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.

I stood against the door for a long, long time. My legs went numb before I finally managed to calm down.

Since I couldn't get out, I might as well start packing what was mine.

I threw every dress, every handbag Damiano had ever given me into the trash. Silk, cashmere, leather soft as skin. All of it purchased with laundered money and handed over like I should be grateful. Every piece went into the bin without ceremony.

It wasn't until I was done that I realized.

All I could actually take with me was an ID card and my personal documents. Nothing else. Five years in the Mancini compound, and the only things that were truly mine fit inside a single envelope.

Damiano didn't let me out until the following evening, for dinner.

He noticed the things in the trash. I saw him pause. His eyes moved over the pile of designer labels, and for one beat the muscle at his jaw tightened.

"What kind of tantrum is this?"

I just smiled faintly.

"They got old. I stopped liking them. So I tossed them."

That shut him up. He was quiet for a beat, and when he spoke again, it was in that tone of his, the one that made everything sound like charity:

"I'll buy you new ones in a couple days. Consider it an apology."

"Come eat. And be nice to Luciana. She's only staying a few days."

"Stop being jealous and picking fights with her."

He paused at the end, just slightly. His fingers moved to his watch strap, adjusted it, then let go.

"Burning those things... I may have gone too far."

"But people need to move forward. The directress has been gone a long time now."

I nodded. My voice was flat.

"Fine."

He'd gotten what should have been my forgiveness, but something about it made Damiano uneasy. He stood in the doorway of the dining room where two of his soldiers sat at a far table finishing their meals, and I could feel him watching me the way he watched men he wasn't sure of anymore.

I was standing right in front of him, yet he felt like I was already far away.

Tomorrow was the last day of my arrangement with the Valente Winslow. My plan was simple: wake up, go through with the surgery, and leave.

But in the dead of night, the bedroom door slammed open. Before I could even register what was happening, Damiano hauled me out of bed and dragged me down the hall to the room next door.

His grip was brutal, like he wanted to break me apart. The moment he let go, I slammed into the wall. Pain exploded across my back and my vision went black. Somewhere down the corridor a soldier shifted but did not come closer. No one intervened in the heir's private quarters. That was understood.

Before I could recover, his voice came down from above, raw with fury.

"Serafina, is this how badly you can't stand Luciana? You're so jealous you'd drug her?"

My ears rang. My vision swam, then slowly focused.

On the bed, Luciana's cheeks were flushed, her clothes disheveled. She was practically draped over Damiano, whimpering and pressing herself into his arms.

"It wasn't me."

My voice was hoarse, but I forced the words out. "I didn't do anything like that."

The moment I finished speaking, Luciana flinched as though she'd been struck. The tears came instantly.

"Serafina... the only thing I ate tonight was the dessert you had Ruggiero bring me. I didn't touch anything else..."

"I had someone bring you dessert?" I stared at her, my expression ice cold.

"You burned the directress's keepsakes, and you think I'd send you a treat? Luciana, do you really think that highly of yourself?"

My voice dropped lower, shaking with barely contained rage. "And what would I even gain from drugging you? If you're going to frame someone, at least come up with a believable story."

"Enough with the excuses."

Damiano cut in, irritation thick in his voice. He stood over me, the full weight of his authority pressing down like something physical.

"Ruggiero already admitted you told her to do it."

"Witness and evidence, both accounted for. How am I supposed to believe you?"

The cold seeped into my chest, inch by inch. I hadn't imagined that in Damiano's mind, I was someone capable of this.

"What witness? What evidence?"

I bit down hard on my lip, the words grinding out between my teeth.

"This compound has security cameras everywhere. If you really think I did it, then check the footage. One look and you'll know the truth."

I held his gaze, stubborn, refusing to bend. Somewhere behind the walls I could hear the low hum of the surveillance system he'd installed himself, the one that watched every corridor and gate of the Mancini estate.

I would not confess to something I didn't do.

Damiano hesitated. Just for a second.

But then Luciana let out a soft, shuddering gasp and clung to him tighter, her voice trembling and paper-thin. Her fingers rose to the pearls at her throat, touched them once, then fell away.

"Damiano, it hurts so much... please help me, please..."

Her collar had slipped. Pale skin spilled into view.

Damiano's hand froze. Instinct told him to push her away.

But Luciana ducked her head and sank her teeth into her own arm without a moment's hesitation. Hard.

Blood welled up instantly.

Bright red, streaming down her skin. Impossible to look away from.

"I know you only see me as a little sister, Damiano. I know this whole marriage these past few days was just an act. It's my fault for letting myself get lost in how sweet it felt, for letting myself imagine you might care about me, even a little..."

Her voice shook. The tears fell harder.

"I'll handle it myself. Don't worry about me. I don't want to be a burden to either of you anymore..."

Damiano's expression changed completely. He grabbed her arm to stop her from biting down again, pulling her into his arms to hold her still. When he spoke, his voice was rough and strained.

"Stop hurting yourself. I'll help you."