After the IV finished, I felt even dizzier. I took a few steps down the corridor and almost stumbled, catching myself against the wall where the fluorescent light hummed above a faded print of the Madonna.

Dominic still hadn't returned. No calls, no messages.

Reluctantly, I decided to call him first to avoid any misunderstandings. When he heard I was still at the clinic, he paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Bianca. I planned to come back for you right after taking Serafina home, but her stomach started acting up, so…"

Before he could finish, I overheard a waitress in the background. "Sir, your dishes are all served. Please enjoy your meal!"

Though Dominic quickly covered the receiver, I'd already heard it all.

"It's fine. I'm on my own. I can manage."

I said it to reassure myself and to reassure him.

Just as I was about to hang up, he suddenly called out my name. "Bianca, just head home. I'll explain everything later."

Explain what, exactly? Just more lies to string me along.

I ended the call without a word and arranged for a driver to take me back to the apartment. The car moved through the city's streets, past blocks that belonged to the Marchetti territory, past restaurants where soldiers ate for free and shopkeepers never called the police. I watched it all slide past the window and felt nothing.

But that night, Dominic didn't come back.

Kept awake by the fireworks outside, I pulled out my tablet and resumed sketching custom jewelry designs for a client. The work steadied my hands when nothing else would. While working, I accidentally brushed the chat app in the lower right corner and a new post from an hour ago appeared.

It was from Serafina: a beautiful shot of fireworks bursting against the night sky, captioned with poetic words:

"After half a lifetime away, I return to you. And here, the fireworks bloom, a welcome in all its glory!"

I stared at the post for a long time, only realizing when I tried to log out that the chat app was still logged into Dominic's account on my tablet. I felt uninterested in prying into their flirtations. I simply logged out of the app.

The next morning, feeling somewhat refreshed, I arrived at the studio on time. The workshop sat on a quiet block three streets outside Marchetti territory, a space I'd chosen deliberately. In here, no one knew whose woman I was. No one cared.

The manager held my resignation letter and when she heard I was going back home to get married, she looked both happy and wistful.

"With you leaving, I'm losing one of my best team members."

Unsure of what to say, I gave her a hug and thanked her for all the support over the years.

After completing the formalities, my colleagues heard the news and insisted on a farewell meal to celebrate my upcoming wedding. I didn't decline and booked a table at a restaurant Dominic and I frequented. It was one of the few restaurants I knew and the food was genuinely good. A Family-connected place, white tablecloths and heavy curtains, the kind of establishment where the owner greeted certain guests by name and never presented a bill unless asked.

Halfway through the meal, I excused myself to go to the restroom, only to run into Serafina.

She greeted me warmly. "Didn't expect to see you here, too! You know, this was the restaurant Dominic first brought me to back before he took over the Family. We've come here so many times."

I gave her a polite smile and was about to leave, not considering our relationship close enough for small talk. But she didn't seem to feel the same. Just as I was about to go, she stopped me again.

"I noticed last time that Dominic always rinses the shrimp in water before peeling it for you. Do you also not eat spicy food?"

The word also made me pause for a moment.

The truth is, I do enjoy spicy food. But every time Dominic peeled shrimp for me, he'd insist on rinsing it in water. He always said it wasn't good for a girl to eat too much spice.

I had always thought he was looking out for my health.

But now, I realized it was simply a habit. My right hand drifted to the ring on my thumb. I turned it once, slowly. Then stopped.

The one who didn't eat spicy food. The one he was thinking of. It was Serafina.

Seeing that I was silent, she tilted her head slightly, carefully studying my face.

"I've wanted to say this since the first time we met. Don't you think we look very much alike, little sister?"

In that moment, I had never felt such humiliation and disgrace. Under her triumphant gaze, I could only flee in panic.

Back in the private room, my colleagues' warmth began to thaw my icy blood. Just as I was about to cast aside that unpleasant encounter, the door to the room swung open.

Seeing the two full tables of people, Dominic froze for a moment, then locked eyes with me. I could see the restrained anger in his gaze, though I couldn't understand why. The noise in the room died the way it always did when he appeared. Forks stilled. Conversations went unfinished. The two tables of associates sat straighter without thinking, because that was what the body did in the presence of the Marchetti name.

He clenched his fists before finally calling my name, ordering me outside. Puzzled, I followed him out, only to be met with a hard slap in the corridor.

It was the first time he had ever hit me.

As I stared at him in disbelief, he showed no sign of guilt or hesitation. Just pure fury. His thumb had been running along the edge of his jaw the whole walk out, and I hadn't recognized the warning for what it was.

"Why did you push Serafina? You knew she had a twisted ankle. I told you I'd explain things when we got back, but you just had to handle it so harshly?"

My cheek burned with pain. The hallway of the Family-owned restaurant was empty, the overhead lights casting hard shadows against the dark wood paneling. Somewhere behind the kitchen doors, a plate clattered, and then nothing. Even the staff knew better than to be present for this.

In the distance, Serafina hobbled toward us, her blouse rumpled, stained with water and dirt. Just as I opened my mouth to explain, she fell to the ground with a dramatic thud.

Without a second thought, Dominic pushed past me and rushed over, cradling her in his arms.

"I told you I'd bring her over to apologize to you. Why did you come out here?" he said. Though his words sounded reproachful, his voice was filled with tenderness.

With tears in her eyes, Serafina shook her head at him. Her fingertips drifted to her collarbone, pressing there as if she needed steadying. "It's not a big deal. She didn't do it on purpose. Don't be so hard on her."

"If her brother finds out you hit his sister, it might hurt the bond between you two," she added.

At the mention of Marco, a strange expression crossed Dominic's face. The Valente name still carried weight he couldn't ignore, even now. But his resolve returned as he looked back at Serafina.

"Her brother entrusted her to me, so it's my duty to correct her when she's in the wrong," he said firmly.

I laughed bitterly and couldn't resist asking, "What exactly did I do wrong? Even in court, you need solid evidence to convict someone. Haven't you thought about how unfair it is to judge me and even lay hands on me without understanding the truth?"

Dominic clenched his fists, glaring at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom, so you thought you could act without consequence."

I felt both amused and stung by the injustice.

"If there are no cameras, then how can you be sure it was me?"

"Why would Serafina wrongfully accuse you? She must have a reason, right? Besides, I've known her for years. She's not the kind of person who lies."

"And I am?" I asked, my voice barely hiding the bitterness.

After seven years together, I thought he would trust my character, if nothing else. But I was wrong. In front of Serafina, even seven years meant nothing. One word from her was all it took to convict me, leaving me without a chance to defend myself.

It was blatant favoritism, a glaring display of partiality. And I, in the end, was nothing more than a stand-in, a replacement with nothing to offer. Seven years inside the Marchetti world, and my word carried less weight than that of a woman who had been gone from it for most of them.

I turned my ring slowly with my thumb. The small gold band on my right hand, the one I'd worn since I was a girl. It rotated once. Twice. Then stopped.

Seeing no point in arguing further, I turned to leave, ignoring Dominic's furious commands to stay.

With the mark of his slap still on my face, I didn't want to ruin my associates' evening, so I chose not to return to the private room. Instead, I went to the front of the restaurant, settled the bill, and sent them a message:

"Something urgent came up, so I had to leave. Enjoy the meal and drinks. It's on me."

Dragging my exhausted body back to the safe house, I took a long, detailed look at this place where I'd lived for the past seven years.

Every corner held memories of Dominic and me. Once so beautiful, now stabbing into my heart like a thousand sharp blades. The kitchen counter where he'd stood behind me, arms around my waist, teaching me to fold pasta dough. The hallway where I'd waited up past midnight, listening for the sound of his car pulling into the garage. The bedroom doorway where he'd lean, watching me sleep, thinking I didn't know.

I found a large cardboard box and, unable to sleep, spent the night erasing those remnants of happiness.

There were the matching house slippers with our initials stitched inside, the pair of espresso cups that nested together when you turned them just right, the twin Saint Christopher medals he'd had blessed at the same church on the same day. And a whole box of photographs and Polaroids. These were once the only proof of our relationship, especially in those times when I felt insecure. No public dinners. No Family gatherings. No seat beside him at any table that mattered. Just these small, hidden things in a house nobody knew I shared with him.

Now, there was no need for any of it.

Dominic didn't come home for half a month. In that time, apart from finishing my design drafts, I nearly cleared out the entire house. I even disposed of the furniture I'd chosen myself, leaving the place as it was when I first moved in. Black and white, so minimal that you could see the entire room in a single glance. No warmth. No evidence. As if I had never existed here at all.

The night before I left, I thought I should at least say something to Dominic, so I called him. But every time I dialed, he kept rejecting my calls. After a while, he sent me a message.

"If you haven't realized your mistake and aren't genuinely ready to apologize to Serafina, then I don't think there's any reason for us to speak."

I smiled bitterly. Well, if that's the case, then we won't speak. My thumb turned the ring on my right hand, one slow rotation. Then it stopped.

Early the next morning, I headed out with my suitcase for my flight.

As I left what was once my warm and cherished home, I felt nothing but overwhelming relief. The lock clicked behind me with a sound so final it could have been a door closing on a crypt. I did not look back. There was nothing left inside that place worth looking at.

Just before boarding, my phone buzzed with countless birthday messages. Some wished me great success, some wished me peace and happiness, and some wished me a blessed marriage with a wonderful partner.

After replying to each one, I turned off my phone.

As the plane took off, I thought to myself: I will be happy. With so many blessings, I knew I would be. Below me, the city shrank to a grid of lights, and somewhere in that grid, in a compound I would never enter again, Dominic Marchetti did not know I was gone.