It was the last day before the gala. One more day of pretending. One more day of smiling through emptiness.

I wrapped a scarf around my hair, pulled on my coat, and made my way to the main hall to double-check the placement cards. The compound was quiet at that hour, the soldiers on the night shift still posted at the perimeter gates, the ones who worked days not yet arrived. That's when the door creaked open behind me.

Serafina. Her smile was different. Too sharp, too polished, like glass reflecting light. No audience this time. No Donna Ferrante. No Nico. Just us. And when it was just us, Serafina's sweetness disappeared entirely.

She stepped inside as if the room belonged to her. "Up early, huh?" she said, voice dripping with mock cheer. "Still playing the perfect little worker bee? How admirable of you."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. I knew who she was when no one was watching.

It wasn't new. I remembered her breaking my favorite porcelain doll and screaming that I had pushed her into the cabinet. I got grounded; she got a new dress. I remembered sneaking cookies because of her and taking the blame when we were caught while she walked away praised for her honesty.

Even as we grew older, she whispered cruel truths disguised as jokes:

"Nico only married you for the alliance."

"You'll always be second-best, Bianca. Doesn't matter whose blood runs in your veins."

It never ended. No one ever believed me when I spoke up. I was always the liar. The ungrateful one. The burden.

Maybe leaving the couple who had raised me with care, the ones who kissed my bruises and tucked me in, was a mistake. But they were gone now.

I had hoped coming to my real Family would mean belonging somewhere. I was wrong.

Serafina crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway. "I need you to do something," she said, crisp and commanding. "Don't go to the gala tomorrow."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she said, stepping closer and pulling an envelope from her coat. "Ticket's in here. One-way. To a villa in the countryside, far from anyone who matters. A whole week. You like peace, don't you?"

She placed the envelope on my dresser like it was an offering. "You don't need to ruin the gala. Stay away from Nico while you're at it. You're not right for him, Bianca. Never were."

There it was. Her true voice. Cold. Entitled. Cruel.

"I know what you saw," she added softly. "It doesn't matter. You're still married… for now. But it's only a matter of time."

I studied her, really studied her, and for the first time, I didn't flinch. I didn't bend.

"You don't need to worry," I said, calm and steady. "After tomorrow, you'll never have to see me again."

Her eyes flickered. "Good."

I walked out without another word.

That night, I sank into a long bath, lavender steam fogging the mirror, my mind, my thoughts. Exhaustion wasn't from the work or preparations. It was from pretending, from silencing myself. Somewhere beyond the bathroom walls, I could hear the muffled voices of soldiers changing shifts at the gate, the low idle of an engine in the courtyard. The compound never slept. I was the only one trying to.

When I stepped out, robe around me, hair towel-dried, the door slammed open.

Donna Ferrante appeared, fury in every motion. Her fingers were already at the crucifix at her throat, working it between her fingertips. She hurled something at me. A gown. Beaded, emerald green.

"What the hell is this?" she snapped. Then she tossed a delicate velvet box, which hit the floor and spilled its contents: a broken gold chain, emerald pendant shattered.

I stared. "Is… is this yours?"

She crossed her arms. "Serafina said she saw you near my room. Did you do this?"

"I… I didn't," I whispered, still frozen on the broken emerald.

"Liar," she hissed. "Serafina saw you. You've always envied what isn't yours. And now you destroy it?"

"I didn't—" My voice caught. "I swear, I didn't touch it."

That was all it took.

A sharp crack echoed through the room. My head jerked.

She had slapped me. Hard.

The sting spread across my cheek, ears ringing. Not from the pain, but from her words.

"I should've left you with the peasants who raised you!" she shrieked. "You think you're one of us? You never will be. I regret claiming you as my daughter. Serafina is my only child."

I froze, her words settling like stone in my chest.

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound traveled through the compound walls, and I knew the soldiers posted in the corridor had heard everything. They always heard everything. They never said a word.

I stood there, trembling, the box still in my hands, heartbeat thudding like a drum.

A soft knock came.

Serafina stepped inside. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching for me.

I recoiled, instinctively, but she drew closer, her false warmth brushing against my arm.

"You know," she whispered, her voice coated in sisterly sweetness, "maybe she's right. No one really loves you. You're just… extra."

Her words cut deeper than any slap.

Something inside me broke.

I shoved her.

My hands shoved Serafina, and for a brief second, she teetered back, eyes wide with shock. I hadn't meant to push her that far. It wasn't even a strong shove. But true to form, she made it a performance.

"You little—!" she hissed, lunging at me, nails aiming for my hair.

Before I could react, she had grabbed a fistful, yanking my head violently to the side. Pain lanced across my scalp as I struggled, clutching her wrist, trying to free myself.

"Enough!" I shouted, shoving her back again.

She scratched me. Sharp, burning lines marked my cheek and neck. We stumbled backward, grappling like feral children.

"What the hell is happening here?" Nico's voice boomed as he stormed in.

Serafina melted into tears instantly. "She hit me! Look what she did!" she whimpered, holding up a faint red line on her arm.

"She attacked me first!" I shouted, pointing at my torn shirt, messy hair, and the small trickle of blood on my cheek.

Nico didn't hesitate.

"Bianca, what is wrong with you? Are you insane?"

"She started it!" I yelled, desperation in my voice. "She provoked me! She said—"

"Shut up," he snapped, the word cutting like a whip. "God, you're pathetic. Always the problem."

I froze as Serafina sniffled behind him, clutching her staged injuries. One of the soldiers posted in the corridor glanced in through the open door and looked away just as quickly. In this house, no one saw what the underboss didn't want seen.

Nico's eyes locked onto mine, colder than I had ever seen. "You're nothing compared to Serafina. Elegant, composed. And you? Just a bitter, messy shadow."

The room fell into a heavy silence. The kind that follows betrayal—weighty, permanent. He didn't even check on me.

I am his wife. And none of it mattered anymore.

That night, I cried myself to sleep. The scratch on my cheek throbbed, but the ache in my chest was far worse.

The next morning, Nico asked me to accompany him shopping for the gala. I agreed. For the last time.

At the boutique on Via Castellana, the strip of high-end storefronts the Ferrante Family had quietly owned for two generations, he draped a hand lightly on my lower back, as he always did in public, as if to show care. As if he hadn't spent the previous night in someone else's arms. The shopkeeper greeted him by name and waved the other customers to the back. No one kept a Ferrante waiting.

He browsed suits and luxury gifts, while I followed behind, silent, detached. My phone buzzed. Gianna.

"Who's that?" Nico asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he reached for my phone.

I pulled it back, holding it close. "Do you really need to read my private messages?" I asked, arching a brow.

His jaw tightened, but he stepped back. I watched his tongue press briefly along the inside of his lower lip before he spoke. "Enough with the phone. We're heading home soon."

Once back at the compound, he excused himself, claiming a sit-down with one of the capos.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I moved quickly. Into the study. The room still smelled faintly of cigar smoke and old leather, the shelves lined with ledgers no outsider would ever touch. I opened the hidden safe behind the bookshelf and retrieved the hospital report from my miscarriage. The one no one mourned with me.

I slid it into an envelope, added the signed divorce papers, and finally, our wedding ring.

Sealing it carefully, I called a delivery service to send it to Nico during the gala.

Then, I took one last walk through the compound. Wiping down every surface I touched. Deleting my fingerprints from the smart lock. Leaving the keys neatly on the dining table. Every trace of me erased.

My thumb pressed slowly against the inside of my ring finger, against the bare skin where the band had sat for three years. The indent was still there. It would fade. Everything else already had.