After discovering that his former lover, Camille Marchand, had returned from Paris after completing her fashion studies, my husband, Dante Valente, began to drift away.

It started slowly at first, like casual mentions of Camille's career, the admiration in his voice when he spoke of her success. Soon, it became undeniable.

Dante was captivated, following her like a loyal duckling trailing its mother.

When Camille opened her boutique in Providence, Dante not only attended but became her greatest patron, investing time, money, and admiration in a way I had never seen before.

I had been Dante's wife for four years, yet somehow, I could not compete with his new-old flame.

Dante's eyes sparkled in Camille's presence, and her every achievement seemed to eclipse my existence.

The day of my graduation, a day I had dreamed of sharing with my husband, came and went. Dante was not by my side, as he had promised. Instead, he flew to New York with Camille for Fashion Week.

I was left standing alone, feeling the ache of his absence and the humiliation of explaining it to others.

When I confronted him, Dante dismissed my feelings as petty.

"Don't be spoiled," he'd say. "You have everything here, soldiers at the gates, a full staff, anything you could want. Camille, though, she's alone in Providence, far from her people. She needs support."

But what about me? What about the milestones, the small and large victories I wanted to share with my husband?

The final straw came when Dante accompanied Camille to Paris Fashion Week, meeting her parents and integrating himself even deeper into her world.

I had lost him, and with every fiber of my being, I knew it was time to let go. The decision, when it came, was bittersweet but clear.

I signed the divorce papers and left the Valente compound. My next destination was Italy, where I could finally pursue my master's degree, free from Dante's shadow and his divided heart.

As I prepared to leave, I sent Dante one last message.

[Seraphina: Since there's nothing left for me here, I will leave you to the life you have always wanted.]

His reply was cold, dismissive, and painfully revealing.

[Dante: How can you live without me? Without my money?]

At that moment, tears welled up, as I realized I had been little more than a possession to him, an accessory in his world rather than a partner in his life.

I blocked his number, severing the last tie between us, determined to start fresh and find my own path.

Days later, I heard from mutual friends that Dante was frantically searching for me, sending messages I had never received. [Seraphina, I'm sorry. Please come back to me.]

…………………………………………

Tomorrow would mark my graduation after four years of relentless study at the Rhode Island School of Design, where I had majored in Painting.

It was a day I had dreamed of sharing with my husband, Dante.

But when I brought it up over dinner, his response was colder than the winter wind outside.

"I have something to do tomorrow," he said curtly. "I'll send flowers."

That was it.

He rose from the table without another word, already absorbed in whatever was on his phone. I sat there staring at the empty seat he'd left behind, feeling as though I had been quietly dismissed from his life.

In recent months, just when I had begun to believe Dante was finally softening toward me, he grew distant again.

The reason wasn't difficult to find.

Camille Marchand had returned from Paris.

His former lover was back, determined to open her own boutique in Providence, and ever since her arrival, Dante had rarely left her side.

He funded her ambitions, supported her plans, and devoted his time to helping her succeed, treating her as though she were the true lady of the Valente family.

For an entire month, I watched him cater to her every need while I was left with nothing but brief conversations, distracted replies, and the occasional perfunctory gesture.

A month earlier, I had held my first major art exhibition.

It was a milestone I had spent years working toward.

Dante never showed up.

He couldn't spare a single day to see the work I had poured my heart into. Instead, he sent flowers accompanied by a generic note that felt more like an obligation than a celebration.

Yet when Camille needed someone to pick her up from the airport, he rushed there without hesitation.

When she prepared to launch her boutique, he somehow found endless time to oversee every detail personally.

For her, he was always available.

For me, there was never enough time.

Sometimes it felt as though I were nothing more than a ghost haunting the halls of the Valente compound, invisible to the man I had vowed to spend my life with.

The frustration that had been building inside me finally overflowed.

I followed him upstairs, my voice cutting through the silence.

"Why are you being so cruel, Dante?"

He paused but didn't turn around.

"When you skipped my exhibition last month, I stayed quiet. When you chose to pick Camille up from the airport instead of spending time with me, I stayed quiet. When you poured your time, energy, and Family money into her boutique, I stayed quiet."

I swallowed hard.

"But now it's my graduation day. One day, Dante. That's all I'm asking for. And you still can't spare a few hours for me. Is this because of Camille again?"

My voice trembled despite my efforts to control it.

Maybe the staff could hear us through the old walls.

Maybe they couldn't.

At that moment, I didn't care.

I just wanted him to understand how much he was hurting me.

Finally, he turned around.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and contempt.

Without warning, he stepped forward and pinned me against the wall.

The force of it sent a chill through my body.

"What are you complaining about now?" he sneered. "Is your allowance not enough? Do you want another piece of jewelry? Some luxury gift? Just say it, Seraphina. Stop making a scene."

His words struck harder than any slap.

In a single sentence, he reduced all my pain, all my longing, all the love I had carried for him into something shallow and material.

Tears burned in my eyes.

"I don't want your money, Dante," I whispered. "I want you. I want my husband to care about me. To spend time with me. That's all I've ever wanted."

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to be vulnerable.

It was a mistake.

The corners of his lips curled upward in a mocking smile.

He reached out and gripped my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him.

"Your tears don't work on me, Seraphina."

His voice was cold enough to freeze the air between us.

"And I will never give you what you want. So stop expecting me to attend your graduation."

He released me with a sharp jerk.

Pain flared across my jaw.

Then he turned away and slammed his bedroom door so hard that the entire hallway seemed to tremble.

The sound echoed long after he was gone.

Our marriage had always been hollow, but in that moment, the truth crushed whatever hope remained inside me.

From the very beginning, ours had never been a marriage built on love.

It was an alliance.

A blood-bound arrangement orchestrated by his mother, Vittoria.

We lived under the same roof, yet occupied separate bedrooms, separate lives.

To Dante, I was little more than a servant.

Even though the compound employed countless staff members, he insisted that I be the one to lay out his clothes, prepare his bath, and make his bed every day.

It was a mockery of marriage stripped of affection, intimacy, and kindness.

The man I had once dreamed of building a future with had become an unbearable stranger.

And although my heart still ached when I thought of all the patience I had given him, all the care I had poured into him, and every hope I had stubbornly held onto, I finally understood something.

Starting today, I had to let all of it go.

Growing up as an orphan, I spent countless afternoons painting in the yard of the Catholic orphanage on Federal Hill, staring beyond the iron gates and dreaming of a life bigger than the one I had been given.

I dreamed that someone might notice me one day. Someone who would see potential where others saw an orphan, offer me an opportunity, and help me pursue the only thing I had ever truly loved—art.

More than anything, I wanted to become a renowned painter and one day open a studio of my own, a place where my work could live and breathe freely.

Then, shortly after I graduated from high school, that opportunity arrived.

A woman came to the orphanage with an offer that felt almost too extraordinary to be real. She would pay for my education at the Rhode Island School of Design, one of the most prestigious art schools in the country.

I still remembered the day she arrived.

A black sedan with tinted windows pulled up outside the orphanage. A soldier stepped out first and opened the door for her. The moment she entered, the nuns fell noticeably quieter.

Everyone on Federal Hill knew the Valente name.

There was only one condition attached to her generosity.

I had to marry her son.

Dante Valente.

He was five years older than me and had been slowly unraveling since the woman he loved left him for Paris.

"A blood-bound union," Vittoria called it.

"An alliance marriage."

The kind of arrangement that kept powerful families connected in the world she belonged to.

At eighteen years old, I hesitated.

"But does Dante know about this?" I asked carefully.

"Yes," Vittoria replied. "And he agreed."

As she spoke, her fingers drifted to the pearl necklace around her throat, adjusting it absently, as though reminding herself of the many roles she carried. Mother. Matriarch. The woman who quietly held the Valente family together behind the scenes.

In the end, I accepted.

Partly because I was grateful.

Partly because I felt indebted to her kindness.

Vittoria had shown me more warmth than I had ever known, and I wanted to repay that kindness in whatever way I could.

Dante and I entered our marriage as little more than strangers, but I held onto the hope that time might change things.

Perhaps one day we would learn to care for each other.

Perhaps one day we could become a real family.

Throughout college, I worked hard to carry my own weight. I earned scholarships, sold paintings online, and did everything possible to avoid becoming a financial burden.

The Valente name opened doors I never asked to walk through, but I kept my head down and worked as though none of those advantages existed.

None of it mattered to Dante.

To him, I was little more than an inconvenience.

No matter how hard I tried, he remained cold and distant, looking at me as though I were an unwelcome guest who had overstayed her welcome.

In a family where status determined everything, I had none.

No protection.

No influence.

No place at anyone's table.

I was a wife on paper and a ghost inside the compound.

Even on our wedding day, he refused to kiss me.

The ceremony ended, and he turned away without a second glance.

The few times Dante entered my room were always after he had been drinking. Those encounters never felt like affection. They felt like obligation.

Or worse.

A reminder that I was merely tolerated, never cherished.

One night, he stumbled into my room reeking of alcohol, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

The moment I saw him, I already knew what was coming.

"Seraphina," he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Why don't you ever come to my room?"

"You've never asked me to," I replied quietly. "And it's not like you wanted this marriage any more than I did."

He laughed bitterly and crossed the room unsteadily before grabbing my arm.

"You're only here because of my mother. Without her, you're nothing."

The words stung.

Not because they were new.

Because I had heard them countless times before.

"Yes, Dante," I whispered as his grip tightened.

"I know."

The years passed like that.

And I endured all of it because of Vittoria.

She was the only person who had ever shown me genuine kindness.

When an opportunity to study abroad came along, I even turned it down because I feared leaving would disappoint her.

Yet no matter how much I sacrificed, no matter how hard I tried, I could never replace the woman who already occupied Dante's heart.

Camille.

His first love.

His only love.

I was merely a substitute.

A shadow standing where someone else was supposed to be.

That was why, after our argument that night, something inside me finally settled.

Not anger.

Not heartbreak.

Resolve.

My professor's words echoed through my mind.

"The scholarship is yours if you want it."

"Italy is waiting for you, Seraphina."

It wasn't simply an opportunity.

It was a lifeline.

A door opening after years of feeling trapped behind walls I had never chosen.

And for the first time, I decided to walk through it.

To leave behind everything that had been holding me back.

---

The following morning, I joined Dante for breakfast in the dining room of the Valente estate.

He barely acknowledged my presence.

His attention remained fixed entirely on his phone.

Two soldiers stood against the far wall, expressionless and silent, hearing everything while pretending to hear nothing.

Apparently, he had already forgotten everything that happened the night before.

I cleared my throat.

"Dante."

He didn't look up.

"What would you think if I went to Italy for a master's degree?"

Without lifting his eyes from the screen, he waved one hand dismissively.

"It's your decision."

His tone was absentminded.

Careless.

As though I had asked what to order for lunch.

The signet ring on his finger caught the morning sunlight.

He wasn't even fidgeting with it.

I wasn't important enough to make him uncomfortable.

I took a slow breath.

"And since I'll be there for a while..."

I carefully steadied my voice.

"What do you think about getting a divorce?"

For a brief moment, I expected him to finally look up.

To ask why.

To show some reaction.

Anything.

Instead, he simply continued scrolling.

"No problem."

That was all.

No surprise.

No questions.

No hesitation.

Just indifference.

A strange mixture of relief and sadness washed through me.

There it was.

All the proof I needed.

In a world where dissolving a marriage required the Don's direct authorization, Dante agreed to divorce me with the same level of concern he might show when changing a dinner reservation.

He hadn't even noticed that I had stopped preparing his clothes.

Stopped drawing his baths.

Stopped making his bed.

Little by little, I had handed those responsibilities back to the household staff.

And he never noticed.

Not once.

"Okay."

I pushed back my chair and stood.

My breakfast remained untouched.

I had lost my appetite completely.

As I rose, my gaze briefly landed on his phone screen.

A message thread was open.

The contact name was impossible to miss.

My Camille.

The words struck harder than they should have.

Because they confirmed what I had always known.

His heart belonged to her.

His devotion belonged to her.

His world belonged to her.

And it never belonged to me.

Just then, his phone rang.

Camille.

He answered immediately.

After listening for a moment, he said without hesitation,

"I'll be there in a minute."

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

So this is what certainty feels like.

Not relief.

Not peace.

Just clarity.

I pressed my thumb against the callus on my middle finger, worn smooth from years of holding a paintbrush.

The familiar touch grounded me.

Not because the pain had faded.

But because the decision had already been made.

And this time, I wasn't looking back.

After breakfast, I headed to campus for my graduation ceremony, my emotions caught somewhere between pride and an ache I couldn't quite ignore.

That day marked the end of my journey at the Rhode Island School of Design, four years of hard work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication finally coming to a close. Soon, I would leave for Italy and begin chasing the future I had dreamed about for so long.

Yet as I stood among the graduates with my diploma in hand, loneliness found me anyway.

Everywhere I looked, families were celebrating. Parents wrapped their children in proud embraces, couples posed for photographs, and laughter echoed across the campus lawn. It was a day meant to be shared with the people who loved you most.

And I was completely alone.

No black sedan waiting at the curb. No Valente soldiers standing nearby. No sign that anyone from the family had even remembered I existed.

It was as if the name I carried meant nothing to the man who had given it to me.

I forced myself to smile.

"Well, this is nothing new," I murmured under my breath. "No reason to be upset just because Dante didn't come."

I took a slow breath and lifted my chin.

After all, being alone had become a habit.

Fortunately, my professor sought me out afterward and congratulated me personally. He seemed genuinely pleased that I had accepted his patronage offer and insisted on taking me to lunch to celebrate.

"Italy is going to change your life, Seraphina," he said with an enthusiastic smile. "I can't wait to see the artist you'll become."

I smiled back.

"Thank you, Professor."

His confidence in me filled me with hope, and for a little while, I almost forgot everything else.

But on the drive home, uncertainty crept back in.

As the car passed the courthouse, my eyes lingered on the building through the window.

The thought of divorce weighed heavily on my mind.

For a moment, I almost asked the driver to pull over.

The man driving was one of the Family's soldiers, silent and disciplined like all Valente associates. He probably wouldn't ask questions. He might not even understand what I intended to do.

Still, someone would eventually find out.

Someone always did.

Then I thought of Vittoria.

How would she feel if I went through with it?

The thought stopped me.

With a quiet sigh, I decided to wait a little longer.

Almost as if fate had been listening, my phone rang.

Vittoria's name appeared on the screen.

"Seraphina, dear!" she greeted warmly. "Congratulations on your graduation. How about we celebrate with a little shopping?"

A genuine smile tugged at my lips.

"That sounds lovely."

I asked the driver to change directions and return to the compound to pick her up.

When I arrived, she was already waiting near the front steps, impeccably dressed as always. One hand rested lightly against the pearls at her throat, adjusting them in a gesture so familiar it instantly softened something inside me.

Whatever resentment I felt toward Dante, I could never direct toward her.

Despite everything, Vittoria had always treated me with kindness.

When I was with her, I almost felt as though I still had a family.

We spent hours moving from boutique to boutique, chatting comfortably and browsing through luxury storefronts. Vittoria carried herself the same way she carried herself everywhere—with quiet authority.

Store associates hurried to greet her.

Managers emerged from their offices the moment they recognized her.

Espresso appeared before she even requested it.

This was what it meant to be the wife of Providence's most powerful Don.

And for a few brief hours, I found myself sheltered beneath that influence.

While Vittoria examined a designer handbag, I casually checked my phone.

A notification immediately caught my attention.

Camille had posted something new.

She was attending New York Fashion Week.

And standing beside her, smiling for the cameras, was Dante.

Their arms were linked.

They looked exactly like a couple.

The caption beneath the photo read:

*So happy to be here again this year, especially with someone you love.*

My chest tightened painfully.

So that was why he couldn't attend my graduation.

Vittoria must have noticed something in my expression because she turned toward me immediately.

"Seraphina, dear, is everything alright?"

Concern filled her eyes.

I forced a smile and locked my phone screen.

"I'm fine. Did you find something you like, Mom?"

"I did." She smiled warmly before handing me a shopping bag. "And I bought one for you too. I hope you like it."

Emotion tightened my throat.

"Of course I do. Thank you... for everything."

When I returned home that evening, the compound felt emptier than ever.

Dante didn't come back that night.

Or the night after.

The guards changed shifts. The housekeeper continued preparing meals. The Valente household operated with the same efficiency it always had.

Life continued.

As if its heir had never left.

As if his absence meant nothing.

I tried to ignore the unease growing inside me, but it refused to go away.

A few days later, Camille posted again.

This time she was in Paris for Fashion Week.

And once again, Dante was right beside her.

Every photograph showed the same thing.

The same admiration.

The same pride.

The same affection he had never shown me.

The more I looked, the more my stomach twisted.

Against my better judgment, I clicked through every story she uploaded.

One showed Dante attending her birthday celebration at her parents' home.

Another showed him kissing her cheek while keeping an arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Something inside me finally snapped.

"Why don't you just move in together already?" I muttered bitterly.

The anger surprised even me.

But it refused to fade.

The thought kept gnawing at me until I couldn't ignore it anymore.

Suddenly, I grabbed my bag and stood.

My heart pounded.

My decision was finally clear.

I told the driver to take me to the courthouse.

This time, I wouldn't hesitate.

Inside the courthouse, I signed the divorce papers with a steady hand.

My signature looked firm.

Certain.

Final.

As I put down the pen, my thumb pressed against the familiar callus on my middle finger, worn smooth from years of holding a paintbrush.

The small ache grounded me.

No more waiting.

No more wondering.

No more hoping for something that would never come.

I was taking my life back.

---

A few days later, Dante finally returned from Paris.

That evening, I prepared dinner for us.

It was the first meal we had shared in weeks.

I sat calmly at the long dining table, the divorce papers folded neatly beside my plate.

The room had always been too large for two people.

The chandelier cast golden light across the polished mahogany table, illuminating the same room that hosted Family dinners and important meetings. Usually it was filled with captains, advisers, and their wives.

Tonight, it was only us.

And somehow, that silence felt heavier than any crowded gathering.

As soon as Dante sat down, I slid the documents across the table.

He glanced at them briefly.

Then pushed them right back.

"Leave them in my study," he said casually. "I'll look at them later."

I stared at him.

He wasn't even curious.

"You're not going to read them?" I asked quietly.

After everything, that was all I deserved?

Dante sighed and reached for his phone.

"Seraphina, can we not do this right now? I just got back. I'm tired."

"Dante," I pressed, struggling to keep my voice steady, "do you even notice anything anymore? I stopped waiting on you. I stopped acting like the perfect wife. I stopped doing everything you expected me to do."

My throat tightened.

"You barely noticed."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Just because you're throwing a tantrum doesn't mean I have to drop everything. If you're finished, I'd like to eat my dinner in peace."

For a long moment, I simply stared at him.

And finally, I understood.

He sat there exactly as he sat everywhere else in this city—like everything belonged to him and nothing deserved his attention unless he chose to give it.

The light caught the signet ring on his hand.

He wasn't nervous.

Wasn't conflicted.

Wasn't restraining himself.

Because I hadn't mattered enough to provoke any reaction at all.

Slowly, I stood.

The divorce papers felt heavier in my hands than they should have.

Yet strangely, I felt lighter.

"Alright, Dante."

My voice came out almost as a whisper.

"I'll leave them in your study."

I paused briefly.

"But this time... I'm done waiting for you."

Then I turned and walked away.

Inside his study, I placed the papers neatly on his desk.

As I did, my attention drifted to a stack of receipts and financial statements scattered nearby.

The room smelled faintly of leather and cold espresso.

This was where Dante handled the Family's real business.

Ledgers.

Invoices.

Financial records.

Money flowing through countless accounts before eventually landing somewhere clean.

Almost absentmindedly, I glanced through them.

Then my heart sank.

Since Camille's return, Dante's monthly spending had increased dramatically—nearly twenty percent higher than usual.

Each line item felt like another small wound.

Then I found it.

A property purchase.

A new safe house.

I didn't need anyone to tell me who it was for.

On impulse, I grabbed a sticky note from the desk and scribbled a short message across it.

**Make sure you sign it!**

Then I placed it directly on top of the divorce papers.