On the day I found out I was pregnant, my husband's god-sister, Serafina, posted a picture of her pregnant belly on social media.

"As long as you're loved, you can still be a beautiful girl even when you're pregnant!"

In the photo, she was wearing only lace lingerie, leaning against a man while taking a selfie.

The man's distinct hand rested on her smooth pregnant belly. On his ring finger was a ring identical to the one on my hand. I commented. "Congratulations."

The next second, Serafina called in a panic, apologizing and saying she posted the picture to provoke her boyfriend after a fight.

Dante took his phone and scolded me coldly. "You can't have a child yourself and now you're breaking down because someone else is pregnant? With jealousy this strong, no wonder you can't get pregnant."

Five minutes later, Serafina updated her status again.

"From now on, I'll have two strong men to protect me, one big and one small!"

Dante immediately liked her post.

I took off my wedding ring, threw it into the weeds along the estate wall, and went back to the clinic to schedule an abortion.

——

Dante came home earlier than usual that evening, stepping through the front door of the estate before nine for the first time in a long while. Two soldiers flanked the hallway behind him, but he waved them off without a word, and they dissolved back toward the gate house. His gaze swept across the room almost out of habit, sharp and assessing, until it landed on the unopened box of fertility medicine sitting in the trash can. His brows immediately drew together, a faint crease forming between them as irritation surfaced. "Nothing better to do?" he scoffed, his tone laced with cold sarcasm. "Throwing a tantrum over something so trivial?"

I didn't react to his mockery. My voice remained steady, almost detached, as I replied, "I'm not angry." I didn't bother explaining further, because I knew from experience that he would twist anything I said into something else entirely.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, clearly unconvinced. "You threw away the fertility medicine and you call that not angry?" His eyes hardened as he looked at me, judgment and impatience evident. "Do whatever you want. After all, you're the one anxious about not getting pregnant, not me." There was a sting in his words, a deliberate jab, as if my pain was something he could casually use against me.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers brushing against the pregnancy report I had tucked away. I had planned to show it to him, to tell him everything. But before I could take it out, he suddenly handed me a dark-colored shoebox, cutting off my thoughts entirely.

"Serafina sent this for you," he said, his tone shifting slightly, though not with warmth. "That girl hasn't had it easy. When she saw you upset, she got so scared she even started talking nonsense about abortion." He shook his head lightly, as if amused and exasperated at the same time. "She insisted on sending you something as an apology."

He opened the box without waiting for my response. Inside was a pair of YSL high heels. They might have been beautiful once, but now they were obviously worn. The soles were scuffed, the edges of the heels chipped, and faint creases ran across the leather. It was clear they had been used more than just "a few times."

"Go on, take them," Dante urged, almost impatiently, as if I should feel grateful. "These shoes aren't cheap. Serafina barely wore them before giving them to you. She just started working. She doesn't have much money. Being willing to give you these already means she's sacrificing a lot."

I stared at the shoes for a second, then let out a quiet laugh before I could stop myself. The sound felt hollow even to my own ears. Just half an hour ago, Serafina had posted on social media, happily showing off a brand-new pair of Chanel slippers. The caption had been almost gleeful. "The best brother in the world! Thank you for your blatant favoritism, it gives me the confidence to flaunt it so openly!"

When I didn't reach out to take the shoes, Dante's patience snapped. His face darkened with irritation. "Bianca, what's wrong with you now?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "You're almost thirty. Do you really need to make things difficult for a young, innocent girl over something like this?"

Before I could respond, he tossed the shoebox at me. It hit me squarely on the head with a dull thud. The impact caught me off guard, and I let out a muffled groan, instinctively clutching my forehead. A sharp pain spread from the spot, and my vision blurred for a second as tears welled up in the corners of my eyes.

Dante froze, his expression changing almost instantly. The irritation drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of panic. "I didn't mean to…" he said quickly, stepping closer. "Let me take a look."

I instinctively leaned back, avoiding his touch. My voice came out soft, almost distant. "I'm fine." I didn't want his concern, not now, not like this.

But he didn't listen. He reached out and forcefully pried my fingers away from my forehead. When he saw the swelling forming beneath my skin, his face darkened again, this time with something closer to anger at himself. "You call this fine?" he snapped. "Stay here. I'll go get an ice pack."

Before I could say anything to stop him, his phone suddenly rang, the sharp sound cutting through the tense silence of the room. The screen lit up, displaying a contact name that made my chest tighten slightly. "Little Troublemaker."

"Dante!" Serafina's voice came through the phone, trembling and tearful.

The moment he heard her, Dante's entire demeanor shifted. His body tensed, his expression turning serious and focused in an instant. "Serafina, don't worry," he said gently, his voice softening in a way I hadn't heard in a long time. "Take your time and tell me what's wrong."

On the other end, Serafina sobbed pitifully, her breathing uneven. "My stomach hurts… I want to go to the hospital, but I got on the wrong train… I don't even know where I am now…" Her voice sounded fragile, helpless, as if she might break at any moment.

Dante frowned deeply, concern etched across his face. "Why didn't you call me when you were heading to the hospital?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of reproach, though it was gentle. "Didn't we agree that I'd have one of the crew drive you there?"

Serafina hesitated, her voice faltering as she spoke. "I… I was stupid again today and upset Bianca… I didn't want to bother you two…" She sounded guilty, as if she was trying to be considerate, even while asking for help.

Dante's expression grew even more serious. "Serafina, you're my only sister," he said firmly, every word filled with unquestioned priority. "No one's matters more than yours." He didn't even glance at me as he spoke. The two soldiers stationed outside the bedroom door would have heard every word through the gap. By morning it would move through the house like gospel. "Send me your location. I'll come pick you up right now."

"No!" Serafina protested quickly. "Dante, I can find the hospital myself, really!" Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she added in a lighter tone, "Don't forget, today is Bianca's ovulation day. Stay with her and maybe you'll get a sweet little niece soon!"

Dante chuckled softly at her words, completely at ease. "Silly girl," he said indulgently. "It's not like doing it once guarantees anything. Your situation is more urgent. Send me your location now."

After hanging up, he finally looked at me again, though his gaze carried a trace of reproach. "Did you hear that?" he said. "Serafina cares about you so much, yet you're always so suspicious of her." He grabbed his car keys from the nightstand without hesitation. "I'll take her to the hospital and bring you back an ice pack."

He turned and headed for the door in a hurry, his steps quick and decisive.

"Dante, wait a second," I called out, my voice calm but firm.

He stopped, but only for a moment. His patience seemed to snap completely this time. He turned back with visible frustration. "Bianca, when will you stop this?" he said sharply. "This is about two lives. Don't let your jealousy go too far!"

I didn't argue with him. There was no point. Instead, I quietly walked to the closet and reached into the overcoat he had worn a few days ago. From the inner pocket, I pulled out a card and held it out to him.

"Serafina's insurance card," I said simply. "Don't forget it."

She couldn't register at the hospital on her own, so the card had always been with Dante. He looked at me, clearly taken aback, as if he hadn't expected me to remember something like this at a time like this.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. His hand hovered near his signet ring but didn't turn it. Then he reached out and took the card from my hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than before.

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, perhaps to explain, perhaps to reassure me. But I didn't give him the chance. "Take care," I said gently, cutting him off before he could speak.

I lifted my hand and adjusted his collar, smoothing out the fabric just like I had done countless times before whenever he left the estate. The gesture was familiar, almost habitual. But this time, there was a quiet finality behind it. I knew, deep down, that this would be the last time I did this for him.

He looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my face as if something flickered in his eyes, something uncertain and fleeting. Then, suddenly, he reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into his chest.

"Bianca," he said in a low voice, holding me just a little tighter than usual. "I'll be back soon. Wait for me."

I didn't wait for him. After hesitating for only a moment, I sent a message to a consigliere-linked attorney I'd kept in my contacts for longer than I cared to admit, asking about the process of filing for a sanctioned severance and what I should prepare. I pressed my thumbnail into the inside of my wrist until the skin paled, held it there while the message went through, then released. An unexpected sense of calm settled over me. Without overthinking it, I turned off the lights and went to bed early, as if ending the day sooner could also end everything weighing on me. Beyond the bedroom walls, the estate was quiet. Somewhere past the gate, an engine turned over and pulled away into the night.

In the middle of the night, the sharp chime of an encrypted message jolted me awake. My head felt heavy as I reached for my phone. It was already 1 AM. The room was silent, and when I turned slightly, the space beside me was empty, the sheets untouched and cold.

I unlocked my phone and saw several messages from Serafina. The first one made my fingers pause. "My big brother is so handsome! I want to eat him up while he's sleeping…" The words felt playful, but something about them made my chest tighten.

There was a photo attached. Dante was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on a pink cartoon pillow. His usually neat hair was messy, falling over his forehead, softening his sharp features. His eyes were closed tightly, and his thin lips were slightly pursed, making him look strangely vulnerable. The signet ring he never removed caught the lamplight on his still hand.

I stared at the image for a moment. Then I noticed the words "The other party is typing…" appear. Almost immediately after, the messages disappeared. Serafina had deleted them.

A second later, she sent a cute kitten meme with a pleading expression. Then another message followed. "I meant to send that to my best friend, but accidentally sent it to you. Dante is asleep. I was just joking and took a sneak photo. Don't blame him, okay?"

She probably thought I would react the same way as before. In the past, I would have called Dante right away, demanding an explanation. But this time, I didn't. I simply blocked her and put my phone aside.

Whether she was joking or not didn't matter anymore. I didn't want to know the truth, and I didn't care to find out. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

The next morning, Dante and Serafina came to the counting house together. Two soldiers flanked them at the door before peeling off to their posts. Serafina walked carefully, one hand lightly protecting her belly. Even so, she suddenly stumbled, her face turning pale with fright.

Before anyone could react, Dante stepped forward and picked her up without hesitation. He carried her straight inside. Serafina wrapped her arms around his neck, blushing, and as they passed me, she shot me a faint, triumphant glance. Her fingers smoothed the thin strap of her blouse near her collarbone, just once, a small satisfied gesture.

Associates nearby leaned in and whispered. "She can't even tell a ledger from a receipt," someone said quietly. "Yet she's been the Don's personal courier for half a year. Do you think Don Ravazzani actually likes her?"

I was messaging my consigliere-linked attorney at the time. Without looking up, I casually nodded and said, "Maybe." My tone was calm, as if it had nothing to do with me.

Just then, a familiar voice called out, "Bianca, come here." I turned around and saw Dante standing behind me, his expression cold.

No one in the Family's fronts knew we were married. Dante kept the church-sanctioned union sealed, hidden from every associate, every capo, every soldier who passed through these rooms. In public, we were nothing more than colleagues on the legitimate side of the operation. To avoid suspicion, he always treated me with distance.

There was once when I had a fever of 40 degrees. I could barely stand and went to him for help. But he quickly shook off my hand, afraid of being seen, and told me to ask the house manager for leave instead.

Yet whenever Serafina said her stomach hurt, he would cancel sit-downs without hesitation and take her to the Family's private clinic himself. The difference had always been that obvious.

I followed him into the back room. Serafina was arranged to rest behind the partition. Once we were alone, Dante walked over and took my hand. "Are you still angry?" he asked in a low voice.

I pulled my hand away, my tone distant. "I told you, I'm not angry." I didn't look at him.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, gripping it tighter as he stared at me. "Still being stubborn? You didn't call me last night. Not even a message. And you say you're not angry?"

I paused for a second before replying, "Serafina was there. She's your courier. Of course she would take good care of you." My voice was calm.

His expression darkened instantly. His grip tightened, making me wince. I tried to pull away, but in the struggle, he pushed me onto the sofa.

As I sat up, I felt something beneath my hand. I reached into the gap and pulled it out. It was a pink lace bra, delicate and unfamiliar.

The moment Dante saw it, his anger disappeared. "This is…" he started, clearly trying to explain.

I didn't let him finish. I tossed it back onto the sofa. "If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving now, Don Ravazzani," I said lightly.