The chime of a video call shattered the night's silence.

I pushed myself up from the floor, my knees leaving two damp spots on the expensive Persian silk. Tears or sweat, I could no longer tell.

"Vivian, you look like hell." Mia's face appeared on the screen, her expression a mix of pity and fury.

"I'm fine." The lie slipped out, a habit I was never good at.

"Don't lie to me, honey," Mia said, her voice softening. "But you need to see this."

She held up her iPad. A Page Six exclusive. The headline was a gut punch.

"New York's New Mob King, Enzo Moretti, Dances with Falcone Heiress Stella, Hinting at a Union of Two Crime Empires."

My chest tightened.

The first dance of the coronation.

Last night, tangled in the sheets, he'd sworn I was his only partner. Now, another woman was on his arm, wearing the crystal shoes that were meant for me.

He hadn't even told me the ceremony had begun.

In the photo, Enzo wore the black suit I had picked out for him. An eight-thousand-dollar custom job. I remembered the placement of every button.

His hand was wrapped around Stella's slender waist, his fingertips sinking into her pale skin. They were pressed close in a heated dance, her blood-red gown a slash of color against his black suit.

She was tilting her head back, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Keep scrolling," Mia's voice was gentle, but it landed like a sledgehammer.

My fingers trembled as I swiped, my eyes drinking in every torturous detail.

Enzo's hand cupped the back of Stella's neck, pulling her impossibly close. Her leg was practically wrapped around his.

I stared at the screen. His palm was on the nape of her neck, the same spot he had kissed on me just last night.

So this was how Enzo conquered women. Passion, violence, an undisguised sexual charge.

"Vivian, I just wanted you to see it for what it is. You see it now, don't you?" Mia's voice was an icicle piercing my chest.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd left my bed, murmuring "You're my only one" in my ear.

I closed my eyes, my stomach churning. I tilted my head back, refusing to let another tear fall. "Thank you, Mia. Thanks for showing me."

My own voice sounded terrifyingly calm, as if it belonged to someone else.

"Are you okay, honey? Do you want me to come over?"

"I'm fine," I said, forcing each word through clenched teeth. "Besides, this isn't exactly a surprise, is it?"

The moment I hung up, my fingers were typing a password only I knew. The Moretti family's secret accounts materialized on the screen. Every dollar I had laundered for this family over ten years, every return on investment, every legitimized project.

The number that materialized on the screen was staggering.

My fingers trembled over the keyboard.

I thought I had chased a fairytale for ten years, but in the end, these cold, flickering numbers were the only thing I had left to hold onto.

The transaction began.

I checked the time. 48 hours until my flight.

Just enough time.

Enzo Moretti, this is my final gift to you.

I stood up and staggered to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror was pale, her skin a map of his possession in angry purple bruises—all of them from Enzo.

The hot water was like lava, scalding my skin. I grabbed the loofah and scrubbed at every inch of myself. Arms, shoulders, neck, chest.

I had to scrub away every trace of him: the dig of his nails, the brand of his lips, the salty taste of his sweat, the echo of his low gasps.

All of it. Gone.

The rough fibers tore at my skin. Beads of blood mixed with the soap suds, swirling down the drain. The pain was grounding.

A brutal reminder that I could still feel something other than my shattered heart.

My phone lay silent on the marble countertop. For the first time in seven years, there was no goodnight text from Enzo. Now even that ritual was gone.

I turned off the faucet. The only sound was water dripping against tile. Bloody water pooled at my feet in a pale pink stream, slowly draining away.

Like the last bit of warmth in my heart, seeping out drop by drop.

At five in the morning, the soft click of the electronic lock jolted me awake. Only one person had a code to my apartment besides me.

Enzo.

I feigned sleep, listening as his footsteps drew closer. The mattress dipped beside me, and his scent enveloped me—the familiar smell of cedarwood cologne.

But it was different today. It was mixed with the cloying scent of roses. Stella's scent.

Bile rose in my throat.

I could feel his hot gaze on me. Warm lips pressed gently against my forehead, just like on that damn night. Just like he would do to any woman.

"Morning, baby." His voice was hoarse and sexy. And goddammit, my body still reacted to it.

I snapped my eyes open. The familiar line of his jaw filled my vision. The morning light, filtering through the blinds, cast shadows across the high bridge of his nose, his thin lips, and those deep, dark eyes I"d once let myself drown in.

"Enzo!" I twisted, trying to escape.

He was faster. A powerful arm pinned me to the bed.

"Miss me?" He leaned down, a low chuckle in his throat, and tried to kiss my lips.

I thrashed my head to the side. "Get off me!" I shoved at his chest.

But at five-foot-three, what chance did I have against a six-foot-three man? He easily captured my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Still feeling shy, hmm?" he murmured. "Why didn't you text me goodnight? Was your phone off?"

What texts? I hadn't received any texts.

"You're getting bold, Vivian." He slid under the covers, caging me completely. "Shh, I know you're angry. Is this about last night?"

His hand began to wander.

"I brought you breakfast. Your favorite croissants, from that Michelin place," he cooed. "Or... would you rather I eat you first?"

His breath fanned across my ear. I thought of Stella's picture. Of them kissing.

His touch was a spark to gasoline. I went rigid, every muscle in my body screaming. "Don't," I choked out, the word barely a whisper.

"Don't what, baby?" Enzo's voice was a low, placating purr, but his eyes held a glint of impatience. "Don't be like this. I know you're upset about the ceremony. It was business, that's all. You know how it is."

Business. The word hung in the air, cold and sharp. He dismissed my deepest hurt so easily, as if it were just another line item on a balance sheet.

"By the way," he continued, his tone shifting to something more serious, his hand pausing on my waist. "You took that pill yesterday, right? We need to be smart about this."

I flinched, turning my face away from him, staring at the wall as if it could save me. The dam inside me broke. A single, hot tear escaped, then another, tracing a silent path to the pillow. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying to stifle a sob.

My tears seemed to genuinely throw him off. He stopped, his condescending smile faltering. "Hey," he said, his voice softening slightly. "What's this? Don't cry, Vivian."

He loosened his grip, trying to turn my face towards him. "What is this, Vivian? Tears? Now?"

"Don't do this. You're not some child throwing a tantrum over a stupid party."

A stupid party. That's all it was to him. The crystal shoes, the first dance, the promise of forever.

The dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, sudden and uncontrollable. Yesterday's humiliation and today's coldness crashed over me, a tsunami that swallowed me whole.

Enzo was clearly taken aback. He froze. "Look, I'm sorry. I drank too much last night." He set down his glass, taking a step toward me. "I shouldn't have said that."

I backed away. "Don't touch me."

His hand stopped in mid-air. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed instantly.

"It's business," he said, his voice clipped and all traces of false tenderness gone. He was already turning towards the door.

He paused, looking back at me with an expression that was part annoyance, part command. "We'll talk later. Pull yourself together, Vivian. This is beneath you."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

Half an hour later, Mia sent me a screenshot. Stella's private Instagram. A photo of a man's hand, wearing the Moretti family signet ring, resting suggestively on a woman's smooth thigh.

The caption: [Good morning, my King.]

Timestamp: twenty minutes ago.

Just then, I also received a selfie of Stella, pouting playfully at the camera, holding a man's arm.

The message below the picture was simple, and devastatingly cruel: "He says good morning. And thanks you for the training."

He left my apartment and went straight to hers. He hadn't even changed his shirt.

A cold, broken laugh escaped my lips, a bitter sound that fought with the fresh tears tracing paths down my cheeks.

I walked to the bar, picked up the whiskey Enzo had left behind, and downed it in one go. The liquor burned a fiery trail down my throat, but it was nothing compared to the inferno in my heart.

My phone buzzed. An apology text from Enzo:

[Stop, stop sulking, okay? I know what happened this morning was out of line—on your part.]

[But this business with the docks is critical. I had thought you, of all people, would understand that.]

He thought a simple apology would be enough. He thought I'd come running back.

As I tried to scrub the whiskey from the carpet, I realized how ridiculous my love for him was. But my traitorous tears kept falling, mixing with the spilled liquor, a stain that just wouldn't come out.

I finally gave up scrubbing. The stain was a part of the rug now, a dark, permanent mark. A reminder.

With a strange sense of calm, I stood up and walked to the closet. I pulled out a black suitcase, the one he'd given me for my birthday last year. Methodically, I went through the apartment, collecting every trace of him.

His spare razor from the bathroom cabinet. The worn copy of The Prince he kept on my nightstand. The expensive silk tie he'd left draped over a chair. I didn't smash them or tear them.

I folded each item neatly, placing it in the suitcase as if packing for a trip he would never return from.

Each object was a memory, and I was filing them away, closing the book on us, one page at a time.

He wouldn't even notice.

I checked the time. 24 hours until my flight.

Soon, I would be free.

For three days, there was nothing from Enzo.

I assumed things were going well with Stella. She was probably satisfied with the skills he'd practiced on me. He likely thought this was just another one of our silent wars, and that I would be the first to break, like always.

But this time, I deleted every trace of him from my life. Erasing him was more painful than I'd ever imagined. Every folder, every photo, was a memory tearing me apart. But I had to be thorough. So thorough that even I couldn't find evidence of the woman I used to be.

Looking at my new ID, the woman in the photo had an empty, resolute gaze. Like someone preparing to die.

Or to be reborn.

"Are you sure about this?" Across from me sat Don Romano, a respected family elder and my father's most trusted friend. "Moving this much money offshore is a bold play, Vivian. Enzo is no fool. He will find out."

"By then, I'll have a new life in Los Angeles," I said, sipping my coffee. "The money I've made for this family is more than enough to disappear into the sun."

Don Romano sighed. "Child, if your father knew..."

"My father would understand," I cut him off. "He taught me loyalty is a two-way street. Enzo made it clear my loyalty is no longer required. There's nothing left for me here."

He nodded, pulling an envelope from his suit. "Your new Swiss account. You know the family needs you, but as your elder, I wish you happiness above all."

"Thank you, Uncle Romano," I said, taking the envelope.

On the way to the airport, I ran into Antonio Ricci in the lobby of The Plaza Hotel—the Falcone family's lawyer.

"Miss Ross! What a coincidence," he beamed, approaching me. "Heading out of town?"

"Overseas business," I said with a polite nod.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Miss Stella mentioned Mr. Moretti was heading to Monaco. Are you joining him? A romantic business trip!"

My heart plummeted. I knew nothing about this. Stella was already broadcasting their relationship to the world.

"The Falcone family takes this partnership very seriously," Antonio continued, oblivious. "Once the docks project succeeds, the bond between our families will be stronger than ever. Miss Stella is a clever girl. She knows how to balance business and… personal affairs."

Personal affairs. So in everyone's eyes, they were already a couple. And I was just the disposable financial advisor. A shadow.

"Mr. Moretti is a lucky man," Antonio said, his tone implying more than his words. "To have a brilliant advisor like you, and a… partner… like Miss Falcone."

I forced a smile. "Please give my regards to Miss Stella."

After we parted, I fled. In the private terminal's VIP lounge, the air conditioning was on full blast, but I felt feverish.

And then I saw him.

Even in a crowd, he was impossible to miss. And now he belonged to another woman.

Stella was clinging to his arm. She wore a perfectly tailored white dress, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. A perfect match. They were boarding a private jet. To Monaco.

I ducked behind a pillar, my heart hammering.

Enzo had an arm wrapped around Stella's waist. His hand was so large it could almost circle her entire midsection. I remembered the heat of that hand on my body, how it drove me wild. Now, it was doing the same to her. He'd lean down and whisper in her ear, and she would giggle.

I realized it had been a long time since I had laughed like that with him.

The plane was about to depart. I took a deep breath, ready to turn off my phone. But then my emergency number rang—the one only family insiders knew.

I stared at the flashing screen before answering.

"Vivian, where the hell are you?" Enzo's voice was tight, a low growl of controlled fury, but underneath it, I could hear a flicker of something else. Unease. "This game is over. Blocking my number, changing the financial passwords… what are you trying to prove?"

I said nothing, just listened to the hum of the airport around me.

His sigh was heavy with impatience."Alright, enough. This little stunt of yours is getting old. I thought you were smarter than this, Vivian, resorting to petty games for attention. You know I have things to handle right now. I'll deal with you when I get back."

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with a patronizing sort of patience. "Look. You've made your point. Now be a good girl and tell me where you are. “

“This mess you've made needs to be cleaned up. Come home, and we can forget this little episode ever happened. You know you can't stay mad at me forever."

In his eyes, this was all just a childish tantrum. My pain, my rebellion—nothing but a game.

I took a deep breath and spoke my first and only words to him. "Enzo, have a wonderful trip."

My voice was so calm it surprised me. Every syllable was clear and cold.

"With your Stella."

The line went dead silent. I could hear the sharp, aborted intake of his breath.

"Vivian, what are you talking—"

From afar, I saw Enzo yank his hand away from Stella's, his expression turning anxious as he started to look around.

I ended the call, snapped the SIM card in two, and walked toward my gate without looking back.