eyes, “Harper, I heard you have a pregnancy checkup this evening. Do you want me to go with you?”

“Babe,” Gianna cut in smoothly, “did you forget you already promised me tonight? I’ve been waiting all week.”

She pouted, turning her face away like the wounded party.

Dante immediately reached for her hand, soothing her, then looked back at me. “My fault. I already made plans with my wife…”

Before he could stack on more excuses, I cut him off. “That’s alright. I can go myself. It’s not my first time.”

Gianna suddenly turned toward me. “You won’t hold it against us, right, Harper? You’re not going to run crying to your daddy about being mistreated here?”

She said it with a laugh—but the malice underneath was sharp enough to cut.

“Of course,” I replied, keeping my voice even.

Dante and his father, Nicolas, exchanged a glance before Dante spoke again. “Harper, I was wondering when’s your family’s next investment installment coming? After what happened to Dante, I thought about moving the business somewhere else, somewhere safer. So I have been looking into buying a casino.”

I said smoothly. “I just checked in with my father today. There’s going to be a delay in this month’s investment. Maybe I could have a tour of the casino first?”

Dante’s expression brightened instantly. “Would tomorrow work?”

He didn’t even hesitate—still so ready to use my love for “Dante,” even now.

“Alright,” I said with a small smile.

Just how good was this casino that he couldn’t wait a while longer? He was practically tripping over himself to show me—risking raising my suspicion in the process.

“Babe,” Gianna cooed, attracting Dante’s attention back. “My hand hurt, can you cut my steak for me?”

Dante blinked. Then—without a moment’s hesitation—he set down his glass, poured her wine, and began cutting her steak into neat, delicate pieces.

Gianna flashed a smile at me—too sweet, too bright—and I caught the taunt beneath it.

She was showing off. Showing me just how much Dante cared about her.

And even knowing Gianna was parading this side of him in front of me on purpose, it still landed like a slap to the face.

In all the years we were together, Dante never cut my food. Never hovered. Never looked at me the way he did her.

I used to think it was just who he was. Tough. Rough around the edges. The kind of man who showed his care with silence, not softness.

But watching him now?

It wasn’t that Dante didn’t know how to care for someone.

He just never wanted to care for me.

It was one thing to overhear it through a wall—another to watch that painful truth unfold right in front of me.

The nausea came fast, hot and violent.

I turned away, hand clamped over my mouth, gagging quietly at the table. Watching the two of them had made my stomach turn.

…

I went to the clinic that night for the check‑up. Dr. Zane told me it was better to wait for a few more days before scheduling the surgery.

I had just stepped out of her office when I saw someone familiar in the hallway.

Dante.

A strange mix of hope and disbelief flickered through me. Had he actually come after all?

But before I could take a single step toward him, Gianna appeared from another hallway—and Dante rushed straight to her.

“How was it?”

Gianna’s cheeks went pink. “The doctor said I wasn’t pregnant yet. Maybe I just ate something bad.”

Of course Dante didn’t come for me. What was I even thinking?

Gianna’s eyes landed on me, but she didn’t call my name right away.

Instead, she leaned in and kissed Dante. A long, deliberate kiss.

Only after pulling away—smiling like the cat who got the cream—did she finally speak.

“Oh! Harper, I didn’t see you there,” she said, all faux surprise. “You finished the checkup already?”

She’d seen me. And she knew I’d seen her too.

Dante followed her gaze. The moment his eyes landed on me, he hesitated. “I was going to call you after Gianna finished her appointment—see if you were done too. Maybe you could ride home with us?”

“I…” Before I could even finish, Gianna tugged lightly on his sleeve and interrupted. “Babe.”

He glanced at her, then back at me. “Right, I forgot, Gianna and I aren’t heading straight home. Maybe call yourself a cab?”

I looked at Gianna, smug and sheltered behind him, then back at Dante. “Mm.”

I watched the two of them disappear down the hall—Gianna leaning in to whisper something against Dante’s ear, both of them laughing the whole way.