On the drive to the city, I scrolled back through the group chat.

The wedding preparations had apparently started a month ago, roughly when Julian and I had last seen each other.

The thread was wall-to-wall flattery and showing off.

"Selena, is that gown really from a Milan designer? It's stunning!"

"The groom has such a presence. He really does look like a Don."

I almost laughed. Julian had a decent face, but his presence was nothing special. He was a second son who'd climbed up on my family's coattails.

Three years ago, our family needed to open up a freight corridor. Sandro had looked at a dozen small crews and landed on the Moretti. The eldest son was already married, so they sent their second boy, Julian, as the offering.

The first time I met him, he'd shaved clean, wore a faint hint of cedarwood cologne, and had a face that was, genuinely, very good.

He'd arranged 999 fresh tulips flown in from Holland, plus a sapphire necklace, the very symbol of a Donna. Not even the eldest brother's Donna had received one.

The Moretti family was serious.

I accepted the necklace. That meant I accepted him.

We'd built real trust over the years, and I'd given him plenty to work with.

Recently, family business had reached a critical turning point, and I'd had to step away to handle it personally. That must have been when he started having second thoughts.

Someone in the chat asked Selena how their love story started.

Her pride practically bled through the screen. "He said he knew I was the one the moment he first saw me. Said I was beautiful, feminine, exactly his type. He's always buying me the most expensive dresses — says he loves seeing me in nice clothes and heels, that it's sexy. He wants me to be his perfect wife."

And the most disappointing thing about him was that he'd completely forgotten who he was.

Among the photos Selena had shared, there was a skiing shot.

Someone gasped: "Is that a private ski slope?" It was. A place Julian couldn't have touched before the alliance.

There was another photo, taken at the estate I'd bought after our marriage. Selena was on Pony, my white horse, while Julian led the horse for her, gentle as anything.

Everyone in my world knew: no one touched Pony. He was mine.

Julian had already crossed every line there was.

What I had valued most about Julian when I chose him as a husband was his sense of boundaries. He'd proposed on one knee, eyes steady. "You have a depth to you that I want to spend my life discovering. Your light is unlike anything I've ever seen and you are the person I admire most. I hope I may have the honor to become Miss Costanzo's husband."

He'd said he wouldn't insult me with roses, so he flew in black tulips from Holland. Only the rarest, proudest flower was worthy of me.

After we married, whenever we couldn't meet in person, he called every night without fail, good morning and good night. He knew I was particular about food, so he'd taught himself to cook and sourced every ingredient personally.

None of that was required in an alliance marriage.

I'd tried to give something back — that was why I'd gone to the trouble of having those cufflinks made.

But a second son is still a second son. He wasted all that effort in exactly the wrong direction.

These past weeks while I was occupied, Julian had volunteered to look after Pony for me and had apparently used that time to arrange dates with his woman.

Fortunately, we'd never gone public with the marriage, kept it private for operational reasons, so ending it would be just as clean.

Julian, apparently anxious at my silence, sent another message. "Ava, hope I'm not bothering you. Maybe I could bring the food to you? I've been missing you."

My driver said quietly, "Miss, we've arrived."

I typed back to Julian: "No rush. We'll see each other very soon."

The address Selena had posted was already dressed up when I arrived: red carpet rolled out from the door, a pink-and-white balloon arch framing the entrance, flower arrangements lining both sides.

I looked up and saw the banner: "Welcome, Don Moretti~"

Selena's sidekick Casey was working the door. She spotted me, held my gaze for two seconds, then gave a small contemptuous smile. "Ava? You actually showed."

I nodded. "Here I am."

She turned to call over the old cheer squad crowd. "Look who it is!"

But they were too busy fawning over Selena to hear her.

"Selena, how powerful is your husband, really? Is it true all the casinos in the state belong to him?"

"Look at those vintage cars — you don't just get your hands on things like that."

Casey jumped in loud: "He's a Moretti Don. A single move and you're talking nine figures. None of us are supposed to know the details."

Selena smiled like a flower and played modest. "You're all my closest friends — of course you can ask me anything."

It sounded warm. It was charity.

I stood at the edge of the room and waited for her to finish.

Casey suddenly perked up. "Selena, guess who's here?"

Selena turned. Her eyes landed on me.

"Well. You finally decided to come witness my happiness."

I smiled. "I did. A bet's a bet — I came to see just how well you married."

Linda, standing beside her, sniffed. "Ava, what are you wearing? Were you actually planning to borrow one of Selena's dresses?"

Dylan snickered. "I know you've always been all brawn — but are you actually doing manual labor now? Still, you could've made an effort."

I straightened my charcoal blazer. "Dressed for work."

In our world, the people in evening gowns were the ones without power.

Selena let them have their say, then put on a warm expression as though reuniting with an old friend. "I did say I'd find her something to wear. Even if she'd dressed up, she still couldn't touch what I'd have given her. You don't have to pretend you don't care anymore, Ava. Although, God, have you put on weight? I'm not sure my dress would even fit."

I looked at her with mild amusement. "I'll stay in this. It's practical."

I didn't wear dresses to anything. When I walked into a room, I was the rule, and this blazer was cut to move.

At that point, a man walked over with a drink in hand: Mr. Gray, our old teacher. He had half the hair I remembered and twice the gut.

He made straight for Selena and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Selena, I always knew you'd land here. Half the boys in our class were half in love with you back then."

Selena looked down with a modest smile.

Mr. Gray kept going. "And that's the truth — a woman's greatest weapon is exactly what you have. Take care of your looks and everything else follows. Look at you now. Who could say they've done better?"

He flicked a glance at me.

The classmates around us caught it and started smirking.

Selena just looked at me, satisfied. She didn't say another word.

Then her expression shifted, subtle but there, as her eyes moved to the window and landed on my car parked under the trees.

Dylan caught the direction of Selena's gaze and elbowed Sara.

"Whose car is that?"

Sara squinted. A black matte-finish sedan sat in the shade.

Casey went over, peered at the hood ornament, and made a dismissive sound. "What off-brand piece of junk is this? Pulling up to Selena's wedding in that?"

Annie laughed. "The paint's so faded — did someone pick it up secondhand?"

That was my father's Lancia Thema, his signature car. It looked its age, but the armor underneath was the latest and the best. It was what the Costanzo name meant: strength that didn't need to announce itself. Any mafia member would take one look at that car and think twice about who was sitting inside.

Selena stared at it a long time.

Then she pushed through the people in front of her and walked toward me on her heels.

She stopped directly in front of me, raised her hand, and slapped me across the face.

The sound cut through the room.

My head jerked to one side and my cheek burned. Has this woman lost her mind?

She went to swing again. My expression went cold and I caught her wrist without much effort.

"Selena, what are you doing?"

I applied pressure. No mercy.

"You—!" The sound she forced out was strangled. She yanked her arm back with everything she had.

"That car belongs to Julian! I've been in it! What the hell are you to him?"

She spun around, grabbed her clutch from a bridesmaid, pulled out her phone, swiped a few times, and shoved it in everyone's faces.

"I knew he had a mistress on the side! And it's you! You had the nerve to drive this car here and rub it in my face!"

The photo showed her leaning against Julian's shoulder in the back seat of that same car. Another had her posing at the hood.

Same plates, same car. Julian had borrowed it a few times and said he was running an errand, needed the security.

Right. He'd wanted to show off in front of his woman. Too bad Selena had no idea what she was looking at.

Casey was first to shriek: "Oh my God, Ava, have you no shame?"

Sara looked me over like I was something dirty. "No wonder she's never posted photos all these years and never comes to reunions. She was hiding something."

Selena pressed her lips together, chin lifted slightly, eyes going red.

Dylan made a show of pulling out his phone and pointing it at me. "I'm posting this everywhere. Let everyone see exactly what kind of trash you are."

I took a slow breath. "That car—"

Before I could finish, someone pushed through from the back of the crowd, unassuming and out of place. He walked straight to the car, looked at the emblem, then knocked once on the window. His expression subtly shifted.

"This car — I don't think it belongs to the Moretti family."

So someone did recognize it.

Sara looked at him sideways. "Who are you?"

Selena's expression turned sharp.

"He's my uncle from out of town. Doesn't know much."

She shot him a look.

"Even if it's not a Moretti family car, can't Julian own his own car? Don't make things up."

She turned her glare back to me.

"Or are you taking her side?"

The man's voice got urgent. "No — this car is—"

He stopped himself.

His eyes shot to me, wide and suddenly sweating, and the conviction drained right out of his voice.

"I — I must have been wrong."

He'd recognized the car. But I hadn't spoken, so he didn't dare say the rest.

Mr. Gray cleared his throat at Selena's shoulder.

"Ava, I've taught all kinds of students. But you genuinely disappoint me."

"I'll be calling the principal to have your photo taken down from the alumni wall."

"I'm not anyone's mistress."

I knew how weak that sounded, but I couldn't expose the marriage, not here, not before I'd cleared the board.

"Then explain to everyone how you're driving another man's car."

"That's what a side piece does — lies without even blinking."

Selena's eyes were hard. "You're not walking out of here until you explain yourself."

The crowd picked it up immediately. "That's right — she doesn't get to just leave."

She stood there in her white dress, playing the wronged saint. And somehow she'd managed to make me, the actual wife, look like the villain.