I went back and looked through Isabella's social media accounts.

We had exchanged contact information at the racetrack that day.

I discovered that Isabella had a "He" whom she loved deeply.

Three years ago, when Isabella was forced to marry the heir of a rival family.

She wrote: "Power and blood debts tear lovers apart. I never thought I'd be one of the sacrifices. He defied his family's wrath for me, and all I could do was watch them tear him down. To keep him safe, I had to let go."

When Isabella was married off, she vowed: "I am marrying a man I do not love, but he can protect Vito's life. What is my own happiness compared to his safety?"

A year ago, when Isabella was filing for divorce, she lamented late at night: "Why is fate so cruel? Why must your marriage be the price for my freedom? If the cost of my return to New York is you marrying another woman, I would rather stay in that hell forever."

That day was my wedding day with Vito.

Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. The "He" in her posts was Vito.

So, Vito marrying me was just the price the Moretti family paid to use their underworld influence to help Isabella escape her marriage.

And I had been foolish enough to think I had found true love and given him my whole heart.

In the end, I was just a stepping stone in their love story, one they trampled until I was a bloody mess.

The dull ache in my heart sharpened into a blade, twisting in my gut until I felt torn apart.

My mind went blank. I could only mechanically lift one foot after the other.

It wasn't until a car horn blared behind me that I remembered I hadn't driven here.

Vito himself had brought me to this remote underground shooting range.

Now, Isabella was in my passenger seat, sitting there like she owned it.

I only glanced at them before continuing to walk.

Vito probably thought I was throwing a tantrum.

I loved to cause a scene, so he must have assumed I was angry that he forgot our date.

He knew I was waiting for him to coax me, but with Isabella in the car...

I don't know how long that black Rolls-Royce followed slowly behind me.

Isabella finally couldn't stand it anymore. She rolled down the passenger window, her voice full of grievance. "Vito, is Liliana refusing to get in the car because I'm in her seat?"

"I should just move to the back. It's fine if I'm a little uncomfortable. I don't want her to be angry over something so small."

Vito grabbed her hand as she reached for the seatbelt, stopping her with a pained expression. "Don't be ridiculous. If you get carsick, you sit up front. Stop torturing yourself."

He was trapped between me, refusing to get in the car, and a carsick Isabella.

For the first time, Vito was caught in a dilemma.

Isabella suddenly covered her mouth and let out a dry heave.

"Vito, I feel so sick... Maybe you should just get Liliana in the car. I can get out and walk..."

"Really, I'd feel better walking than being in the car. I really can't take it anymore."

His gaze fell on Isabella's paper-white face, his brow furrowed tightly.

And outside the car, I was shivering from the cold wind.

My face was as pale as a ghost's, as if I could collapse at any moment.

Seeing his hesitation, Isabella made a show of unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

She leaned weakly against the car door, her eyes red. "Vito, I'm out now. Go and coax Liliana."

"I just got back and I've already made her unhappy. If I keep causing trouble between you two, maybe I shouldn't have come back at all..."

Vito didn't hesitate. He got out of the car, lifting her back into the passenger seat.

"Where else would you go? Disappear without a word like you did three years ago?"

His attention was entirely on Isabella. He explained to me in a hurry, "Liliana, Isabella isn't feeling well. I can't let her indulge your whims while she's sick."

"I've already called for a car to pick you up. I'm taking Isabella home first."

The luxurious Rolls-Royce sped past me.

But it stopped a short distance away.

Isabella deliberately rolled down the window, giving me a clear view of the scene inside.

She was huddled with her shoulders drawn in, seemingly complaining of the cold.

Vito shrugged off his expensive cashmere coat. He took Isabella's hands in his and, in a gesture of effortless intimacy, lowered his head to breathe warm air onto them. Then, he tucked her hands deep into his coat pocket.

They were as intimate as a pair of devoted lovers.

It was a simple gesture to warm her hands, but the sight was a poisoned dagger to my heart. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe.

I lowered my head, desperately trying to suppress my emotions.

When I looked up again, all that was left was the acrid smell of exhaust.

I walked for two hours through the dangerous borderlands where family territories overlapped before finally pulling out my phone to call a car.

By the time my car arrived, the bodyguards Vito had promised were still nowhere in sight.

It was clear. Between me and Isabella, he wouldn't choose me.

But I no longer had the strength to care. I gave a bitter laugh and got into the car.

As I dragged my frozen body through the heavy doors of the Moretti estate, I heard a low, gentle, coaxing voice from the side parlor's fireplace.

The cold-blooded man, whose name struck fear into the entire New York underworld, was speaking with a patience I had never heard before.

"Just one more sip. The doctor added a sedative, otherwise you'll have nightmares again as soon as you close your eyes tonight."

"Be a good girl, Bella. I had the butler warm up your favorite Macallan."

He was on one knee before the sofa, holding an expensive crystal glass, carefully bringing it to Isabella's lips.

Isabella was still wearing his cashmere coat. She turned her head away weakly. "No, the whiskey is too strong. My throat hurts!"

Hearing my footsteps, Vito looked up from his task.

He glanced at my hair, tousled by the cold wind, and gestured casually toward the half-pot of red tea a servant had left on the bar.

"Go pour yourself some tea to warm up. Don't catch a cold."

With that, he looked away, lowering his head to gently wipe the moisture from the corner of Isabella's lips.

Then he took a small sip from the glass himself before offering it to her again. "See? It's not harsh."

I felt all the strength drain from my body, as if I didn't belong here.

In this magnificent estate, there was simply no place for me.

I turned without expression and started up the marble staircase. The sudden warmth of the room hit my frozen body.

My throat tightened, and I let out a low, uncontrollable cough, my thin shoulders shuddering.

Vito's brow furrowed. He put down the glass, about to scold me.

I stopped, speaking first. "Vito, let's get a divorce."

Vito froze for a second, but before he could speak,

Isabella, beside him, put on a great show of her shock. "Vito, this is all your fault! You left Liliana in a neighborhood where a gunfight could break out at any moment to bring me back first. She's angry with you."

He fell silent, clearly agreeing with her.

In his mind, there was no way I actually wanted a divorce.

I was a madwoman who craved absolute freedom, who had run away from an arranged marriage ninety-nine times.

But it was this same rebellious me who had fussed over our wedding, personally vetting every single flower for the bouquet.

In front of the priest, I had eagerly let him place the heavy wedding ring, a symbol of family ties, on my finger.

What, if not absolute love, could make a wild bird fly willingly into its cage?

At the thought, the panic in his eyes faded, and his tense shoulders relaxed.

"Stop throwing a tantrum. I'll have the butler run you a bath."

I couldn't be bothered to argue. I knew exactly how clear my mind was.

That night, I secretly contacted one of New York's top divorce lawyers.

The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call.

"Miss Falcone, we saw that your booking for the Monaco Formula 1 race on your birthday has been canceled. Was there a change of plans?"

"Canceled? I absolutely did not cancel it. You must have made a mistake."

I had been planning this Monaco racing extravaganza for a long time and had already told all my racing team friends.

I had once sat straddling Vito's lap, arrogantly declaring that it would be my wildest birthday ever.

At the time, he had tilted my chin up, his eyes filled with adoration. "Then may I have the honor of paying for it, my queen?"

Staring at the cancellation email, my mind went blank with a roaring rage. All I wanted was to confront Vito.

I reached the top of the stairs, only to find Isabella also sitting on the leather sofa in the grand hall.

"The Monaco Formula 1 race looks so exciting. To be honest, I'd love to go too!"

Vito tapped her on the head disapprovingly. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how chaotic an F1 race is?"

"It's crowded and our enemies are everywhere. A stray bullet could end your life."

Isabella pouted, complaining petulantly, "You're so controlling! Then why is Liliana allowed to go?!"

As if a nerve had been struck, Vito didn't answer for a moment.

He frowned deeply, silent for a long moment before saying in a hoarse voice, "She's... different from you."

Different?

A bitter smile touched my lips. Of course we were different. Vito didn't give a damn if I lived or died. He only cared about Isabella.

If he cared so little about whether I lived or died, then why cancel my trip?

Then I heard Isabella's sickly sweet, probing voice. "But Vito, if we turn Liliana's birthday party into a welcome-home banquet for me, will she agree?"

"She will."

His tone was arrogant, certain.

Because I loved him so much, he was confident he could talk me into anything. Taking my birthday was nothing. He could probably drain me of my blood and I would let him.

My foot froze mid-step.

"Oh, why is Liliana just standing there on the stairs like that?"

Vito turned at the sound of her voice. When his gaze fell on the dark circles under my eyes, his brow tightened.

"Didn't sleep well? Did you stay up all night over something so trivial?"

I didn't bother telling him that I hadn't slept because I was planning the next chapter of my life.

I asked coldly, "Why did you cancel my Monaco trip?"

Vito's eyes flickered for a second before he regained his composure.

He stared at me and lied without batting an eye. "Monaco isn't safe. Let's have a family dinner in New York instead."

"It's perfect timing with Isabella back. You'll need to invite the women from the five families to help her build her network."

I had no intention of backing down. "When I was racing on cliffsides and diving into bays, you never called it dangerous. This is a professional F1 track."

"Besides, I've already invited my team. If you're afraid to die, you can stay in New York."

Isabella jumped in, playing the peacemaker. "Liliana, Vito is just trying to protect you. How can you be so ungrateful!"

I watched her performance with cold appreciation.

Those who benefit are always like this.

They enjoy the fruits of others' sacrifices with a clear conscience, but the moment their benefits are threatened, they put on a righteous facade.

To that, I just wanted to say: Not my problem.

My mind was made up. I was going to Monaco, with or without his permission.

There was no point in saying more. I turned to leave.

"Liliana," Vito said casually from behind me. "Do you have to be this way?"

I stood my ground. "Yes. And I already invited my friends. They're all looking forward to it. What will they think of me if I back out now?"

At my core, I was still that rebellious, defiant Mafia Principessa. My circle was full of reckless, fearless people. To break my word to them was impossible.

Vito's voice turned cold.

"Don't make me remind you of this family's rules."

"Liliana, what do you think would happen if every racetrack in the world suddenly closed its doors to you?"

His eyes were cold and sharp, his tone threatening.

It was as if someone had dumped a basin of liquid nitrogen over my head, my very organs freezing solid.

This man had always been cold-blooded and ruthless. Now, he was using the same brutal tactics on me that he used to control the underworld.

"Be a good girl. Listen to me."

"I'm doing this for your own good."

I suddenly burst out laughing, laughing so hard that tears streamed down my face.

Finally. I had earned his "concern."

My birthday dinner was held in the gilded hall of the Moretti estate.

Besides my own family members, Vito had also invited the core figures of New York's five major Mafia families.

My friends, still in the dark, kept trying to console me. "It's okay, this banquet is just as good as being there. Your husband is just looking out for you."

"Yeah, look at all the heavy hitters he invited for your birthday. Enough to make anyone jealous."

I met my friends' envious gazes, a bitter taste in my mouth.

They didn't know that my husband, who should have been at my side, was parading Isabella through the heart of the underworld, introducing her as if she were the guest of honor.

It was time to cut the cake.

A waiter pushed a massive, seven-tiered cake to the center of the hall.

I saw right away that something was wrong. I had ordered a custom race car-shaped cake from a top pastry chef. It was supposed to have a fiery red body, silver wheels, and my favorite sports car elements on top.

But the cake before me was a simple pink. I walked over quickly to inspect it. On top were the words "Welcome Home."

My birthday cake had been swapped for one celebrating Isabella's return.

"What's going on? This isn't the super cool race car cake you ordered, Lily. Did they make a mistake?"

"Maybe it's the cake from the banquet next door? How could the staff screw up something as important as a birthday cake?"

My friends were either indignant on my behalf or questioning the Moretti family's competence.

Only I knew the truth. The waiter hadn't made a mistake. This was a carefully orchestrated move by Vito and Isabella.

Vito walked over, pulling Isabella to stand between us.

They stood so close they looked less like siblings and more like a perfectly matched pair.

"The cake is right."

"Today is both Liliana's birthday and the official welcome ceremony for Isabella, who has just returned to the family."

Isabella stepped forward, becoming the undisputed star of the show. She smiled slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you all!"

Vito moved closer to me, tugging at my wrist, his tone coaxing. "Are you angry now?"

"Don't worry, your race car cake is in my study. We'll cut it together after the party, just the two of us."

It was the closest he ever came to pleading. In the past, whenever he did this, my anger would melt away, no matter how furious I was.

But this time, I coldly pulled my hand away.

Astonishment flashed in Vito's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else,

but I had already turned away, picking up a beautifully wrapped gift box.

"Vito, I want to give you a gift."

Seeing the exquisite gift box in my hand, he let out a breath of relief.

That's right. I loved him that much. I even prepared a surprise for him on my own birthday.

That vague, unsettling feeling in his gut was probably just him overthinking things.

Just as Vito was about to take the gift box, Isabella's triumphant voice came from behind him. "Vito, shouldn't we move on to the next part?"

Vito glanced at me, a flicker of conflict and hesitation in his eyes. But after touching the gift box, he pulled his hand back.

"Open it when we get home."

He pushed the gift box back into my hands and strode toward Isabella.

I looked down at the box in my hands and felt a little regretful.

Because Vito would have been very "happy" to see that gift. It would have been the perfect way to publicly announce his true relationship with Isabella.

It was a divorce agreement.

The only gift I was giving myself for my twenty-fifth birthday.

Amid the cheers, Isabella moved to cut the cake.

It was as if everyone had forgotten that I was the one whose birthday it was.

No, Isabella hadn't forgotten.

She walked up to me with two glasses of champagne, feigning intimacy as she went to hug me. "Liliana, happy birthday!"

The moment she pressed against me, the heel of her stiletto came down hard on my unsuspecting foot.

At the same time, the champagne in her hand "slipped," drenching the front of my gown.

The sticky liquid ran down my skin and soaked into my dress, a complete and utter mess.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Liliana, I lost my balance..." she gasped, covering her mouth in a pitiful act.

I had always been one to return a favor. Even as I fought through the sharp pain in my foot, I raised my hand to slap her hard across the face.

But a large hand caught my wrist in mid-air, the grip so tight I thought it would shatter the bone.

Vito shielded Isabella, his eyes turning hard. "She didn't mean it. It was an accident."

He lowered his voice, his dark eyes filled with a vicious warning, as if he would cripple my hand on the spot if I dared to let the slap fall.

Isabella hid behind him, out of the guests' line of sight, and gave me a provocative and malicious smirk.

I, a Falcone Principessa, had never endured such humiliation. The rage forced a crimson flush into my eyes.

Vito saw the redness at the corners of my eyes. His jaw tightened, his hard features stiffening for a split second.

He took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped my face. "Alright. It's your birthday. Be happy."

I found him utterly hypocritical.

I slapped his hand away without expression and quietly waited for the final event of the evening.

"And now, I would like to announce the new director of the Moretti family's E-Customs bespoke tuning studio."

This was the part I had been most looking forward to, because this studio was my creation, my passion project.

At first, Vito had just let me play with it to keep me happy. He never expected me to achieve top-tier results in the industry.

"Let's welcome Miss Isabella Moretti!"

The champagne flute in my hand shattered.