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.

Isabella's "masterpieces" scrolled across the giant screen.

From the initial aerodynamic sketches and aggressive body kit designs to the engine's peak performance data on underground tracks.

But all of that was my work!

It was the first time in my life I had reined in my wild nature. I stopped getting drunk in nightclubs and locked myself in a stuffy garage, working through the night.

For a whole month, I ran on four hours of sleep a night to produce those one-of-a-kind blueprints.

And now, on every blueprint and data report I had personally drafted, my signature rose emblem had been erased from the bottom right corner, brazenly replaced with Isabella's forgery.

Isabella stood on stage in her haute couture gown, shamelessly soaking in all the applause.

She even smugly announced that for the future of the studio, she would be disbanding the current core team of technicians for a complete overhaul.

My crew, the men who had been through hell and back with me and were waiting to be introduced tonight, stared at me in disbelief.

I was shaking with rage, my face a deathly pale mask.

I pushed roughly through the crowd, ready to storm the stage. "No! Those aren't her designs—"

Before I could finish, a large, leather-gloved hand clamped down hard over my mouth and nose from behind.

A suffocating pressure clamped down on me.

Vito's unique scent of cigar smoke filled my nostrils.

"It's just a damn garage, Liliana. Is it worth making such an ugly scene over?"

Vito? Why?

I wanted to ask more. A sharp sting pierced my neck.

A cold sedative was ruthlessly injected into the vein in my neck.

Before I lost consciousness, all I heard was his cold command. "Take my wife back to the estate."

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the leather bed in the master bedroom.

Vito sat on the edge of the bed, still in his suit, surrounded by gift boxes from Cartier and Hermès.

I didn't say a word. Without even bothering to change out of the silk nightgown I was wearing, I stumbled out of the room.

I would not let my life's work fall into the hands of that venomous snake. I would not let my team be left homeless on the streets.

My fingers had just closed around the cold brass doorknob when a powerful grip seized my waist.

I was yanked back with brutal force into a hard chest.

"Where are you going?"

The side effects of the sedative made me dizzy. I fought against the nausea roiling in my stomach and struggled desperately in his arms.

"Let me go! Isabella stole my studio, and now she wants to fire my team! I have to find her. I have to get back what's mine!"

"It's no use."

Vito's deep, flat voice sounded from above me. "The Moretti family leadership has already unanimously approved her appointment."

I gripped his designer shirt tightly, begging, "Can't you vouch for me? You know those blueprints are—"

My voice died in my throat.

As our eyes met, a horrifying realization struck me like lightning.

All of my core data was locked on my private computer in the studio's safe.

In all of New York, only Vito had ever seen them!

How stupid I had been. As if I were showing off a prize, I had told him the computer password was the anniversary of the day we met on the track.

And now, the work I had cherished like a treasure had become a stepping stone for Isabella's rise!

No one but Vito could have stolen those files so silently.

I froze completely.

I stared at the husband before me in disbelief. Despair, devastation, absurdity—all my emotions were reflected in his eyes.

The sight of me in this state made something in his chest clench. His throat tightened, and he raised a large hand to cover my eyes.

He couldn't bear to look at me right now. "Liliana..."

My heart was in agony. I pressed a hand to my chest, barely able to breathe. All that was left were large tears streaming down my face.

I heard my own voice, trembling uncontrollably. "Why?"

Vito gently wiped away my tears, a flicker of pain in his eyes that he himself didn't notice.

"Be good," he murmured. "I'll compensate you for it, double."

"Bella needs this spotlight. She needs this career more than you do."

"You're the Principessa of the Falcone family, you've had everything you ever wanted since you were a child. And now you're the lady of the Moretti estate. But Bella? Her father took a bullet for mine. She has nothing."

"This is a blood debt my family owes her."

Vito would never be on my side again.

The moment I accepted this fact, my heart felt like it had been run over by a heavy truck, leaving nothing but wreckage.

But even so, I swallowed my pride and begged him.

"Then please, just don't fire my crew. They're talented guys from the streets. They trusted me with their lives. Please, just give them a chance..."

Most of those technicians were marginalized people from the streets. I was the one who pulled them out of the muck of gang wars.

Without this job, they'd be eaten alive by the streets of New York!

Vito brushed my tear-soaked hair away from my face, a hint of helplessness in his expression.

"It's Isabella's studio now."

"I can't interfere with her decisions."