Lorenzo picked me up from the clinic himself. The drive was silent.

The car stopped in front of our old home, the penthouse in Manhattan.

This was our home. Our sanctuary. The place we’d built a life. Where we’d spent countless nights tangled in the sheets, whispering secrets into the dark.

The moment the door opened, I froze.

This wasn't my home anymore.

The warm, cream-colored walls were gone, replaced with cold black and gray. The Italian sofa I'd picked out myself was gone.

I walked to what used to be my art studio. My only sanctuary in this cold city.

I pushed open the door. It was a gym now. A treadmill glowed with a soft blue light.

My easel, my paints, my unfinished canvases…

Every trace of me had been erased.

"Bella…" Lorenzo stood behind me, his voice tinged with an awkwardness he couldn't hide. "I… I was going to wait for you to get back before I cleaned up."

"Cleaned up?" I stared at him. "Or erased? Erased every trace that I ever lived here?"

"No," he said quickly, gesturing at the cold machines. "Cassandra was unstable. I had her stay here for a while. She said working out helps…"

Cassandra stayed here?

In our home? Slept in our bed?

Click.

Before I could say anything, the master bedroom door opened. A lazy voice drifted out.

"Lorenzo, you're back! I can't find the hairdryer…"

Cassandra emerged, wearing nothing but one of Lorenzo’s white button-downs. The hem skimmed the top of her thighs. Her hair was damp, and the clean scent of his soap clung to her skin. She looked like she owned the place. She looked like the lady of the house.

She saw me and froze for a second. Then a sweet, innocent smile spread across her face, as if we were old friends.

"Bella! You're out of the hospital! That's wonderful!"

She hurried towards me, arms open for a hug. I took a step back. My stomach turned.

"What are you doing here?" my voice was ice.

"I… I came to see Lorenzo," she said, blinking innocently at him. "I heard you were in the hospital. I was so worried…"

Worried? Worried I wasn't dying fast enough?

Lorenzo jumped in. "Cassandra is just… staying here temporarily. It's easier to look after her." He quickly changed the subject. "Bella, your clothes…"

"Oh, right!" Cassandra said, as if she'd just remembered. Her tone was light and cheerful. "I had all your old clothes thrown out. They had that… prison smell on them. Lorenzo doesn't like it. He said it reminds him of bad times. I figured you wouldn't want them anyway, right?"

A lie. But it was a sharp knife, and it went straight for my heart.

Lorenzo cleared his throat. "Bella, Cassandra meant well. We'll go to Fifth Avenue. I'll buy you the best of everything."

I watched them, a perfectly rehearsed duo. I felt sick.

"Fine," I said flatly. "Let's go."

"Great!" Cassandra chirped like a happy child. "Let me just go change!"

I watched her walk back into our master bedroom like she owned the place. The last bit of warmth in my heart died.

The car stopped in front of a high-end boutique on Fifth Avenue.

"Get my wife some clothes," Lorenzo told the bowing store manager.

"Lorenzo, why don't you go check out the watch shop next door?" Cassandra said, tugging on his arm like a spoiled child. "I'll help Bella pick some things out. A woman knows a woman's taste."

Lorenzo hesitated, looking at me.

"Whatever," I said, my face blank.

He nodded. "Okay. I'll be right next door. Call me if you need anything."

The second Lorenzo was gone, Cassandra's sweet smile vanished. In its place was the cold, vicious sneer of a winner.

She walked right up to me, her voice low enough for only me to hear.

"Do you see now, Isabella? This is the difference between you and me. In Lorenzo's heart, a single one of my tears weighs more than your life."

I stared at her. I said nothing.

"Still playing the saint? You really think Lorenzo loves you?" My silence seemed to infuriate her. Her voice grew sharp. "He's trapped by that ridiculous blood oath! As soon as my last wish is granted, he'll throw you out like trash!"

Just as she finished, a loud noise erupted outside.

BANG! BANG, BANG—

Gunshots.

The store descended into chaos. People screamed and scrambled for cover.

Cassandra’s face twisted into the perfect mask of terror.

But for a split second, I saw it. A flicker of triumph in her eyes. A plan, executed to perfection.

The next instant, Lorenzo burst through the door.

His eyes found Cassandra instantly through the chaos.

"Cassandra!" he roared, lunging toward her without a second thought.

Tears streamed down her face as she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him.

"Lorenzo, I'm so scared! I'm so scared!"

Gunshots echoed down the street.

People scrambled, screaming, a human stampede.

Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He wrapped Cassandra in his arms, holding her tight.

"Don't be scared. I'm here," his voice was so gentle it could break your heart.

Then he ran with her toward the exit.

He never looked back. Not once.

I stood there, watching them disappear through the door.

He made the same choice he made three years ago.

The crowd surged toward the exit like a tidal wave. Someone shoved me hard. I fell to the floor.

A stampede of feet. A boot connected with my ribs. The sharp point of a stiletto heel ground into the back of my hand. Pain, white-hot and blinding, flared through me. My body, barely healed, screamed in protest.

"Help… me…" I tried to call out, but the sound was swallowed by the panic.

No one stopped. No one even looked down.

I was like a stray dog, curled up and abandoned in the corner of the shop.

The taste of blood filled my mouth. My consciousness started to fade.

The last thing I saw was Cassandra's face, looking back at me through the car window.

She was smiling.

When I woke up, it was the same damn ceiling.

The VIP room in the family's private clinic.

Lorenzo was sitting by the bed, his face etched with guilt.

"Bella, you're awake."

I turned my head to look at him but said nothing.

"The doctor said your stitches tore," he said carefully. "You have some new bruises, too..."

"Where's Cassandra?" My voice was a raw whisper.

Lorenzo's face tightened. "She… she was in shock. She's resting now."

Resting.

While I was lying in a hospital bed.

“Bella, listen,” he started, his voice low. “It was chaos. I had to get Cassandra to safety—she’s fragile. I was coming right back for you, I swear.”

Isn't well?

I looked down at my own bandaged arms. I almost laughed.

It was pretty clear who wasn't well.

"But just as I got her in the car, I heard more gunshots from inside," he went on. "I wanted to run back, but my men said it was too dangerous…"

Too dangerous?

For his precious Cassandra, but not for me?

"Bella, say something," Lorenzo pleaded, his voice desperate. "I never meant to leave you behind…"

I just looked at him. The man I once thought I would spend my life with. I stared for a long time. So long that the desperation in his eyes started to turn to frustration. Then I spoke.

"I understand."

Just those two words.

All the excuses, all the apologies he had prepared, they all turned to dust. He just stared at me, like he didn't understand.

"Bella…"

"I want to see Nonna," I cut him off again. It was the only thing I wanted. "Now."

A difficult look crossed Lorenzo's face. "Bella, Nonna's heart has been acting up. The doctor said she shouldn't have visitors…"

The same excuse.

"As soon as you're better, I'll arrange it, okay?" he asked, testing the waters.

I closed my eyes. I had no more responses for him.

Lorenzo sat by the bed for a long time. The silence was suffocating. Finally, he stood up.

"I'll go get you something to eat."

He had just reached the door when his phone rang.

"Lorenzo…" It was Cassandra's voice, thick with tears. "I had a nightmare. I heard the gunshots again… I'm so scared…"

Lorenzo's face instantly filled with worry and pain. "Don't be scared. I'm coming right now."

"But… Isabella…"

"She's fine," Lorenzo said, glancing back at me, his voice low. "You need me more than she does."

You need me more than she does.

He hurried out of the room, rushing to the person who "needed him more."

I opened my eyes and stared at the bright, sterile light on the ceiling. My heart was a stone.

The next evening, the news was on.

A breaking story, an explosion that rocked all the channels.

"...sources have confirmed that the current Don of the Viti family, Antonio Viti, seized power by murdering his own father..."

My hand tightened on the remote.

In the world of the mafia, killing your own father was the ultimate sin, worse than being a rat. It was a crime that shook the very foundation of blood and legacy.

If this was proven, the Viti family would tear itself apart.

My phone rang. It was Sofia.

"Isabella, did you see the news? The Viti family's dirty laundry is finally out in the open!" she said with a cold laugh. "This is going to be good. That bitch is finished this time."

Not long after I hung up, my hospital room door was thrown open.

Lorenzo stormed in, radiating a cold fury.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of uncontrolled rage.

"Isabella!" he roared, like a cornered animal, stalking to my bedside. "Was this you?"

The sting of Lorenzo’s handprint burned on my cheek.

He stood over me, his chest heaving, the rage in his eyes still burning.

"Isabella, this isn't over."

He spun on his heel and left.

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the silence.

I touched my cheek. My fingertips came away wet.

Blood.

Lorenzo's ring had cut my skin.

I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, silent laugh.

The man who once swore to protect me with his life had just struck me himself.

The next morning, I was woken by a nurse’s gasp.

"Oh my god, Mrs. Romano, have you seen the news?"

I took the remote and turned on the TV.

The scandal about Antonio Viti was gone.

In its place was a picture of me.

A small, frail child, standing in a pool of blood.

The crime scene from when I was six years old, when I watched my mother die.

A news anchor read in a cold, detached voice:

"Sources close to the family say Isabella Romano suffered from severe mental illness after witnessing a violent event in her childhood..."

"Psychologists believe this trauma could lead to retaliatory behavior..."

"Reports are now claiming that, in a jealous rage, she spread false information to ruin a rival for her husband Lorenzo Romano's affections..."

My hands started to shake.

My deepest trauma, splashed across the screen for the world's entertainment. A slideshow of my personal hell.

The comments online were even worse:

"They should lock that crazy bitch up in an asylum for life!"

"How did Lorenzo Romano end up with a monster like her?"

"She killed her own father, now she's trying to destroy Cassandra. She's pure evil!"

"Poor Miss Viti, so kind and she's being targeted by this psycho!"

The bloody images, the vicious words, the childhood nightmares…

It all came rushing back.

My breathing became shallow, my chest felt like it was being crushed by a stone.

My PTSD was hitting me like a freight train.

I gasped for air, but it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

"Help… help me…"

A nurse rushed in and gave me a sedative.

As my consciousness faded, I heard familiar footsteps.

Lorenzo.

"How is she?" he asked the nurse.

"Mr. Romano, the online news triggered an acute stress reaction…"

"I know," Lorenzo's voice was cold. "The stories have been pulled. It won't happen again."

He walked to my bed and looked down at me.

“Isabella,” he warned, his voice dangerously low. “There won’t be a next time.”

That was it.

No comfort. No apology.

Just a cold, hard warning.

Then he left.

To be with his Cassandra.

In the days that followed, Lorenzo and Cassandra were everywhere.

Fancy restaurants, private parties, charity galas.

The press snapped photos of them talking intimately, of Lorenzo opening her car door.

The public was firmly on their side:

"Lorenzo and Cassandra are a perfect match!"

"A union of two great families. It's good for business!"

"He needs to divorce her already. That psycho doesn't deserve the Romano name!"

"Miss Viti is so kind. She'll be the one to heal Lorenzo's heart!"

I lay in my hospital bed, reading the news, my heart dead.

That night, I put in the micro-earpiece Sofia had given me.

The bug in Lorenzo's study came to life.

"Lorenzo…" It was Cassandra's sweet, cloying voice. "I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" Lorenzo's voice sounded tired.

"Your tattoo… the one on your arm…"

My heart skipped a beat.

Lorenzo had an iris tattooed on his forearm. My favorite flower. A symbol of our love.

"The iris?" Lorenzo asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra’s voice was a venomous sugar. “Every time I see it, it’s a reminder… of her. Can’t you just… cover it up? For me?”

A long silence.

I held my breath, waiting.

"To what?" he finally asked.

"My initial," Cassandra's voice filled with excitement. "Just a 'C.' It's simple."

Another silence.

"Is this it?" Lorenzo asked. "Your last wish?"

"Yes," Cassandra cooed. "The very last one. After this, we can finally…"

"Fine," Lorenzo cut her off. "I'll go to the tattoo shop tomorrow."

I heard Cassandra's happy laugh through the earpiece.

I turned off the recording, my face a mask, and saved the audio file.

The iris. The symbol of our love. Erased.

Replaced by another woman's initial.

The next day, I called Sofia.

"Give me Nonna's address."

"Isabella, are you sure you want to go now? Your body…"

"The address," I said. My voice was steel.

Sofia sighed. "I'm sending it to you now. I'll send the contact for your new identity, too."

"Thank you."

"Take care of yourself, sister."

After I hung up, I packed a small bag.

When the nurse tried to stop me from leaving, I just looked at her. "Are you going to try and stop me?"

My stare was enough. She stepped aside.

I stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of white roses, Nonna's favorite.

Three years. I was finally going to see her.

The taxi stopped in front of the care facility.

It was an expensive, private place. Beautiful grounds, modern facilities.

Lorenzo hadn't skimped on Nonna's care.

I held the flowers and walked toward her room.

Room 308.

I took a deep breath and reached for the door.