Within 30 days, Niccolò Romano and I registered for divorce 18 times.

The first time, Niccolò's adopted sister stole my research results, but he hired a lawyer to fight for her.

Afterwards, he held me and coaxed, "If something happens to Lia, no one will dare to hire her in the future. I'm just helping her."

The second time, while my plane was in distress, he was traveling around the world with Lia.

His tone was helpless: "Lia has depended on me since she was little. I only look after her like a younger sister."

The last time, Lia was pregnant with a child no one would claim, and he took responsibility for it.

Faced with my accusation, he just sighed, a bit tired: "Lia's career is just starting to take off. If someone blackmails her with the child, her life will be ruined."

"You're a woman too. Can't you understand?"

This time, I didn't cry or make a scene.

Instead, I calmly signed my name on the divorce agreement that he had signed in a fit of pique some time ago.

Then I called my professor: "I've thought it over. I'm willing to go with you to Iceland to do research."

The call from Zurich came while I was sealing the divorce agreement.

Adrian sounded relieved. “Elena, you’ve decided?”

“Yes.”

“And Niccolò knows?”

“He doesn’t need to.”

After a brief silence, Adrian said, “The clearance papers will be sent within the hour. Private departure is set for the day after tomorrow. Once you arrive, the trust office will handle the rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Elena,” he added, softer now, “this is a real position, not a refuge.”

I looked at the leather sleeve in my hand.

“I know.”

After the call ended, the documents arrived one by one: flight clearance, entry papers, the Zurich trust contract. I checked each file, then locked the agreement in my drawer.

For seven years, I had lived as Niccolò’s wife only behind closed doors. I had accepted it once, believing secrecy was temporary.

Then Lia came back, and every promise became another excuse with her name attached.

The glass door opened behind me. Niccolò came in from the terrace with tobacco on his coat and reached for me as he passed, but I stepped away before his hand touched my waist.

His expression darkened.

“Still angry?”

I said nothing.

His gaze moved to the drawer I had just closed.

“What did you put away?”

“Documents.”

His mouth tightened around my name. “Elena.”

I had once loved the way he said it. Now it mostly sounded like a warning.

He drew a breath, pressing down his impatience.

“What happened tonight was necessary.”

“Was it?”

“The Vitales would have dragged Lia into that contract if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“So you announced her as your fiancée.”

“I stopped them from taking her.”

“You gave her my place.”

His eyes went cold.

“No one knows that place is yours.”

For a second, his expression shifted; then he looked away.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But it’s true.”

On the desk beside him lay the draft statement his consigliere had prepared.

Niccolò Romano and his fiancée, Lia Bellini.

No mention of me.

I looked at it. He followed my gaze, and his expression tightened.

“Don’t start.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t have to.” His voice sharpened. “That statement keeps the Vitales away from her. If the wrong person questions it, the whole arrangement falls apart.”

“So I stay erased.”

“For now.”

Before I could answer, his phone lit up with Lia’s name. Niccolò looked at the screen, then at me, as if he wanted permission he knew he would not wait for.

He answered anyway.

Her voice came through weak and trembling. “Nick? They’re still outside. They said they won’t leave until you make it official.”

“I told you I would handle it.”

“Are you really going to say it publicly?”

“Yes.”

“And the child?”

His jaw tightened.

“The child is mine.”

The line went quiet. Then Lia began to cry again, softer this time.

“Thank you. I knew you wouldn’t abandon me.”

Niccolò ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“It’s temporary,” he said before I could speak. “Once the Vitales back off, I’ll fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Us.”

He said it as if us were another matter to be settled after the family business was done.

I looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“I understand.”

Niccolò frowned. “You understand?”

“Yes.”

His eyes searched my face. He was used to tears, accusations, slammed doors. He knew what to do with anger, but this calm left him with nothing to answer.

“Elena, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re fine.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

I smiled faintly.

“Then what do you want me to do?”

He had no answer.

I picked up my coat from the back of the chair.

“Go ahead, Niccolò. Announce her. Marry her if that is what the family needs.”

His face changed.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

He stared at me as if I had spoken in a language he did not know.

“You’re not going to fight?”

“No.”

Because the fight was already over.

I did not answer. I only smiled.

Niccolò watched me for a moment, impatience settling into his face.

“So now you won’t even speak properly?”

I lowered my eyes to the documents.

“Elena, I’ve explained this. Lia is temporary. The Vitales are watching her, and if I don’t step in, they will take her.”

“Have I treated you so badly these seven years? How long do you plan to keep this up?”

Before he could finish, his phone lit up again.

Lia.

Niccolò glanced at the screen, answered, listened for less than half a minute, then picked up his coat.

At the door, he looked back at me.

“Think whatever you want. If you’re so determined, have your lawyer send the separation papers.”

The door closed behind him.

I looked at the document sleeve on the table and almost laughed.

Not again.

I would not send him another set of separation papers, and I would not leave him another chance to undo them. The real divorce agreement was already in escrow with my Zurich lawyer.

Not long after, San Carlo Club called.

“Mrs. Romano, should we still prepare the private room for your birthday tonight?”

Only then did I remember.

Today was my birthday.

For seven years, Niccolò had always taken me to San Carlo on this day. Our marriage could not be seen in public, but that private room had belonged to us: no council members, no guards by the table, no one reminding me to stay invisible.

Every year, he poured the first glass of wine himself and told me that one day he would celebrate me in front of everyone.

I had believed him once.

Because he had once made it easy to believe. After the Palermo ambush, I spent weeks waking from nightmares, unable to sleep unless the lights stayed on. He moved his work into my room, changed my bandages himself, and sat beside the bed every night until I stopped shaking.

That was the man I had waited for.

“Prepare it,” I said.

When I arrived, the table was already set. Dark red roses, silver candlesticks, wine breathing in crystal. A small cake sat beside the flowers, untouched and perfect.

Later, Niccolò sent a message.

I’m checking on Lia. I’ll come later.

I replied with one word.

All right.

I waited until deep into the night.

The food was taken away cold. The candle burned low. The waiter came in several times to ask whether I wanted to keep waiting. In the end, I cut the cake myself and took one bite.

It tasted sweet.

It simply meant nothing now.

Close to midnight, Adrian called.

“Elena, have you seen the statement from the Romano family?”

Before I could answer, the news appeared on my screen.

Niccolò Romano publicly acknowledges Lia Bellini as his fiancée at the Bellini Foundation gala.

In the photo, Niccolò stood beneath the lights, pinning the Romano black-gold brooch to Lia’s dress while guests raised their glasses around them, as if witnessing a match that should have happened long ago.

So he had not been unable to come tonight.

He had gone to the more important celebration.

Adrian’s voice dropped. “There’s another statement.”

I opened it.

Regarding the old harbor ledger, the Romano family formally clarifies that Ms. Lia Bellini never misused or stole any documents. The person who altered the ledger and misled the council was Elena Voss.

The words were brief.

They were enough to bury me.

The private-room door opened then.

A waiter came in with the last glass of wine. His eyes moved from my face to his phone, and his expression changed.

“Miss Voss?”

He no longer called me Mrs. Romano.

Someone in the next room heard the name. A young woman in a black dress walked in soon after.

“So you’re the woman who altered the ledger and tried to blame Miss Lia.”

She stopped in front of me, her face full of disgust.

“How dare you sit here?”

The next second, champagne splashed across my skirt.

Cold wine soaked into the fabric.

I did not move. I did not explain.

I paid for the untouched room, stood, and walked out with champagne drying on my skirt.

No one stopped me. By then, everyone had already decided what I was.

By the time I returned to the Romano house, champagne had dried stiff against my skirt and dawn was already breaking.

Niccolò came in not long after, still in the tuxedo from the Bellini Foundation gala, his bow tie loosened and the scent of smoke and expensive perfume on his coat. He stopped when he saw me sitting in the front room.

“You’re still awake?”

I looked at him and said nothing.

One of his men placed a small velvet case on the side table before leaving. Niccolò pushed it toward me.

“For your birthday,” he said. “Old-cut sapphires. You used to like them.”

I opened the case. Inside was a pair of sapphire earrings, beautiful and cold, with the Bellini Foundation auction tag still tucked beside them.

I closed it again.

“You bought them at the same gala where you announced Lia as your fiancée.”

His face hardened. “They’re for you. Don’t make it uglier than it is.”

“I saw the statement.”

That finally made him pause.

I placed my phone on the table. The Romano family’s words were still on the screen, clean and final: Lia Bellini had never touched the harbor ledger. The person who altered the records and misled the council was Elena Voss.

Niccolò glanced at it once, then looked away.

“You were not supposed to find out like this.”

“There was a better way to tell me you made me a thief?”

“Do not use that word.”

“What should I call it? Strategy?”

“The Vitales were at the gala,” he said, already losing patience. “If Lia stayed exposed, they would use her to take the Bellini Foundation apart. I shut that door before they could walk through it.”

“With my name.”

“With a name I can protect.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Your reputation will take a hit. I can contain that. Lia’s situation is different.”

“There it is,” I said. “The calculation.”

“This family survives because I calculate.”

“And I survive because you assume I’ll pay the cost.”

“The council is holding a briefing this morning,” he said. “Donors, banks, the Bellini board. You will say the ledger revisions were yours. Poor judgment, not malice. I will make sure no charges follow.”

I almost laughed. “You want me to ruin my name politely enough that Lia’s stays clean.”

“I want you to help me stop a war.”

“You want obedience.”

His eyes sharpened. “I want you to remember Palermo.”

The word landed between us like a blade.

Palermo had once been the reason I forgave him. Now he had placed it on the table like another debt marker.

I stood.

“Fine.”

Relief crossed his face before he could hide it.

“But after today,” I said, “you never use Palermo against me again.”

His expression changed. “Elena—”

“No. This is the last thing I give you.”

The briefing was held at ten in the Bellini Foundation hall. Everything looked civilized: marble floors, white flowers, bank representatives, council members, and lawyers lined against the walls. Lia stood beside Niccolò in a pale dress, the Romano black-gold brooch fastened over her heart.

Niccolò spoke first.

“The Romano family regrets the confusion surrounding the old harbor ledger. Ms. Bellini has been placed under unfair suspicion, and today we intend to close the matter.”

Then he looked at me.

“Elena.”

I walked to the front. Cameras flashed despite the request for discretion. Niccolò leaned close as I took the microphone.

“Keep it simple,” he murmured. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Once, I might have believed him.

“The harbor ledger was prepared under my supervision,” I said. “Unauthorized changes were made before it reached the council. Responsibility for that rests with me.”

A low murmur moved through the hall. Lia lowered her eyes. Niccolò’s shoulders eased.

I gave him the sentence he wanted.

“Ms. Bellini should not have been accused for work she did not submit.”

Then I turned to him.

“Niccolò Romano saved my life in Palermo. For seven years, I mistook gratitude for a reason to stay.”

His face froze.

“Elena.”

I set the microphone down.

“That debt is paid.”

He reached for my wrist, but I stepped past him.

“Elena, not here.”

I looked at him once.

“There is no private place left for us.”

Adrian was waiting by the doors with my travel documents. I walked toward him without looking back.

Behind me, Lia began to cry softly, and Niccolò said my name like an order.

For the first time in seven years, I did not obey.