She set down her almond milk and looked up at me. A calculating smile curled the corner of her mouth.

"I have a private jewelry showcase this afternoon. I need professional still-life photography for the rare gemstones and design sketches, to put together a promotional catalog. The new photographers are all subpar, so I specifically requested you. The Godfather agreed."

My body went rigid. My blood felt like it had frozen solid in my veins.

A private jewelry showcase? Professional still-life photography?

I hadn't touched a camera since my mother died.

The moment I saw that black camera body, the moment I looked through that cold viewfinder, the memories came flooding in, beyond my control. My mother sitting at her desk, guiding my hands, teaching me how to photograph jewelry designs. My mother in front of the lens, radiating confidence as she presented her newest collection. And my mother, the light draining from her eyes, shattered by the news that her patents had been leaked.

That was the deepest wound I carried. The one I could never bear to touch.

Samuel knew that better than anyone.

He had locked every piece of my photography equipment in the Castle's vault himself. He'd told me that whenever I was ready, he'd bring it all out again.

But now, as if the memory had been wiped clean from his mind, he ignored my resistance. He seized my wrist, dragged me to the armored car, and pushed me into the back seat.

"Lois, stop being difficult. The showcase is important. Selene's jewelry brand just launched, and this promotion is critical for her. Just bear with it and sit in the back."

He turned to Selene, his voice dropping into something warm and solicitous. "Selene, you get carsick easily. I've told the driver to slow down, and I had a neck pillow put in for you. Take the front seat. You'll be more comfortable."

I sat in the jolting back seat, my stomach heaving, gripping the overhead handle so hard my knuckles turned bone-white.

My motion sickness was far worse than Selene's.

Three years ago, Samuel had been ambushed by a rival faction, cornered and badly wounded at a mining site. I was the one who drove. I got behind the wheel with him unconscious and bleeding beside me, and I drove us out. I was three months pregnant. The violent escape cost me the baby, and left me with a severe phobia of rough car rides.

But he'd forgotten all of it.

He remembered that Selene got uncomfortable in bumpy cars. He forgot that I suffered through every single one.

The car pressed on. Each jolt felt like a blade peeling back another layer of my nerves. I fought the nausea down, refusing to let myself be sick, but the bile kept climbing higher in my throat.

My phone screen lit up. Based on the timing, it had to be a message from Joshua.

I was about to check it when Samuel grabbed the phone out of my hand.

"What message is so important? If you're carsick, stop staring at your phone. Rest."

He tapped the screen out of habit, trying to open it, but the passcode stopped him.

My heart lurched. Samuel had always known my passcode. It was our wedding anniversary. I'd forgotten to change it these past few days. If he saw my conversations with Joshua, it would jeopardize everything. My escape. My revenge.

But Samuel tried three times and failed to unlock it. He handed the phone back with a trace of irritation, reminding me again not to use my phone while carsick.

He couldn't even remember our wedding anniversary.

I closed my eyes. A wave of cold settled over my heart.

We finally arrived at the showcase venue. The first thing Samuel did was step out of the car and carefully smooth out Selene's skirt. He checked her protective gear, then took her hand himself and escorted her into the gemstone exhibition area.

And me? I clung to the car door, crouched on the ground, gasping for air, trying to fight through the dizziness. Cold sweat beaded across my forehead.

"Lois, stop standing around outside. The showcase is about to start. The documentation work is important. It matters to the family and to Selene. Don't be selfish."

Samuel had come back at some point. He grabbed my wrist and hauled me into the exhibition area. I stumbled, off-balance. The camera bag nearly spilled from my hands, and a lens struck the ground with a sharp, brittle crack.

This was the first time in five years I had picked up a camera.

Terror engulfed me in an instant. My fingers shook uncontrollably, violently, and I couldn't press the shutter.

I forced myself to breathe. Forced myself to be calm. One deep breath. Then I began, frame by frame, documenting the still-life displays at the showcase. But every time the shutter clicked, I saw my mother. Teaching me. Guiding my hands. My heart felt crushed in an invisible fist, squeezed so tight I couldn't breathe.

During the intermission, the rest of the staff left to take a break. Only Selene and I remained.

She walked over, loomed above me, and looked down at the images I'd captured. A sneer of pure contempt twisted her lips. Her voice was cutting and cruel.

"Lois Simmons. You're just as useless as your mother. Couldn't even protect a core patent. Just stood there and watched while someone leaked it, drove her into a heart attack, and now you can't even take a decent photograph. Your hands are shaking like a leaf."

"A deserter on the battlefield. You couldn't even protect your own mother. What makes you think you deserve to stand beside the Godfather of Sicily? Let alone hold the title of his wife."

I gripped the camera so hard my knuckles went white. My nails dug into my palms, nearly breaking skin. Every ounce of willpower I had went into holding back the fury threatening to erupt.

Then a sharp, vicious slap cracked across my face.

The sound rang out, crisp and piercing.

Burning pain bloomed instantly, spreading across my cheek. My ears buzzed with a high-pitched ringing.

Selene lowered her hand, her eyes brimming with contempt and disdain. Her voice turned even more venomous.

"You actually think you deserve to sit in the Godfather's wife's seat? I never imagined that after Grayson dumped you, you'd latch onto Samuel so quickly. Absolutely shameless."

"You don't deserve him. Grayson, Samuel, they're both mine. They always have been, and they always will be!"

"You'll never be worthy of standing by his side, and you sure as hell don't deserve the title of Godfather Rowe's wife!"

My arm was still pressed against the ice-cold display case, a dull ache throbbing through it. Before I could even process her vicious words, Selene suddenly seized my wrist in a death grip and used my own momentum to fling herself backward, crumpling gracefully onto the cashmere rug beside the display.

She curled into herself, her eyes reddening instantly, tears glistening on the verge of spilling. Just like that, she'd transformed into the picture of fragile innocence.

"Lois, I wasn't saying your photos were bad. I just wanted to ask if you could try a different angle to capture the grain on the raw stones... Never mind, I was being presumptuous. Please don't be upset..."

The words had barely left her lips when the door to the private room slammed open. Samuel strode in, took one look at the scene before him, and hurled the custom glass tumbler in his hand to the floor. The sound of shattering glass cut through the air like a scream.

He rushed forward and shoved me aside. Hard. I stumbled back several steps, my spine slamming into the unyielding edge of the jewelry display case. A sharp hiss escaped through my teeth. But he didn't even glance my way. He was already crouching beside Selene, checking her over with painstaking care, his voice tight with worry.

"Selene, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself anywhere?"

"Samuel, I'm fine, really. Please don't blame Lois. I just lost my balance and fell on my own..." Selene tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and pleading as she defended me, looking more delicate by the second.

"Selene, you're too kind. Don't cover for her. I saw everything." Samuel's expression was glacial as he helped Selene to her feet, handling her as though she were a priceless gemstone that might shatter at the slightest touch.

He tucked her protectively against his chest, then turned. His gaze locked onto me, and the coldness in his eyes drove into my heart like shards of ice.

In five years of marriage, he had never once looked at me like that.

"Lois Simmons, apologize to Selene. Now." His voice was low, each word edged with barely contained fury. "I've been too lenient with you all these years. It's made you reckless. You've gotten so out of line that you're shoving people, throwing tantrums like a child."

"Do you have any idea how important this showcase is to her? If she's injured, if it jeopardizes the jewelry partnerships that follow, can you bear that responsibility?"

His furious eyes bore into me. His gaze swept over the reddening skin on my arm where I'd hit the display case, swept over the pain I was barely holding behind my eyes, and dismissed all of it. As if the bruises on my body and the ache in my chest were beneath his notice.

I watched him shield Selene in his arms, and something inside me sank, degree by degree, until all that remained was cold.

I met his gaze steadily, my voice measured. "The one who owes an apology is Selene. She insulted my mother in front of everyone. She called her useless, said she couldn't even hold on to her own brand. I refuse to swallow that."

"And while we're at it, Samuel, don't you think you owe me an explanation about how my mother's jewelry patents were leaked?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Panic. It vanished almost instantly, swallowed by irritation.

"That was years ago. Why are you still dragging it up? Throwing another tantrum over nothing." He frowned, his tone dripping with impatience. "I promised your mother I'd keep you safe, give you a stable life. But that comes with conditions. You don't hurt Selene. You don't cause problems."

I stared at him, and a bitter laugh escaped me. I was laughing at myself. Five years of misplaced devotion. Five years of blindness, and only now could I see him for what he truly was. In his heart, my mother's injustice, my pain, none of it weighed more than a single tear from Selene Blanc.

The anguish in my chest surged. Days of suppressed anger, frustration, and disappointment crashed over me all at once. The room tilted. My legs gave out, and I fell backward into darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, the sharp sting of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The family's private physician was putting away her instruments. She noticed I was awake and offered a gentle smile.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Rowe. You're expecting. You've always been in excellent health, but during this time, you'll need to take extra care. Avoid stress, keep your emotions steady. No major upsets."

Instinctively, my hand drifted to my abdomen. A tiny life was growing there.

For five years, I had hoped, countless times, for a child with Samuel. A family of our own. But this baby had chosen the worst possible moment to arrive.

My phone buzzed on the pillow beside me. A message from Samuel. Two cold sentences:

"The doctor said you fainted from emotional distress. Nothing serious. Get some rest."

"When you've come to your senses, apologize to Selene, and I'll send someone to bring you back to The Castle in Sicily."

I stared at the words on the screen. The irony was almost poetic. I let out a hollow laugh, powered off the phone, and snuffed out the last ember of hope I'd been foolish enough to keep burning.

Before long, the physician pushed open the door again. Her expression was strained, slightly unnatural. "Mrs. Rowe, the Godfather has arranged an additional examination. He says it's for the sake of you and the baby. Please follow me."

Unease stirred in my chest, but I got up and followed her toward the side wing. I had just rounded the corner of the corridor when a familiar voice rang out behind me, dripping with satisfaction.

"So you're pregnant? Looks like I underestimated you, Lois Simmons."

I turned. Selene's eyes gleamed with the certainty of someone holding every card. She sauntered closer, her voice so thick with mockery it practically dripped from her lips. "Do you know why you never had a child these past five years?"

I looked at her. Said nothing. She didn't need me to respond. She kept going, and every word was a poisoned blade driven straight into my heart.

"Because I told Samuel that your child would compromise his position in Sicily's jewelry world. That it would become his weakness, cost him his best opportunities for expansion."

"Those herbal supplements he handed you every single day, the ones he made sure you took on schedule to 'nourish your blood'? They were contraceptives. He destroyed your chance at motherhood with his own hands. Tell me, isn't that hilarious?"

Selene's eyes were locked on my face, studying every micro-expression, waiting for me to shatter. Waiting for the tears, the screaming, the collapse.

But I just looked at her, and my voice came out steady. "Noted."

I turned to keep walking, even as agony tore through me like a riptide beneath still water. But before I could take a single step, a brutal force slammed into my back.

I had no time to react. My feet slipped out from under me and I fell hard from the raised step beside the hospital bed, crashing to the floor. A violent, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen.

The agony consumed me. I lay on the freezing tile, powerless, watching the bright red stain spread beneath me as my vision flickered and went black.

I lost our baby.

When I walked out of the operating room, I was numb. Cold to the bone. My heart was ash.

I placed the dissolution papers I'd prepared long ago on the bedside table. Without a backward glance, I walked out of the family's private hospital, the place that had been my prison for five years, and took a cab to the airport.

One moment before boarding, my phone buzzed a final time. One last message from Samuel, still laced with that untouchable arrogance:

"I never imagined you'd have the nerve to disrespect Selene like that. Not an ounce of dignity befitting a Godfather's wife. Keep this up, and you'll regret it."

"Drop the attitude and apologize. Now."

I stared at that cold line of text on the screen and felt nothing but bitter amusement. My fingertips pressed down hard, snapping the SIM card clean in half. I tossed the pieces into an airport trash can, along with five years of delusion and devotion.

Meanwhile, back at The Castle in Sicily, the private jewelry vault shimmered with the glow of gemstones and the rich aroma of wine. Samuel was helping Selene appraise a shipment of rare uncut stones, his fingers curled around a glass of red, about to pour for her, when his private phone erupted in a shrill, urgent ring.

"Godfather Rowe, your wife is gone! She left the private hospital before dawn. There was a document on the nightstand. You need to see it immediately." The subordinate's voice crackled through the receiver, barely holding together.

Samuel's hand froze mid-pour. Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass and dripped onto the expensive velvet tablecloth, blooming into a dark crimson stain. "What document?" His voice could have frosted glass, though something taut lurked beneath the surface.

"It's... an annulment agreement, Godfather."

Six words. They detonated like a thunderclap inside his skull. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles bleached white, and he shot to his feet, his expression darkening like a sky about to split open. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He knew he'd gone too far this time, yes. But never, not once, had he imagined that Lois Simmons would dare use an annulment to defy him. To defy him, the undisputed godfather of Sicily's jewelry empire.

A flash of mockery darted through Selene's eyes, gone before it could be caught, replaced instantly by a mask of tender concern. She reached out, her delicate fingers catching the cuff of his tailored suit jacket, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Did something happen to Lois? Let me come with you to the hospital. Maybe I can talk to her, help smooth things over."

Samuel's mind was a storm. He gave a heavy nod, and the two of them left for the private hospital at once. Inside the Rolls-Royce, the air was suffocating. Selene watched his grim profile and extended her slender hand toward his chest, trying to soothe him. "Don't worry. Lois is just throwing a tantrum. She'll be fine."

But the moment her fingers brushed his suit, Samuel flinched. He turned sharply away, offering only a flat "Mm," his irritation unconcealed. It was the first time he had instinctively recoiled from her touch. The gentleness and indulgence he'd always shown her seemed to have evaporated in a single breath.

Selene's hand hung in the air, then withdrew. Her nails dug deep into her palm, leaving angry red crescents in the flesh. She had never imagined Samuel would treat her this way. Jealousy and unease churned inside her, and the moment he turned to stare out the window, she fired off a quick message. The reply came almost instantly: "Relax. Everything's been cleaned up. She won't make waves."

Inside the VIP ward of the family's private hospital, the chief of medicine was already drenched in cold sweat, pacing like a caged animal. The godfather's wife had vanished right under their noses and left behind an annulment agreement. If the godfather decided to hold someone accountable, the entire hospital would pay.

"What happened?" Samuel pushed through the door, and the temperature in the room plummeted. His gaze swept across the empty bed, and the chill radiating from him deepened.

The chief of medicine held out the signed annulment agreement with trembling hands, his head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest, unable to meet those glacial eyes. Samuel took the paper. His thumb traced the familiar handwriting, and for the first time, something close to panic stirred in his chest.

He pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples without a word, turned, and drove back to The Castle.

Everything inside the castle was exactly as it had been. The crystal chandeliers still blazed. The tea set sat on the dining table, uncollected. My dresses still hung in the walk-in closet. My jewelry box still rested on the vanity. Every trace of me remained, as if I had never left, as if nothing had changed. But the vast castle was hollow. The emptiness was suffocating.

He collapsed onto the leather sofa in the living room, his gaze fixed on the wedding portrait on the wall. In the photograph, we stood before the stained-glass windows of a cathedral, exchanging vows and rings. He wore a crisp suit; I wore a white gown. We looked like the perfect couple. But anyone who looked closely would have noticed it: the faint, stubborn sadness hiding in both our eyes.

Only now did he finally understand what that sadness had meant. Back then, his heart had belonged to Selene. He had married me out of guilt and obligation. And I had still been drowning in the grief of losing my mother, believing I'd found salvation, not knowing I was already stepping into an abyss.

He closed his eyes, and five years of shared days and nights crashed over him like a tide. In the beginning, we were two strangers under the same roof, cautious and distant, playing the part of husband and wife for appearances. Until that night. He came home drunk from a business dinner, reeking of liquor, and pulled me into his arms, calling my name over and over. Not Selene's. Mine. Lois. That night, I peeled away his cold mask, and he touched the softness buried deep inside me. Two lonely hearts, pressed together, however briefly.

After that, he began caring about me without realizing it. Between tending to Selene, he remembered which jewelry designs I loved. He shielded me from rivals in the industry who tried to sabotage my work. When I stayed up late sketching designs, he would quietly set a glass of warm milk on my desk. He prepared little surprises for me. He had always told himself it was just a promise kept to my late father, just guilt, just duty.

But now. Now that I was gone, now that the annulment agreement lay where I used to sleep, the truth struck him like a blow he couldn't dodge. Somewhere in those five years of waking beside me and falling asleep near me, he had fallen in love with me without ever knowing it. That love had been buried beneath his obsessions and selfishness, shackled by his identity and his so-called responsibilities. It took losing me for him to see it.

Years in Sicily's cutthroat business world had taught him to bury every emotion, to armor himself in ice and calculation. Yet somehow, in the quiet, unremarkable moments with me, his heart had betrayed him. He had fallen for the daughter of the very woman he'd destroyed. He had fallen for the woman he himself had dragged into hell.

Samuel squeezed his eyes shut, and all he could see was my face. My delight when I received new design materials. My gentleness when I brewed him a hangover cure. The way I leaned into him when he was kind. And then, after I learned the truth, the devastation in my eyes, cold and absolute. He thought of me crumbling, tears streaming down my face. He thought of the bright, sickening stain of blood spreading beneath me when I hit the floor. His eyes flew open. He gasped for air. It felt as though an invisible fist had closed around his heart and was crushing it, slowly, mercilessly.

Then his subordinate placed a medical report on the table in front of him. The pregnancy test with the words "early pregnancy" sat next to the miscarriage diagnosis, the two documents forming a contrast so brutal it burned. His hands shook as he picked up the report. His thumb traced the clinical, sterile words, and his heart split open as if a blade had been driven through it again and again. Regret surged through him like a rising sea with no shore in sight.

His child. His and Lois's child. A tiny life that had only just arrived in this world, that had never seen its mother's face or its father's, was gone. It was his fault. His stubbornness. His willful blindness. He had killed his own child with his own hands and pushed away the woman he loved most.

"Godfather, please don't be too sad. You still have me. I'll always be by your side."

Selene's voice drifted from behind him, laced with practiced tenderness. But to Samuel's ears, in that moment, every syllable grated like nails down glass.