When Serina returned home, Danica—who was supposed to have left—was still there.

Not wanting to share any more glances, Serina lifted her foot to leave—but Danica called after her.

"Sister, I have nowhere else to go, so I'll just stay here for a while. You won't mind, right?"

Serina's expression remained flat. "Do as you please."

Seeing the redness on her face, Danica's eyes glimmered with barely hidden triumph.

"But I haven't been sleeping well, so I'll need the master bedroom," she added, her voice growing more audacious.

Serina paused at her audacity, then lifted the corners of her lips with a faint, icy smile. "Suit yourself."

Without another word, she returned to the master bedroom to pack her things. She had no reason to waste time lingering in one room—she was leaving soon anyway.

As she packed up, she noticed the exquisite gifts displayed in the closet—tokens Valerio had given her over the years. She had once treasured them as symbols of love. Now, they only seemed glaring and empty.

After quickly tidying up the bedding, Serina moved to the guest room.

She was just about to lie down when Valerio entered.

He applied ointment carefully to her swollen face, then wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"She wants the master bedroom. I'll sleep here with you," he murmured, lying down with her without waiting for a reply.

To any outsider, he seemed like a devoted, attentive partner. If she hadn't seen through his mask, she might have been fooled.

Feeling the hypocrisy of it all, she tried to pull away—but he held her tighter.

It wasn't until the middle of the night that she could finally close her eyes.

At dawn, the pounding of heavy rain pulled her from sleep. She instinctively reached behind her, only to find the space beside her empty.

The man who once held her through the night was gone.

She got up and went to the master bedroom. Through the slightly open door, she heard wet, intimate sounds and a woman's soft moans.

Her fingers curled against the doorframe as she hesitated to turn away—then a sudden thud echoed from within.

The box she had once placed in the master bedroom had been knocked over, its contents spilling across the floor.

The couple on the bed paid it no mind, lost in their fevered embrace.

That box had held the nine hundred and ninety-nine love letters Valerio once wrote to win her heart. She could still recall his delighted, tender smile as he handed them to her. Now, those vows of devotion lay scattered like meaningless scraps.

Serina’s gaze lingered on the scattered love letters until a chill seeped through her bones. Only then did she turn and leave.

She had barely slept that night. When she woke up again, Valerio was gone.

Heading downstairs for breakfast, she came face to face with Danica once more.

Danica’s eyes gleamed with provocation as she tugged her collar lower, exposing a trail of fresh kiss marks.

“Sister,” she said with a mocking smile, disdain flickering in her gaze, “I’ve just arrived in Sicily and don’t know my way around yet. Would you mind taking me out for a walk?”

"Find someone else. I have something to do," Serina intoned coldly.

After finishing her words, Serina turned to leave—but just as she reached the door, her phone rang. It was Valerio.

“Serina, take Danica out for a while. Don’t keep staying at home.”

When she turned back, Danica was already holding up her own phone, grinning at her provocatively.

Serina ended the call in silence, then walked over. “Where do you want to go?”

Danica smirked. “That’s better. Otherwise, I’d have to call Val again.”

The overly intimate way she addressed him made Serina’s gaze darken.

Ever since coming to Sicily, Valerio had introduced himself to outsiders only as Salvatore. For three years, she had known his real name alone.

But now...

Her lips curved in a cold, mocking smile. Without another word, she got into the car with Danica.

...

Sunlight poured down warmly, streaming through the streets of Palermo.

At the dock, Danica suddenly spoke. "Sister, you go ahead—I want to explore by myself."

The afternoon sun scorched the stone streets. Serina felt like she might melt from the heat. By the time she returned home, her skin was red from the sun.

Opening the door, she was met by Valerio's stormy expression.

"Serina, what did you do to Danica?"

Serina looked up, confused, and saw Danica cowering behind him.

She looked like someone had doused her with liquid. Her hair was wet and clinging to her face, clothes soaked and hanging loosely, looking utterly pitiful.

Danica sniffled, eyes wide with false grievance. "Sister got mad because I took her room, so she dragged me to the dock, poured wine on me, and even wanted to..."

She bit her lip, struggling to say it.

Valerio's brow furrowed. "Wanted to do what?"

"She... called a group of fishermen to try to assault me!" She gestured to her torn clothes and shot Serina a smug smile.

Watching Danica's tears fall, Valerio's hand at his side clenched suddenly, veins standing out along his forearm.

Serina knew—he was feeling pity for her.

Sure enough, the next moment, Valerio cast a deep, lingering glance at Danica before forcing himself to look away.

He wrapped his arm around Serina's shoulder, the pressure so intense it felt as if he were crushing her bones.

"Serina," his voice low and hoarse, "Danica saved my life. No matter how you feel about her, you can't treat her like this."

Serina's eyes froze with icy disdain. "You believe whatever she says?"

Unaware of her fury, Valerio continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Baby, you went too far this time. Next time, don't do this again."

She opened her mouth to retort—but a dull pain shot through her knees.

A bodyguard pressed her down forcefully, kicking her already injured leg with stiff leather shoes.

"Baby," Valerio said, holding her chin, "you've broken the rules. Normally, you'd lose a finger for this—but I can't bring myself to do it. So I'll let you endure a few lashes instead."

It was only then that Serina realized the truth: this wasn't about belief or trust. Valerio couldn't stand seeing his little mistress feel wronged, so he used her as a scapegoat.

The whip sliced through the air with a shrill crack. Serina arched her back in pain, biting her lip to stifle a scream.

Her clothes shredded, revealing the twisted, angry wounds beneath.

Through gritted teeth, she watched the man in front of her comforting Danica with tender words.

Danica, in his embrace, tilted her chin up, eyes full of provocation.

In a haze, Serina recalled her first year in Sicily—before she had agreed to Valerio's pursuit.

At a family gathering, one of his trusted men tried to approach her, sliding a hand to her waist. She had struck him in anger.

Valerio saw and simply smiled, helping her handle the situation despite the pressure from the family elders.

"My woman, whatever she does is right," he said.

The mafia admired violence. Back then, he praised her courage. Now, for Danica's side of the story alone, he publicly whipped her.

Time passed in a blur until Danica's voice rang out in a shrill cry:

"Oh! So much blood!" She pointed at Serina's battered back. "Val, stop punishing her! She didn't mean it!"

Valerio held her closer. "I knew Danica had a kind heart."

With a wave of his hand, the whipping finally stopped.

Watching them flirt and laugh, Serina felt darkness creeping into her vision.

Clenching her teeth, she struggled to her feet, limping out the door.

The man who had once promised never to let her suffer didn't spare her a single glance.

That night, she lay on her bed, awkwardly applying ointment to her back.

Valerio suddenly entered, snatching the ointment from her hands and tending to her wounds. His expression of concern seemed genuine this time.

The cooling ointment eased the pain, but seeing his hypocritical face, Serina felt only cold emptiness.

He brushed her tears away with his fingertips, soothing her. "I know you've been wronged. I planned to make you kneel and apologize to Danica—but we'll skip that this time."

"Apologize on my knees to her?" Serina's eyes were red, her voice incredulous. "Valerio, have you lost your mind?"

"That's the rule," he said, pressing her struggling body down. "I've been lenient enough. Don't make it difficult for me."

Serina didn't want to hear any more. Tears streamed down her face as she pointed toward the door, her voice hoarse. "Get out. I don't want to see you."

Sighing, Valerio spoke in resignation, "Serina, calm down. Don't leave the house these days."

He turned to leave. Four bodyguards took their place at the door, effectively placing her under house arrest.

In the middle of the night, a bag of freshly harvested shells was thrown in front of her.

"The boss said Miss Anderson was frightened and sleepless, so you must craft a pearl bracelet to make amends."

The salty, fishy smell hit her nose. Serina lowered her gaze and let out a bitter laugh.

These shells had been privately cultivated by Valerio for her, nurtured by the sea for three years to produce the roundest, most beautiful pearls.

And now, he expected her to hand them over to another woman as compensation.

Without gloves or tools, Serina pried open the shells with her bare hands.

The hard shells cut her fingers, leaving streaks of blood—but she barely felt it, continuing her self-inflicted punishment.

Not every shell contained a pearl. She pried open ninety-nine shells before gathering enough to make a single bracelet.

By dawn, she dragged her exhausted body to hand the bracelet to the waiting bodyguard.

"Tell Salvatore and his little mistress—don't come bother me again."

After a long night of work, Serina was just about to rest when Valerio pushed the door open, whisking her off to the casino.

She sat at the table, her eyes cold and detached, watching the couple entwined nearby.

Seeing them flirt with each other once again, she felt nothing—not a flicker of anger, not a pang of jealousy—just icy emptiness.

The man nicknamed "Fox" swayed over with a glass in hand, his gaze roaming her body.

"Madam, did you make the boss angry?" he said with a wicked grin, suddenly lunging forward, pressing her down beneath him.

Laughter erupted around them, meaningless and mocking. Valerio frowned, ready to intervene—but Danica wrapped an arm around his neck.

"Val, don't worry about her. Let's continue," she purred, her voice sultry, and just like that, Valerio's attention shifted away.

A bone-chilling cold washed over Serina as she caught sight of Danica's proud smirk.

Emboldened by the boss's indulgence, Fox became even more brazen, shamelessly reaching for her chest.

The mafia revered family honor above all; no one had the right to violate the boss's wife or her dignity.

In the past, someone had dared to grope her thigh while drunk. The next day, Valerio had that man drown in cement.

And now, for a few words from Danica, Valerio allowed his subordinate to tear at her clothes?

The sound of the camera shutter stabbed at her heart like knives, each snap twisting her blood into ice.

No matter how she struggled or shouted, Valerio didn't spare her a glance.

One hand clutched the gun hidden at her waist, the other pressed firmly over her chest. Her eyes met Fox's, hard and ruthless.

If he dared another step, she wouldn't hesitate to take them both down.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest. Serina gritted her teeth, about to draw her gun and reveal her identity, when a sharp voice cut through the chaos:

"Fox!"

Startled, he immediately retreated.

Valerio, a dark mark of a kiss still on his neck, glared at her with shadowed eyes.

Serina's grip on her gun slowly relaxed, and she gasped for air, hastily adjusting her clothes.

She struggled to her feet, staring at the smug Danica beside her. Her voice trembled with cold fury, "Is that enough?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Watching her resolute back, Valerio felt a pang deep in his chest, a sour, inexplicable ache.

He wanted to chase her, but a glance at Danica clinging to him made him stop.

"Val, is Sister angry with me?" Danica sniffled, nestling into his embrace.

Valerio's Adam's apple bobbed, unusually slow to respond. After a moment, he said hoarsely, "It's not your fault. She made a mistake and deserved punishment."

That very night, Fox was assassinated at the docks. His body remained there overnight and was only discovered the next day.

Valerio was completely unaware of this. He was busy dressing Serina in a stunning deep-red gown.

"Happy birthday, my love," he said.

Only then did she remember—it was her birthday. She followed him into the banquet hall in a daze.

Valerio had spared no expense: the walls were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gilded reliefs, and every detail screamed opulence.

Officials and politicians cast envious glances at her.

"The Mafia Lord Salvatore is truly devoted to his wife," someone murmured.

But to Serina, the words rang hollow, dripping with bitter irony.

Halfway through the banquet, a sudden gunshot shattered the lavish atmosphere.

The banquet hall erupted into chaos. Serina stumbled through the confusion, forcing her way toward the exit. Through her blurred vision, she caught sight of Valerio rushing out. Her heart leapt, clinging to him like a final lifeline.

But his path wasn’t toward her—it veered in the opposite direction.

Following his gaze, she wasn’t surprised to see Danica, shielded on all sides by bodyguards.

In the midst of danger, no one protected her—even though she was the one who bore the title of Valerio’s wife.

Her heart plummeted again.

"Bang!"

Another gunshot rang out, striking the chandelier above.

The massive crystal fixture crashed down, hitting her back with a crushing force, pinning her to the floor.

Bloodied and battered, she lifted her eyes to see Valerio in the distance, cradling the terrified Danica, not sparing her a single glance.