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."

My hand, clutching his sleeve, fell away. My throat was raw, as if it had been scraped with a razor, and I could taste blood.

He ignored my pain and my pleas, treating my life's work like trash to be tossed aside.

Yet he protected Isabella to the extreme, unwilling to let her suffer even the slightest grievance.

Suddenly, the tears stopped.

I remembered a line I once read: tears only work on people who love you.

I forced myself to calm down, wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, and began to mentally map out the Falcone family's underground network of garages, trying to find a way out for my crew.

Vito sat on the edge of the bed, expecting me to throw a fit like I always did, to try and force him to take back his decision.

After all, the word "compromise" had never been in Liliana Falcone's dictionary. Anything I wanted, I either took by force or destroyed so no one else could have it.

But I said nothing. I just threw back the covers, walked to the sofa farthest from him, and unlocked my phone.

My unnatural silence brought a flicker of annoyance to his eyes.

He suppressed the inexplicable panic rising in his chest and tried to compensate me.

"Stop being angry."

"That pigeon's blood ruby you glanced at during the Sotheby's auction last month? I bought it for you."

"It's the only one in the world, and it's all in your name."

That necklace was worth enough to buy ten E-Customs studios with change to spare.

In Vito's mind, he had shown more than enough sincerity in placating me this time.

But I didn't even look up, seemingly uninterested, my focus solely on my phone.

Vito pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice low. "That's enough. Come here and sign the asset transfer documents."

Hearing the word "sign," I finally looked up, my voice perfectly calm. "Alright."

"Let me see the documents."

Vito didn't realize that in the instant I agreed, the corner of his mouth had tilted up slightly.

With my back to him, I pretended to flip through the complicated jewelry transfer agreement.

Just then, Vito's phone rang. He answered without hesitation, his voice soft and low.

After hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and started to leave.

I quickly pulled a single document from the middle of the stack and put my hand on his arm. "What's the hurry? Sign this before you go."

He fought back his impatience, took the pen, and quickly signed his name where required.

"You go to sleep. I might not be back tonight."

Watching his retreating back, I lowered my eyes to the now valid divorce agreement and found it almost laughable.

Our marriage hadn't even lasted a full year.

I could barely remember what it felt like to be that Liliana on the cliffside, the one who would have given her life for him.

In the middle of the night, I lay in bed, wide awake.

Suddenly, with a loud "bang," the bedroom door was violently kicked open.

My neck exploded in pain, and a scream tore from my throat. "Ah—"

A bright light blinded me, reflecting the tears of pain streaming down my face.

Vito's hand flinched slightly, as if burned by my tears.

But he only froze for a second before his rage returned.

"Liliana, you've gone too far this time!"

I didn't even have to ask. I knew that murderous look was all for Isabella.

For Isabella, he kicked down my door in the middle of the night.

For Isabella, he took away my team.

For Isabella, he ignored my pain and threw me to the floor like an enemy...

I didn't even have the energy to struggle. I casually pulled together the torn collar of my nightgown and let out a mocking laugh. "What is it now, my boss? What's wrong with your precious sister?"

My indifferent attitude completely ignited the fury he had been suppressing.

"You dare ask?" he snarled, looming over me, his eyes filled with a deadly disappointment. "Isabella takes over your pathetic little garage, and you send her a bloody razor blade and death threats?!"

"Have you forgotten her father died taking a bullet for mine? You've scared her into a nervous breakdown. She's hiding in a closet, trembling. Are you satisfied now?"

I took a deep breath, defiantly meeting his furious gaze. "I didn't do it. If I wanted her dead, I would have put a bullet in her head myself, not stooped to these cheap tricks."

"You still dare to deny it?" Vito snarled, throwing several enlarged photos in my face.

The photos showed a blood-stained card with twisted writing on it: "Thief," "Usurper," "You will die in a car."

I kept telling myself that Vito would always side with Isabella, but seeing the crudely forged evidence, I couldn't help but bite back. "That's not even my handwriting!"

"If you didn't do it, one of your lowlife friends did. Now Isabella is terrified to even get in a car. She's having nightmares."

"Congratulations, Liliana. You got what you wanted!"

I found his accusation absurd. "She shamelessly stole our garage, and now she's framing me and slinging mud?"

"Vito Moretti, don't push me."

It took me only a second to completely rule out the possibility that my crew was involved.

They might have grown up on the streets, but they lived by the underworld's code. They would never do something as low as sending a woman razor blades.

When Vito heard me insult Isabella, the violence in his eyes flared, and a vein throbbed at his temple.

He clenched his fists, reminding himself that Liliana was his wife, an untamable wild rose. As heir to the family, it was his duty to teach her to submit.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this."

"Apologize to Bella. Now. You will kneel before her and beg for her forgiveness. You will beg her not to leave. You will make her feel safe enough to take over that damn garage."

My pupils dilated. My breath seemed to stop, my chest forgetting to rise and fall.

Me, apologize to Isabella? Beg her to take my life's work?

A thick, metallic taste rose in my throat. I clenched my jaw, forcing the words through my teeth. "In. Your. Fucking. Dreams."

He grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight I thought he would crush my shoulder blades. "You're going."

"Liliana, Bella's father gave his life for mine. That makes him your benefactor. Drop the spoiled Principessa act. We do not repay kindness with betrayal."

I stared at his cold face, my voice as still as a stagnant pool. "Vito, we're divorced."

"Whatever you want to do to repay your debt, if you want to give your life for her, that's your business. Just stop disgusting me."

"Still talking back?" Vito sneered, looking at me as if I were a misbehaving pet. "You were willing to bet your life for me. You love me that much. You couldn't possibly bear to divorce me."

I struggled, trying to reach for the divorce agreement on the cabinet, but he thought I was trying to escape.

He gripped me tighter, his tone laced with threat.

"Aren't you using your family's connections to find a way out for those useless friends of yours? Let me tell you, if you don't go, I'll make sure they're blacklisted from every garage in North America."

Thinking of the brothers who had been through hell and back with me, I admit, I wavered.

"I said," I hissed, "I'm not going."

Vito laughed, a sound of pure fury that didn't reach his eyes. "Fine. I look forward to seeing if you're still this stubborn in three days."

"Take my wife to the cellar," he said, his voice void of all emotion. "Lock her in. Let her cool off."

I was seized by two guards, my arms twisted behind my back, and dragged without any chance of resistance to the bone-chilling cellar deep within the estate.

The heavy iron door slammed shut. In the pitch-black silence, I finally broke down and cried.

I feared nothing in this world except the dark. My claustrophobia was so severe I couldn't sleep without a night light.

When we first got married, Vito discovered this fatal weakness of mine. I thought a man like him, forged in blood and chaos, would mock my weakness.

But he had held me tight, kissing my hair and swearing, "As long as you're here, I'll come home every night."

"With me here, you have nothing to fear."

And now, he was the one who had personally pushed me into this endless abyss of darkness.

Three days later, the iron door of the cellar groaned open.

I was hauled out like a rag doll and thrown at Isabella's feet.

Standing beside Isabella, Vito took in my wretched state. His brow furrowed, his heart clenching as if squeezed by an invisible hand.

"I only sent you down there to reflect for three days. How did you end up like this?"

Isabella guiltily averted her gaze, then clung to Vito's arm and whined, "Liliana is just putting on an act to avoid apologizing. She's really selling it, isn't she?"

The flicker of pity in Vito's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold resolve. "Liliana. Apologize."

I lay on the cold marble floor, a dry, rasping sound in my throat. I dug my fingers into the cracks between the tiles, holding on with my last ounce of strength, refusing to bow my head.

"Vito, why don't you wait outside? She might be too embarrassed to admit she's wrong in front of you."

Vito was silent for a moment, then nodded. Before leaving, he shot me a complicated look and closed the heavy oak door.

The moment we were alone, the innocent mask on Isabella's face fell away, revealing her true, ugly self.

She pulled a lighter from her purse and lit a thin cigar.

She walked over to me, grabbed my chin with the hand holding the cigar, and sneered viciously. "You bitch. A low-class wild child like you really thinks you can compete with me for Vito?"

"What's so great about you, anyway? Last night he was calling your name in his sleep... I'll make sure he loses all feeling for you, once and for all."

She brought the glowing tip of her cigar close to my cheek.

Her other hand slid across my face, her voice low but sending shivers down my spine. "Tell me," she whispered, her voice a venomous caress, "if I were to brand you right here, do you think Vito would feel even more pity for you?"

The moment she finished speaking, she hit send on her phone.

A few seconds later, the door was kicked open, and a group of menacing thugs stormed in.