After my family collapsed, my mother's closest ally brought me to the DeLuca compound and placed me under their roof. That single act bound me to the DeLuca brothers for twenty years.

Because they kept me close, watched over me, gave me their attention in ways no one else received, the people around us grew jealous. But when I was finally old enough to talk about marriage, about building something real, both of them turned me down.

The older brother told me, "The Family comes first. I have no interest in marriage."

The younger one shrugged. "I'm still young. I want to have my fun for a few more years. Besides, this little thing between us was never something to take seriously."

Yet the next day, at my birthday dinner held in the main hall of the compound, the two of them got down on one knee and proposed. Not to me. To the housekeeper's daughter, right there in front of everyone.

What's more, just to make her happy, they forced me to drink hard liquor, knowing my stomach couldn't handle it. The bleeding started before I made it out of my chair. As I was rushed to the hospital, they covered her eyes and laughed at me, convinced I was just pretending.

Their cruelty was the thing that finally broke me. So on the day I was released from the hospital, I called my mother and said, "I'm willing to marry the Moretti Family's heir."

——

As I stepped outside, the biting autumn wind wrapped around me instantly, sharp and unfamiliar against my skin. It slipped through my thin clothes, chilling me to the bone, as if trying to remind me how unprepared I was for what came next.

The compound's iron gate stood behind me. Two soldiers stationed at the guardhouse didn't even look up. I was no longer someone worth watching.

My phone rang. The screen lit up with a name I knew all too well: Dante DeLuca, the elder of the DeLuca brothers.

I answered, and before I could speak, his cold, accusatory voice came through the line. "Bianca Valenti. Where have you been hiding all this time?" he demanded.

"Do you really think you can just walk away and escape what you owe?" he continued. "Get back here immediately and apologize to Serena Conti."

Before I could respond, I heard another voice in the background. Nico DeLuca, his younger brother.

"This is all because of you pretending to be sick," Nico said, his tone filled with irritation and blame. "Your little act upset Serena."

"Don't you know how delicate she is?" he added impatiently. "She hasn't been able to eat properly for days because of you."

As their voices echoed in my ears, I slowly turned my head and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of a parked car.

The reflection staring back at me looked unfamiliar, almost like a stranger. The girl in the glass was thin to the point of fragility, her face pale and drawn, her body so frail it seemed a gust off the harbor could knock her over.

That fragile girl was me.

I had always been weak, prone to illness and frequent stomach pain. Because of that, the two brothers had once spent years worrying over me, taking care of me in ways I had once believed meant everything.

I could still remember one night when I'd had a sudden seizure. It had been late, and the compound's elevator was out. Without hesitation, Dante had carried me on his back, climbing twenty flights of stairs without stopping, his breath uneven but his grip unwavering.

At the same time, Nico had rushed out into the city after dark, searching almost frantically from bakery to bakery just to find my favorite carrot cake, hoping it would make me smile once I woke up.

From that moment on, they had paid close attention to everything I ate and drank, carefully watching over my health with a level of care that once made me feel like I belonged inside those walls. Like I was protected. Like I was theirs.

But all of that had long since faded away.

Ever since Serena entered our lives, those memories had become distant and meaningless, as if they had never truly existed.

Without saying another word, I hung up the phone. I didn't argue, didn't explain, didn't even feel the need to respond.

Instead, I dialed my mother's number.

I pressed my thumb against the pulse point inside my wrist. My heartbeat was thin and fast, but it was steady enough.

"Mother," I said quietly, my voice steady despite everything, "I've thought it through. I'm willing to marry the heir of the Moretti family."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. She didn't respond immediately.

After a moment, she finally spoke, her tone cautious but gentle. "This is a decision that will affect your entire life. Are you sure?"

When my father was killed and our family's territory was seized overnight, everything had fallen apart. My mother had no choice but to send me to the DeLuca compound for protection, while she stayed behind to salvage what little remained.

She carried the weight of our broken family alone, rebuilding piece by piece. It took her twenty long years before she finally managed to establish a connection with the Moretti family, giving the Valenti name a chance to mean something again.

Even after everything she had endured, she still cared about my happiness more than anything else.

The old matriarch of the Moretti family, Gianna Moretti, had personally chosen me to be her grandson's future wife. But my mother never forced me into it. She always left the decision to me.

Back then, I had believed in love. I thought it was something worth pursuing, something worth holding onto.

I had even imagined choosing between the DeLuca brothers, thinking that one of them would eventually be the one for me.

But now, I finally understood the truth.

To them, I had never been anything more than a passing amusement. Something temporary. Something easily replaced.

I should have walked away long ago.

I unlocked my phone, intending to book a plane ticket and leave as soon as possible. But before I could do that, Serena's latest post on Instagram caught my attention.

The caption read: "True love needs no words. Only useless old women would scheme to climb up the social ladder."

She didn't even try to hide her intentions.

In the photo, she lounged comfortably in my room, as if it belonged to her. On her fingers were two dazzling diamond rings, deliberately displayed. I recognized them. Gifts that had once been presented to me at a private dinner inside the compound, the kind of gesture that carried weight in a household where every piece of jewelry signaled exactly where a woman stood.

The clothes she wore were even more familiar.

They were the tailored designer suit and crystal heels that the DeLuca brothers had specially commissioned for me as a birthday gift just six months ago.

Silently, I stared at the screen for a moment. Then I blocked her without hesitation.

"Mom," I said firmly into the phone, my voice clearer now, "I mean it. I want to have my own child as soon as possible."

During my hospital stay, the doctor had told me that this latest incident had severely weakened my body.

If I didn't get pregnant while I was still young, I might never have the chance to have a child of my own.

Time was slipping away from me. I couldn't afford to wait any longer.

After a brief silence, my mother sighed softly. "Alright," she said. "I'll respect your decision."

"Gianna Moretti has already looked into your horoscopes," she continued. "Next Sunday is a good day to register the marriage."

"As long as you come back, I'll arrange everything for you."

I could tell that she already understood what this decision meant. A transfer of protection. Once the papers were signed and the union blessed, the DeLuca name would hold no authority over me. The Moretti bloodline would.

Before hanging up, she added one final reminder, her voice softer than before. "Don't forget to say goodbye to Gianna properly."

I lowered my phone slowly and looked up at the dull, gray sky above me.

The doctor had said it would take about a week for me to recover fully.

So I decided that I would use this one week to say goodbye—to everything, and to everyone I had once held onto.

I took a taxi back to the DeLuca compound, watching the familiar streets pass by through the window. Every turn, every corner carried memories I had once treasured, but now they only felt distant and hollow. The iron gates appeared ahead, flanked by the low hedges and security cameras I had learned to stop noticing years ago. The soldier at the gate barely glanced at me before waving the cab through. I was still inside, still on the books. For now.

However, the moment I stepped through the front door, a sudden blast of icy water hit me without warning.

I gasped as the cold drenched me from head to toe in an instant, my clothes clinging to my skin, the chill seeping straight into my bones.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Bianca," Serena's voice came, light and insincere.

She stood there holding a garden hose, her expression feigning surprise. "I was watering the flowers. I didn't realize you were standing there."

But even as she spoke, she didn't stop. The water continued to spray directly at me, soaking me completely before she finally lowered the hose, as if she had only just realized her "mistake."

I forced my eyes open against the sting of the water. When my vision finally cleared, what I saw made my chest tighten.

The lily of the valley I had carefully tended for years—something I had nurtured with my own hands—was gone.

In its place was a sprawling bed of bright, vibrant roses, planted deliberately, as if erasing every trace of what had once been there.

A cold wind swept through the courtyard, and the chill, combined with the shock, sent a sharp pain through my recently operated body. I pressed my thumb against the pulse point inside my wrist, counting the beats, willing myself to stay upright.

My legs weakened. The world spun for a moment, and I nearly collapsed, barely managing to steady myself before everything went dark.

Dante and Nico stood nearby, exchanging a glance before letting out mocking sneers.

To them, it was just another one of my "acts." They believed I was pretending again, just like before.

"I thought you had grown a backbone and wouldn't come crawling back here," Nico said mockingly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Your own mother doesn't even want you anymore," he continued, his voice cold and cutting. "Where else could you possibly go but here?"

His words pierced straight into my heart, sharper than anything else.

At that moment, a memory surfaced in my mind, the first day I had arrived at the DeLuca compound.

Back then, everything had been different.

Nico had held my hand gently, his voice warm and reassuring as he tried to comfort me. "Don't worry, Bianca. From now on, this is your home."

Dante, always more composed, had personally prepared the largest and finest room for me, making sure I felt welcomed and safe. The compound had high walls and guarded gates, but inside those walls, they had given me the kind of warmth that made me forget what protection cost.

Later, when the three of us moved into this villa to run the family's front operations, he had carefully decorated the master bedroom to suit my tastes, paying attention to every detail.

He had even declared openly that, both now and in the future, I would be the unquestioned lady of this house.

But all of that changed the moment Serena entered our lives.

She came under the excuse of helping her mother, who kept house for the DeLuca family. At first, no one thought much of it. The housekeeper's daughter, running errands, learning the rhythms of the compound. Nothing worth noticing.

Yet from that day on, everything began to shift.

She clung to the two brothers constantly, always finding excuses to stay close to them. Meanwhile, my belongings began to be "accidentally" broken, one after another.

At first, I tried to be understanding. I told myself she was inexperienced, that she didn't mean any harm.

But the day she shattered the jade rosary my father had left me, right in front of my eyes, I could no longer stay silent.

I confronted her.

And that was the moment everything truly changed.

Dante frowned deeply and pushed me aside without hesitation. "Serena hasn't had an easy life," he said coldly. "You, on the other hand, are just a spoiled princess. Why do you have to make things difficult for someone who's barely seen the world?"

Nico stood beside him and added, "She's younger than me, Bianca. As an adult, can't you show a little more kindness?"

I stood there, clutching the broken pieces of my father's rosary in my hands, feeling something inside me shatter along with it.

That was the first time I truly felt helpless.

From that moment on, everything began to change.

I was no longer the most important person in their lives. Slowly, little by little, Serena took my place.

The housekeeper's daughter gradually became the new lady of the house, while I was pushed further and further to the side. She sat where I had sat. She poured wine at dinners I was no longer invited to. The soldiers at the gate began nodding to her the way they used to nod to me.

And now, standing here, I realized there was nothing left for me to hold onto.

All I wanted was to pack my things and leave.

When I stepped fully into the house, I saw that all of my belongings had been thrown carelessly into the hallway, piled up like unwanted trash. Clothes, shoes, framed photographs, a jewelry case with my mother's name still etched on the clasp. All of it stacked against the wall as if the room I had lived in for years had simply been emptied of evidence.

Dante stood there, one arm wrapped possessively around Serena's shoulders. His gaze fell on me, cold and filled with disdain.

"Bianca, you should know your place," he said harshly. "You're nothing more than someone living off the DeLuca family. You have no right to look down on Serena, let alone throw tantrums at her."

"From now on, you'll stay in the staff quarters," he continued without hesitation. "Serena will take over all family business matters, and you'll be transferred to the back office to handle miscellaneous tasks."

"Once you learn some humility, maybe we can talk again."

As if that wasn't enough, Nico picked up the small teddy bear my mother had once given me and tore it apart in front of me, laughing as he did it just to amuse Serena. His right thumb cracked against the side of his hand once, sharply, before he ripped the stitching open. Not because tearing a stuffed animal required force. Because he wanted me to watch him choose it.

"Miss Bianca," he said mockingly, emphasizing the title with deliberate sarcasm, "if you throw another fit and upset Serena again, I won't let you off so easily."

Miss Bianca and Bianca.

It was just one word's difference, but the meaning had completely changed. In this house, in this family, the distance between a name spoken with warmth and a name spoken with mockery was the distance between protection and exile.

In the past, hearing something like that would have broken me. I would have spent sleepless nights replaying every word, every slight.