In the New York underworld, it was an open secret that I was Vincent Russo’s wife in name only.

We had a marriage certificate, but none of the intimacy that was supposed to come with it.

For three years, the women in his bed were a revolving door.

The tabloids were filled with photos of him carousing in Las Vegas with a parade of different women.

The next day, those photos would be the talk of every high-society luncheon.

He never cared about my dignity, convinced I had stolen the place beside him from the woman he truly loved.

The Russo family pitied me, whispering that I was just an unfortunate substitute, a pawn in a marriage alliance.

I never defended myself, only smiling as I covered up his every scandal, playing the part of the perfect Mrs. Russo.

They didn't know I had signed a secret contract with his father, Don Antonio.

If I could just endure these three years, my massive debt would be wiped clean, and the man I loved would finally get the life-saving treatment he needed.

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1

Everyone knew Vincent hated me.

I was the wife Don Antonio had forced upon him after his first love, Cassandra, left him.

It wasn't just that he didn't love me; he wished I would vanish from his life entirely.

After we married, I played the part of the perfect Mrs. Russo, complying with his every demand.

But he was clearly not satisfied with that, tormenting me with a constant stream of scandals.

Whenever his picture with a Hollywood starlet or a supermodel hit the front page, I had to endure the wrath of his mother, Isla. "You can't even control your own husband," she would accuse me.

At times like these, Vincent would always lean against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, enjoying the show.

A look of brazen defiance smoldered in his eyes.

My friends were indignant on my behalf, calling Vincent an irredeemable bastard.

But I refused to show any resentment.

I smiled, used my PR skills to bury the trending stories, and accompanied him to family events with a graceful smile.

I played the part of a gracious, elegant, and impeccable wife.

Because in one more month, that damned contract would expire.

I would finally be free.

But before I had the chance to celebrate, Cassandra Marino returned.

They were tangled up together that very day, eager to tear apart my last shred of dignity.

The day Cassandra returned, I was managing the fallout from Vincent's latest tabloid scandal.

In the photo, he had his arm around a blonde model, whispering in her ear, their bodies pressed close.

On social media, people were mocking me, the nominal Mrs. Russo.

Can't Mrs. Russo even control her own husband? Pathetic.

The user above is clueless. What woman could ever tie down a man like Vincent?

Seriously, I'd let him fool around all day if it meant I could be Mrs. Russo.

A bunch of gold diggers, all of them.

Staring at the screen, I had to admit they had a point.

Vincent Russo was born to be in the spotlight.

He had a face kissed by God, especially his deep eyes, as mesmerizing as the ocean.

As the future Don of the Russo family, his power in New York was immense.

He was one of fortune's favored sons.

I rubbed my temples and had just closed my laptop when I heard the sound of the manor's main gate opening.

The man at the door was dressed in a black suit, the brim of his hat pulled low, casting his eyes in shadow. A chill seemed to emanate from him, making him unreadable and dangerous.

It was Vincent.

In three years, I could count the number of times he’d returned to this manor on one hand.

But behind him, there was another woman.

She trailed weakly behind Vincent, the very picture of delicate fragility, but a flicker of smugness was hidden in the depths of her eyes.

I was about to speak when the woman beat me to it. "I'm sorry, Eleanora. I just got back to New York and had nowhere to stay, so I called Vincent in a panic. I didn't expect him to bring me straight here. You don't mind, do you?"

I understood instantly. This had to be the infamous Cassandra Marino.

The moment she returned, Vincent had eagerly brought her back to our marital home.

I looked at Vincent.

He didn't even deign to spare me a glance.

Those same eyes, always so cold toward me, now softened with tenderness as he looked at Cassandra.

He wrapped his arm around Cassandra's waist and walked straight toward the master bedroom. As he passed me, he tossed a cold command over his shoulder.

"You're sleeping in the guest room tonight."

The heavy oak door slammed shut in my face, shutting me out of their world.

Three years. He was always like this.

He could be gentle with anyone, yet he wouldn't spare me a single glance.

I didn't beg him as I had before. Instead, I turned and walked to the guest room.

I only had to endure for one more month, and I would get the check Don Antonio had promised.

Then I could take Julian and leave this place of lies and violence.

The next morning, I was dining alone in the vast dining room.

Cassandra walked out of the master bedroom wearing Vincent's oversized silk shirt, the collar open to deliberately reveal the hickeys from last night’s passion on her collarbone.

I continued cutting the bacon on my plate as if she were invisible.

Seeing my lack of reaction, a flash of displeasure crossed her face.

She sauntered up to me and deliberately raised her voice, "I'm sorry, Eleanora. Vincent was a bit too rough last night. Did we disturb your rest?"

She blinked her innocent eyes, as if I were the third party who had stolen her rightful place.

I put down my knife and fork, coolly sizing her up from head to toe, my tone as flat as if I were critiquing a dish.

"Indeed. You sounded like animals in heat."

Her expression soured. Angered by my words, she lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.

With a sharp tug, the necklace around my neck snapped, and an antique silver bird pendant clattered onto the marble floor.

My heart clenched.

That was the token of love Julian had given me, the last thing he left me before his accident.

I hurriedly bent down to pick it up, but she deliberately stuck out her red-soled heel, viciously stomping on the pendant. The fragile silver ornament was instantly crushed.

I snapped. Forgetting all reason, I stood up to slap her.

But my wrist was caught in a viselike grip by a large, strong hand.

Vincent frowned at me, his tone icy, "What the hell are you doing?"

Cassandra immediately threw herself into his arms, trembling as she sobbed, "I just wanted to say hello to her, but I accidentally broke her necklace... and then she tried to hit me!"

"I'm sorry, Eleanora, I didn't mean to. I'll pay you back, okay? Please don't be angry."

She huddled behind Vincent, her voice choked with tears.

Vincent glanced down at the shattered silver pieces on the floor, his tone utterly contemptuous. "It's just a worthless pendant. Buy a new one."

"Was there any need to get violent?"

He flung my hand away in disgust. "Not a shred of grace befitting the donna of this house. I really don't know what my father saw in you."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

He was always like this, pinning all the blame on me without even asking what happened.

Too weary to argue, I knelt, silently gathering the fragments. I clutched them in my palm, letting the sharp edges dig into my skin, before turning and walking out the door without another word.