The night before my fiancé and I were supposed to file the marriage certificate, the most powerful Don on the Eastern Seaboard sent word to my Winslow: deliver a daughter to honor the old betrothal with his comatose heir, or consider the arrangement a blood insult.

The moment my fiancé Damiano Mancini heard the news, he pulled the diamond ring off my finger and slid it onto the ring finger of my sister, Luciana Bellandi. The favored daughter. The one they'd always chosen.

Then he posted the photo for the whole world to see:

"She's taken."

When I confronted him, shaking apart at the seams, Damiano barely furrowed his brow. His voice was calm, as if what he was saying made perfect sense.

"Luciana's never had a hard day in her life. Being blood-bound to a vegetable would destroy her."

"You're already pregnant. The Valentes would never want damaged goods. This is the best solution for everyone."

I stared at the man in front of me as though seeing him for the very first time. My eyes burned.

I had loved Damiano Mancini for seven years. I'd taken a knife for him. I'd drunk myself into a hemorrhaging stomach at dinners with his father's associates, toasting men whose names I wasn't supposed to know.

Just weeks ago, I'd gone through IVF to carry his child, and only then had he proposed.

But the love I thought I'd earned could never compare to his childhood bond with Luciana Bellandi.

Everyone waited for me to scream, to cry, to make a scene. Instead I swallowed the tears and managed a tired smile.

"Okay. I understand."

Damiano nodded, satisfied. He pulled Luciana close and started discussing the sham church wedding with her, saying if they were going to put on an act for the families, they might as well go all the way.

He assumed I would do what I'd always done: swallow every indignity and never leave.

But what Damiano didn't know was that the moment he walked out the door with Luciana to shop for wedding gowns, the Valente Winslow came knocking.

"The Valentes aren't the kind of people who force anyone's hand."

"Miss Bellandi, if you're willing to marry into our Winslow, I'll give you half of my son's personal fortune, plus two properties in prime American real estate. You'll be under our full protection."

I rested my hand on my stomach, still flat enough that no one could tell. I nodded.

"I'll marry him."

Then, without a second of hesitation, I scheduled the termination.

1

Caterina Valente took me to file the marriage certificate that very day.

I watched Luciana's social media posts, one after another, showing off the lavish gowns Damiano was buying her. I didn't waver. I signed the papers.

The process went through without a hitch. When the certificate landed in my palm, I felt almost dazed.

Caterina's voice was gentle. "From this moment on, you are the young Mrs. Valente."

"Matteo Valente is receiving treatment in America. When can you come with me?"

I touched my stomach.

"Give me ten days."

"There are a few things I still need to take care of."

Caterina placed an intricately crafted ring in my hand, her tone warm.

"Marrying into the Valente Winslow, you may never have love, and you won't have a normal marriage."

"But everything else you could ever want, you will have."

I looked down, my fingertip tracing the ring. Something loosened in my chest, faint but unmistakable.

"I'll treasure it."

Three full days passed before Damiano bothered to come home to the compound.

"I've got it all arranged. The church ceremony with Luciana is in a week."

"When the Valentes come asking, just tell them you're pregnant. If they have any pride, they won't force the marriage."

"Once the dust settles, I'll take you to file our certificate."

He reached for me the way he always did, pulling me into his arms, having decided my entire future without asking.

I looked up at him. My stomach twisted with a dull ache.

"So on paper, Luciana is your wife?"

"It's just a title. It doesn't matter. As long as I know in my heart that you're my real wife, isn't that enough?"

He said it like it was obvious. Like he was doing me a favor.

As if this arrangement was the best I could ever hope for.

It never once crossed his mind what people would call me if Luciana became his public wife and I was the one pregnant and unmarried. In the families, there was only one word for a woman like that, and no amount of money washed it off.

Being abandoned on the eve of signing the certificate had already made me the biggest joke in every social club and back room on the coast.

After a long silence, I let out a hollow laugh.

How had I not understood until now? In Damiano Mancini's eyes, my feelings, my reputation, none of it mattered.

But Luciana? She deserved the grandest church ceremony. The most spotless reputation.

"Tomorrow night at the banquet, I'll announce the wedding date to everyone."

He informed me, not asked. "Just tell people we broke up a long time ago."

"...Fine."

My nails bit into my palms, forcing down the bitterness rising in my throat.

In seven days I'd be gone. It didn't matter what I said anymore.

I'd already booked the procedure for two days from now. The baby inside me, I was letting go of that too.

Only then did Damiano look satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek. I could feel the leather of his watch strap shift against my shoulder as his arm tightened around me.

"Serafina, if I hadn't insisted the Bellandi Winslow take you back ten years ago, you'd still be in that church orphanage."

"As long as you behave, I'll always give you a home."

A home?

Damiano believed that a girl starved of love her whole life would put up with anything to build a home with him. That no matter what he did, I would never leave.

What he didn't know was that in seven days, while he was playing groom to another woman in front of God and every Winslow that mattered, I would be on a plane to America as the young Mrs. Valente, with a fortune and a name that dwarfed everything the Mancini Winslow owned.

By then, I would never have to beg anyone for a home again.

The banquet began at eight sharp. Soldiers in dark suits lined the walls. The Mancini Winslow's legitimate associates and every aligned crew had turned out.

Damiano walked in with Luciana on his arm, both dressed in matching formal wear. He kissed her amid the applause and announced their church wedding in seven days.

Luciana swept her hair back with a flick of her wrist, and the diamond caught the light so sharply it stung.

It was a new ring. A three-million-dollar pink diamond Damiano had bid on at auction, because Luciana hadn't liked the old one. He'd replaced it without blinking.

Every wife and socialite in the room flocked to Luciana like moths.

"Luciana and Mr. Mancini are so much more suited for each other. Serafina Bellandi only latched onto the Mancini Winslow by clinging and refusing to let go. Guess she finally got dumped."

"Think she'll show up crying, begging to be his mistress?"

The whispers sliced through the air. I pretended not to hear.

That was when Luciana turned to me. Her fingers drifted to the pearls at her throat.

"Serafina, since you two have already broken up, you won't keep going after Damiano, right?"

Seven years of memories flashed before my eyes. I drew a slow breath.

"No. It's over, and I'll leave with my dignity."

Quiet laughter rippled through the crowd.

No one believed me.

Damiano included. He assumed I was putting on an act.

"Then shouldn't you hand over the keys to Damiano's properties?" Luciana smiled, and there was nothing kind about it. Her fingers touched the pearls a second time.

"I'd hate for you to lose control and find some excuse to get close to him again. It would be so embarrassing if you showed up at his place and threw yourself at him."

My expression hardened. I opened my mouth to say I would never do something like that.

But before I could speak, Luciana moved where no one else could see. She grabbed my wrist and forced the juice in my hand up into her own face.

"Oh! Serafina, if you didn't want to give them up, you could have just said so. Why did you have to splash me..."

She turned to Damiano with wide, wounded eyes as he rushed over.

"Serafina Bellandi!"

His face went dark. Without a moment's thought, he hurled his wine glass at me.

I threw my hands up on instinct, but the shattered glass sliced across the back of my hand.

"Who gave you permission to bully her?" he snarled. "Apologize to Luciana. Now."

He didn't want to hear a single word from me. The verdict was already in.

The way he looked at me, you'd think I was something vile.

The murmurs around us erupted:

"See? She couldn't handle being dumped. She finally snapped."

"Serafina Bellandi just didn't want to give back the keys. She was probably planning to sneak into the Mancini compound, sleep her way in, get pregnant, and claw her way to the top. Unbelievable."

I stood there. Blood ran down the back of my hand, mingling with the dark stain of red wine.

Damiano didn't so much as glance at it. He was too busy dabbing Luciana's face with painstaking care, his expression full of tender concern.

I thought of a day years ago, when I'd been shoved to the ground by bullies at school. He had been the one to help me up, cleaning each scrape with gentle hands.

All that tenderness, I realized now, had only ever been a fraction of what he saved for Luciana.

My eyes burned red, but I forced the tears back.

I didn't argue. I didn't lose control.

Instead, under the gleeful stares of every person in that room, I reached into my bag, pulled out every single key to every property I shared with Damiano Mancini, and dropped them all at Luciana's feet.

"You're right. I should have done this sooner. These keys belong to the real lady of the house."

"Your home. I won't set foot in it again."

Damiano's eyes snapped up to mine.

Luciana was still clutching that bundle of keys and access cards, momentarily frozen, as if she'd forgotten which expression to put on.

I looked at Damiano, my voice steady.

"You got your wine thrown back, and she got the keys she wanted. Are we done here?"

Damiano's throat bobbed. He reached for me, his lips parting like he wanted to say something.

But in the very next instant, Luciana let out a soft hiss and pressed her fingers to her temple.

"Damiano, I think I might have caught a chill. My head hurts..."

He pulled his hand back without a second of hesitation and turned to her.

His suit jacket came off and settled over Luciana's shoulders. He leaned down to adjust her collar, his movements careful, tender. Two of his soldiers stood a few steps behind, eyes lowered, pretending not to see a thing.

"Don't just stand here. Go back to the room and change. I'll have someone bring hot water."

The expensive fabric was already blooming with ugly juice stains, but he didn't spare it a single glance.

Just like he hadn't spared one for me.

I turned and walked away from a place that had never been mine to begin with.

I didn't notice that Damiano's gaze followed me from the moment I turned around, trailing after me until I was gone.

I took a cab back to the small safe flat I hadn't lived in for ages. I practically stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink, and threw up for what felt like forever.

Bitter acid surged up in waves, scorching my throat raw.

When I finally lifted my head, the person in the mirror stopped me cold.

Colorless face. Hollow eyes.

She looked almost identical to the girl who had walked out of Saint Rosalia Home ten years ago.

I was sixteen that year, fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a scholarship in a church-run home where every kid was clawing for the same thing.

In the end, someone locked me in the storage cellar, and I missed my entrance exams.

I pounded on the door. I screamed until my voice gave out.

No one found me until the next day, when Damiano came along with the Bellandi Winslow to visit and heard me.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders, gentle as anything. "Your name's Serafina, right? Do you want to go home?"

That jacket was so warm. It carried a faint, clean scent I could still remember to this day.

And I did go back to the Bellandi Winslow. I got my chance at school, got clothes on my back and food on the table.

The Bellandis never liked me. They preferred Luciana. They said I was too withdrawn.

Damiano was the only one who was different.

He went out of his way to visit me at the Bellandi house. He helped me with homework. When someone picked on me, he stepped in without being asked.

I loved him in silence for three years before I worked up the courage to tell him, the day I got into college.

The day Damiano said yes, he kissed me like it was a vow. He told me he'd give me a home, that I'd never have to suffer again.

My first kiss was so sweet it made me cry.

Now the face in the mirror was streaked with bitter tears, and I couldn't even tell when they'd started.

I reached up and wiped them away, the motion clumsy and graceless.

Seven years. I was done waiting for Damiano to keep his promises.

I was rinsing my face when the bathroom door swung open without warning.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Before I could react, a familiar force pinned me against the wall.

Damiano's scent crashed over me, and then his mouth was on mine.

The instant I remembered he'd kissed Luciana the same way just moments ago, my stomach turned and I shoved at his chest.

He caught my wrists, his grip impossible to break. I could feel the leather of his watch strap pressing into my skin where his hand locked around me.

"Why did you hand all your keys to Luciana? I thought you'd at least put up a fight."

I stared at him. The irony was almost funny.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" I said quietly. "We broke up. Giving your promised bride the keys to your compound seems pretty straightforward."

Something flickered behind his eyes, a trace of guilt he almost managed to hide, and his tone softened.

"I told you, it's all an act. There's nothing between Luciana and me. If there were, it would've happened a long time ago."

"Just be good for a little while longer. Everything that's yours will still be yours. You'll always be my wife, and the baby will always be my heir."

If not for the jasmine perfume clinging to his skin, Luciana's scent so thick I could almost taste it, I might have actually believed him.

I didn't bother explaining anymore.

I just nodded, going through the motions.

Damiano wanted to tend to the cut on the back of my hand. I felt too wretched to resist.

His touch was surprisingly gentle. When I flinched, he instinctively blew on the wound, the way he'd done a hundred times before, as if nothing had changed.

I watched his profile, and my heart clenched before I could stop it.

It reminded me of the ride home from Saint Rosalia, when he'd dabbed ointment on my scrapes with the same quiet care.

Then his phone rang.

Luciana's voice came through the speaker, trembling on the edge of tears.

"Damiano... I feel awful, I'm so dizzy... Where did you go? I'm scared being alone..."

His fingers tightened visibly, pressing harder against my wound without realizing it. The leather strap of his watch creaked once as his wrist flexed.

I sucked in a sharp breath. He didn't notice.

"I'm out. Just picking up some medicine for you."

Luciana's voice turned small, cautious. "Did you... go see Serafina?"

Damiano didn't miss a beat.

"No. I'm on my way back to you now."

It was spring, but I felt cold down to my bones.

The part of me that had softened moments ago felt pathetic.

Luciana was the one who got every ounce of his tenderness. How did I still not understand that?

To him, I was no different from an obedient pet.

I loved Damiano. But I needed love that was mine alone, not scraps tossed my way out of obligation.

The cut on my hand had split open again from the pressure, fresh blood seeping through.

I couldn't tell which hurt more, my hand or my heart.

He hung up and seemed to remember I existed.

"Sera, just hang on a few more days. Once this is over, we'll sign the marriage papers."

I said nothing.

A few more days.

Then I'd never have to endure this again.

Damiano was about to leave when my phone buzzed.

A reminder from the OB-GYN popped up on the screen, confirming tomorrow's procedure.

His gaze drifted over to it. His brow creased, slowly.

"Why are you going to the OB-GYN?"

"Didn't you just go a few days ago?"

Until I was truly gone, I didn't want to stir up trouble.

"The morning sickness has been pretty bad lately. I'm going to the clinic to get it checked out."

Damiano visibly froze for a second.

As if it only just hit him that he hadn't spared a single thought for his pregnant woman's wellbeing these past few days.

Something uneasy flickered in his eyes, and he hesitated, half-considering whether to stay.

But the next second, another message from Luciana lit up his phone, urging him to hurry.

That sliver of hesitation crumbled like it had never existed.

"Then go back to the compound and rest. Don't stay out overnight."

He tossed out the instruction and was gone from the apartment before the words had settled.

His choice didn't surprise me. I was used to it by now.

But I did need to go back to the Mancini compound. My personal documents were still there, and I'd need them for tomorrow's procedure.

The next morning, when Signora Ruggiero led me through the front entrance of the compound, I stopped dead.

In barely half a day, the place I'd called home for years had been gutted.

The matching couple figurines that used to sit on the entryway table were gone.

The rug beside the sofa, the one Damiano and I had picked out together, had been swapped for something new.

The wedding portrait on the wall, the one we'd taken months ahead of schedule for the alliance announcement, had vanished without a trace.

Even knowing what I knew, my chest seized before I could stop it.

I forced the feeling down and headed for the stairs.

That was when the smell hit me. Acrid. Burning.

"Miss Bellandi, these things... they belong to the lady of the house, don't they? Burning them doesn't seem right..."

Signora DeLuca's voice carried from somewhere nearby. I could picture her pressing both palms flat against her apron, bracing herself against the blowback she knew was coming.

Luciana's reply came laced with undisguised malice:

"Lady of the house? Get your facts straight. I'm the future mistress of this Winslow."

"This junk was an eyesore. So what if I burned it?"

My brain whited out. I didn't think. I just ran toward the courtyard.

Firelight danced against the stone.

A pile of belongings had been thrown into a bonfire, already half-consumed.

These were the directress's things. The woman who raised me at Saint Rosalia. Her keepsakes. Her last traces on this earth.

I lost my mind. I lunged at the fire without a second thought, bare hands reaching straight into the flames.

"Serafina, are you insane?!"

Luciana stumbled back a step, startled. Her fingers flew to the pearls at her throat.

I didn't spare her a glance.

Fire seared my skin, the pain boring down to bone, but I couldn't feel it. I clawed everything I could reach out of the blaze, dragging it free with both hands.

Blisters rose instantly across my palms.

I gritted my teeth and smothered the flames with my body, shaking so hard I could barely stay upright.

When I finally looked up, my eyes were raw and burning.

"What is wrong with you, Luciana? Why would you burn my things?"

Luciana stared down at me from where she stood, untouched.

"They were an eyesore. So I burned them."

"Besides, who knows if this junk from some orphanage is even clean?"

"What if it carries diseases?"

One breezy sentence, and she'd insulted both me and the woman who raised me in a single breath.

The last thread holding me together snapped.

I swung my arm and slapped her across the face with everything I had.

The force knocked Luciana sideways. She opened her mouth to curse at me, but a voice cut through first:

"Serafina, what the hell are you doing?!"

Damiano's voice cracked through the courtyard like a whip.

He stormed over and shoved me away without a heartbeat of hesitation.

I staggered backward, nearly falling into the still-smoldering fire pit.

He was already pulling Luciana into his arms.

"Why did you hit her?" His face was terrifyingly dark.

My voice broke. "She burned the directress's things!"

Damiano knew better than anyone what those keepsakes meant to me.

He knew the directress of Saint Rosalia had been the closest thing to a mother I'd ever had.

In that moment, I still believed that just this once, he would take my side.

But Damiano only frowned, his tone clipped with impatience.

"It's just some old junk."

"Luciana thought it was trash and cleaned it out. She meant well."

"Why would you hit her over that?"

My heart stopped.

Right on cue, Luciana's eyes reddened, her voice going soft and wounded. Her fingers drifted to the pearls again, recalculating.

"I'm sorry, Serafina. I really didn't know those things meant so much to you..."

"I was just worried they weren't sanitary. I didn't want Damiano getting sick..."

"You don't need to apologize." Damiano cut her off, his voice hard as iron. "If anyone owes an apology, it's her."

He turned to me. His gaze went cold.

"Serafina. Apologize to Luciana. Now."

There is no grief greater than a dead heart.

I stared at the man in front of me, hollow with disappointment. The heir to the Mancini name, the man who could order soldiers to kill without raising his voice. And he stood there choosing her, as calmly as he'd choose which suit to wear.

He looked like a stranger.

"I won't apologize." Each word fell from my lips, frozen solid. "I did nothing wrong."

"She did it on purpose. If you don't believe me, ask Signora DeLuca."

Signora DeLuca nodded quickly. "It's true, sir. Miss Bellandi, she..."

Damiano cut her off without looking. "A DeLuca's word means nothing."

"Damiano, my face hurts so much..." Luciana's tears spilled instantly. She cupped her cheek, sucking in a delicate breath.

His expression hardened. I heard the faint creak of leather as his hand moved to his wrist, tightening the strap of his watch.

"Since these things are causing this much trouble,"

he bent down and picked up the lighter from the ground,

"then get rid of them for good."

"Maybe then you'll stop acting like a lunatic."

The flame snapped back to life with a sharp pop.

Every muscle in my body locked. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"Damiano, what are you doing?!"

The scream tore out of me raw, and I threw myself toward the fire.

But he caught me from behind, arms clamping around me like a vice.

I thrashed against him, my voice cracking apart:

"I was wrong... I was wrong, okay..."

"I'll apologize. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just put out the fire, please?"

"I'm begging you, Damiano!"

This was the first time I had ever broken down like this. The first time I had begged him on my knees.

Something clenched in Damiano's chest. His grip loosened, just barely.

I seized that split second, wrenched free, and threw myself into the flames.

Fire licked up my arms. The pain went past sharp into numb.

But in the end, the only thing I pulled out was a watch, blackened beyond recognition.

I knelt on the ground, hollowed out. Like someone had reached inside me and scooped out everything that made me whole.

The sounds around me faded to nothing. The courtyard, the compound walls, the distant murmur of soldiers at the gate. All of it dissolved into silence.

I didn't register anything until Damiano hauled me to my feet.

He looked at me, and for one instant, regret flashed through his eyes. The recognition that he'd gone too far.

But then his gaze landed on Luciana's swollen cheek, and that flicker of regret vanished as cleanly as if it had never been there.

"Let this be a lesson."

"Now you'll know what's acceptable and what isn't. You're supposed to be the future Donna Mancini. You can't go around slapping people like some common shrew."

I didn't want to hear another word. I just stared at him, eyes bloodshot, looking at him the way you look at an enemy.

The look cut him. He flinched, glanced away. Then the flinch curdled into anger at my defiance.

"You still don't think you were wrong?"

He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the bedroom we used to share, locking the door behind him.

"Then sit in here and cool off!"

I couldn't fight him. All I could do was stand there, trapped, the scorched watch still clutched in my blistered hand.

My eyes burned. But not a single tear would come.