My husband, Don Augusto Marchetti, was obsessed with cleanliness to the point of madness.

One night, because I had come home exhausted and collapsed onto the bed without washing away the dirt from the streets, he grabbed me and shoved me into a tub filled with disinfectant.

That single act destroyed everything.

I lost our child.

Lying in a pool of blood, barely conscious and trembling from the pain, I called him again and again. I begged him to send a doctor from the Family’s private clinic. I begged him to come save me.

But he was not with me.

He was sitting in a filthy roadside diner, carefully treating a tiny cut on his first love’s hand.

For her, he lowered his head with endless patience, gently wrapping gauze around a wound that barely mattered.

For me, the woman carrying his child, he only said coldly through the phone, “Endure it. It’s just a sterilization process.”

Those words became the last trace of warmth I ever expected from him.

With the last of my strength, I dragged my broken body away and saved myself.

At the Family’s private clinic, I lay alone in the operating room, crying for the child I had lost. No one came. No one told him. Or perhaps he simply did not care enough to know.

After that, I had nothing left.

Yet Augusto still took away the position I had fought for inside the Family’s operation and handed it to the woman he had always protected.

Later, when I was trapped beneath a mountain of blood-debt and had nowhere else to turn, I went to him for help one final time.

He refused me without hesitation.

A single careless accusation from the woman he loved was enough to make him abandon me completely.

They forced me into the sea, and the world believed I had died.

But I was still alive.

Hidden beneath a new name, I watched everything from behind the dark glass of a car.

I watched Augusto Marchetti kneel before my grave.

I watched him shatter a bottle of disinfectant against the stone, press the broken glass into his own chest, and pour the same liquid that once destroyed me over his body.

The man who once treated me like something unclean was now consumed by his own madness.

And I watched silently, buried beneath a name he would never recognize.

……

“Miss Colombo, my condolences. You’re still young. You can have another child.”

The nurse’s gentle voice struck Serafina Colombo like a blade.

For a moment, she couldn’t move.

The child had arrived so suddenly, and left even faster.

She still couldn’t accept that a tiny life had once existed inside her, that she had carried a four-month-old heartbeat, only for it to vanish without ever seeing the world.

Serafina lay on the clinic bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Her body was numb, but the tears kept falling.

They slipped silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her.

On her phone screen was a photo sent by Ceciliana Montanari two hours earlier.

In the picture, Augusto was kneeling beside Ceciliana.

The expensive fabric of his trousers was stained with dust and grime from the roadside, yet he didn’t seem to care. His attention was entirely focused on the small wound on Ceciliana’s leg as he carefully applied iodine to it.

The place was a run-down roadside diner hidden away from the city.

The wooden chairs were cracked, the concrete floor was covered in dirt, and flies circled lazily around the open windows.

A place where no member of the Family would ever willingly step into.

Yet Augusto’s spotless white shirt stood there, completely out of place.

Serafina stared at the photo for a long time.

Then, slowly, she began to remember everything that had happened that day.

Her stomach pain had returned.

At first, she thought it would pass.

She had endured it many times before.

But this time, even the medicine did nothing.

She knew how much Augusto hated dirt and disorder. She knew his obsession with cleanliness had reached an extreme.

But the pain was unbearable.

That was when Augusto happened to return home to retrieve documents needed for a Family meeting.

The moment he entered the room and saw her lying on the bed, his expression darkened.

“You’re still wearing the clothes you wore outside?”

His voice held no concern.

Only anger.

“You went into the city, walked through all that dirt, and came home without washing?”

“You know the rule. Don’t lie down before you clean yourself.”

Serafina wanted to explain.

She wanted to tell him she was in pain.

But she didn’t even have the strength to speak.

Cold sweat covered her forehead, sliding down her pale face.

Augusto didn’t notice.

Or perhaps he simply chose not to.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bathroom.

The sharp smell of disinfectant immediately filled the air.

It burned her nose and eyes.

Serafina’s fingers brushed over the seashell pendant around her neck, the only thing she had always considered truly hers.

Then her hand slowly fell.

“Get inside and disinfect.”

Augusto’s voice was cold and unquestionable.

She opened her mouth to protest.

But another wave of pain tore through her body.

Her vision blurred.

Before she could steady herself, Augusto lifted her and pushed her into the tub.

The cold liquid surrounded her.

The sting spread through her skin.

She struggled weakly, trying to sit up.

But Augusto only looked at her with impatience.

“If you still want to stand beside me in the future, endure this.”

His voice lowered.

“If you can’t even handle something this simple, don’t forget what happened before.”

Serafina’s face instantly changed.

She shook her head desperately.

“Don’t…”

She couldn’t let him say it.

That memory was the wound she had never healed from.

And Augusto knew exactly where it hurt most.

He always knew how to use it against her.

She didn’t know how long she remained in that tub.

The pain grew stronger.

The burning sensation spread through her body.

Then she saw the water slowly turn red.

Blood.

Her blood.

Panic finally overwhelmed her.

Her trembling fingers wrapped tightly around the seashell pendant at her throat.

The only thing she could still hold onto.

“Augusto…”

Her voice was weak.

“Help me…”

But the only response she received was his voice from the phone.

“You’re injured? Is it serious?”

A moment later, his tone softened.

“I’m coming now.”

Then came the sound of the door closing.

Hard.

Final.

“Don’t go…”

Serafina reached out.

But her hand fell before she could touch anything.

With the last bit of strength left in her body, she dragged herself out of the bathroom.

She had to save herself.

She had to save her child.

But she was too late.

Now, back in the clinic, Serafina’s trembling fingers enlarged the photo again and again.

She searched desperately for a mistake.

A detail that could prove she was wrong.

That the man in the picture wasn’t Augusto.

But then she saw it.

The faint scar on his wrist.

A scar she knew better than anyone.

Her heart stopped.

Since Ceciliana returned to their territory, Serafina had endured countless provocations.

She had ignored the whispers.

She had tolerated the comparisons.

She had believed Augusto would never truly abandon her.

But this photo destroyed the last piece of hope she had left.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

Her chest felt as if someone had torn it open.

The pain spread through every bone in her body.

She called Augusto.

Again.

And again.

But every call ended with the same cold mechanical message.

“The number you dialed is temporarily unavailable…”

Serafina closed her eyes.

She couldn’t forgive him.

Not this time.

Not for their child.

Because once, Augusto had been the only person who saved her from darkness.

When her father’s blood-debt nearly destroyed their family and the creditors were preparing to sell her as repayment, Augusto stood between them and her.

For protecting her, the tendons in his hands were cut.

When she was forced to abandon her studies and locked away to wait for a marriage arrangement she never wanted, Augusto broke through the window and took her away.

He worked day and night, struggling to support her, just so she could return to her books.

When he first built his own power within the Family, the first thing he did was clear her family’s debt.

Not for profit.

Not for reputation.

Only because he wanted her to live freely.

For seven years, he had been her shelter.

Her salvation.

Her entire world.

But everything changed after Ceciliana returned.

The man who once loved her enough to fight against the world now became the person who hurt her the most.

Serafina could forgive neglect.

She could forgive coldness.

She could even forgive him choosing someone else.

But she could never forgive him for abandoning their child.

She raised her hand to wipe away her tears.

Only then did she realize there were no tears left.

Her heart had already gone numb.

Ignoring the doctor’s orders, Serafina left the clinic.

In their world, severing a bond was never simple.

Sometimes leaving meant choosing death.

Sometimes cutting away the person you loved most meant cutting away a piece of yourself.

But some ties were never meant to remain.

Not after they had cost her everything.

By the time Serafina returned to the safe house Augusto had prepared for her, night had already covered the city.

The windows were dark.

No lights were on.

Augusto had not returned.

A small sense of relief surfaced in her heart, but it was quickly replaced by a dull ache she could not ignore.

She stepped into the bedroom and slowly smoothed the wrinkles on the bed.

A quiet laugh escaped her.

Augusto had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even cleaned up the room he once treated like a sacred place.

Every corner of this house had once reflected his obsession with purity. Every surface had been wiped spotless, as if the slightest trace of dirt from the outside world was unbearable.

But now, everything was different.

She finally understood.

Ceciliana was the person who mattered most to him.

Serafina stood there for a long time before moving again.

Without expression, she removed the sheets and blankets from the bed and placed them into the washing machine one by one.

Then her eyes fell on the bathtub.

The bloodstains left behind earlier were still burned into her memory.

The water had once been clear.

Then it had turned red.

It looked like a mouth opened by a monster, laughing at her years of patience and sacrifice.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.

Then she walked over and emptied the tub.

She watched the water disappear, pretending that the pain and memories would disappear with it.

But some wounds could not be washed away.

Serafina returned to the bedroom and opened the photo album that held their past.

The first picture was taken on a beach under the golden sunlight.

In the photo, Augusto was kneeling in the sand, carefully writing the words:

“A lifetime for two.”

She remembered how happy she had been that day.

She remembered the warmth of his hand holding hers.

She remembered believing that moment would last forever.

But now, the same picture felt like a cruel joke.

Without hesitation, Serafina tore the photo from the album.

Then another.

And another.

Until every memory they had created together was reduced to pieces scattered across the floor.

The couple rings.

The gifts.

The souvenirs they had collected during their years together.

Everything that once carried warmth now felt like a burden.

She threw them all away.

Finally, Serafina opened the drawer and took out a bank card.

The money inside came from years of managing the Family’s legitimate businesses and hidden accounts.

Not too much.

Not too little.

Exactly five hundred thousand dollars.

Augusto had once cleared her father’s blood-debt with the syndicate’s creditors.

For years, she had thought that debt represented his love.

But now she understood.

It had also become a chain around her heart.

A chain that made her feel she could never truly leave him.

Tonight, she was finally removing it.

She didn’t want to owe Augusto anything anymore.

Not money.

Not gratitude.

Not love.

The cleanest ending between them was one where no debts remained.

Serafina contacted a cleaning crew and asked them to completely clean the house from top to bottom.

Every corner.

Every trace.

Everything had to be restored to the spotless condition Augusto once demanded.

This was the last thing she would do for him.

After that, she sent him a single message.

Then she dragged her suitcase out of the house.

She never looked back.

Her fingers briefly touched the seashell pendant around her neck.

The last thing connecting her to the past.

Then she let go.

At the roadside diner, Augusto finally turned his phone back on after charging it.

The screen immediately lit up with countless notifications.

More than fifty missed calls.

Over a hundred unread messages.

His brows furrowed as he opened the conversation.

But the first thing he saw was a short message from Serafina.

[Let’s end this.]

His expression froze.

He scrolled upward.

The messages above were all from her.

The location of the clinic.

The voice recordings.

Her trembling cries.

Her desperate pleas for him to come.

Her voice carried a fear he had never heard before.

For a brief moment, Augusto’s heart tightened.

But almost immediately, he dismissed the feeling.

He convinced himself that it was just another way for Serafina to gain his attention.

She had done similar things before.

Hadn’t she?

Still, as he looked through the messages again, he had to admit one thing.

He had been too harsh that day.

Since she had finally reached out, perhaps he should stop being so cold.

He took out the small bottle of disinfectant he always carried.

After applying a drop to his fingers, he quickly typed a reply.

[Stop acting stubborn. I’ll bring your favorite strawberry cake home tonight.]

His finger hovered above the send button.

Then Ceciliana leaned closer with a playful smile.

“What’s wrong? You look distracted. Did you argue with your girlfriend?”

Augusto immediately locked his phone screen.

He forced a calm expression.

“It’s nothing. Just some unnecessary trouble.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he froze.

For some reason, every time Ceciliana mentioned Serafina, guilt flashed through him.

Almost as if he had betrayed the person he used to be.

The man who had once loved Ceciliana with all his heart.

Outside the window, heavy rain began to fall.

The sound reminded him of countless nights from the past.

Serafina hated thunderstorms.

Whenever lightning tore through the sky, she would cling to his wrist and refuse to let go until she fell asleep.

Was she afraid now?

Was she hiding beneath the blankets, waiting for him to come back?

The thought appeared before he could stop it.

But he quickly pushed it away.

He didn’t want to be the one who cared more.

His finger stayed above the screen for several seconds.

Then he deleted the message.

He told himself she only needed time to calm down.

After a few days, she would realize she couldn’t live without him.

She would return like she always did.

After all, he was the Don.

People always came back to him.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

A faint smile appeared on Augusto’s face.

He removed his coat and placed it over Ceciliana’s legs.

He looked like a gentleman protecting someone precious.

But he never knew that, while he turned up the car’s heat for Ceciliana, Serafina was sitting alone beneath a bus shelter nearby.

Shivering in the rain.

Waiting for nothing.

He had already missed his final chance.

The cold wind cut through her coat, slicing into her skin.

Serafina looked down at her phone.

Only one hundred eighty dollars remained in her account.

With shaking fingers, she searched for the cheapest motel she could find.

Somewhere far away.

Somewhere the Family would never think to search.

The rain soaked through her clothes.

Her breathing became heavier.

A flash of lightning tore across the sky.

She instinctively curled up, fear taking over her body.

The phone slipped from her frozen fingers and fell onto the wet pavement.

“Do you need help?”

A young man picked up the phone.

He wiped away the mud covering the screen before gently returning it to her.

The familiar voice made Serafina’s body stiffen.

She slowly raised her head.

For a moment, she wanted to run.

She forced herself to stand.

But exhaustion overwhelmed her.

The world spun.

And before she could take another step, darkness swallowed her completely.

She collapsed into the cold rain.

Augusto pushed open the door and, as always, reached for the small bottle of sterilizing alcohol placed near the entrance.

He poured a drop onto his fingers and rubbed it carefully into his skin.

The familiar scent filled the room.

Yet something felt wrong.

The house was too quiet.

There were no soft footsteps approaching him.

No gentle sound of slippers dragging across the floor.

Augusto lowered his gaze.

Serafina’s little bunny slippers were gone.

“Serafina?”

Only silence answered him.

His brows tightened as he loosened his tie, a trace of annoyance flashing across his face.

“Working late at the collection again?”

He knew her too well.

Serafina had always poured herself into the Family’s art collection. Even though he had enough wealth to let her live comfortably for the rest of her life without lifting a finger, she had never wanted that.

Once, he suggested she give up the work.

That single sentence had caused their biggest argument.

Serafina had stood in front of him, telling him how much the collection meant to her, how it was not something she could simply abandon.

After that, Augusto never mentioned it again.

He let her keep the world she loved.

Thinking back to the filthy roadside diner from earlier, the sticky tables, the dirty floors, and everything he had touched, discomfort crawled beneath his skin.

He needed to wash.

Immediately.

Without hesitation, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

But when he stepped into the bedroom afterward, something strange caught his attention.

The framed photo on the nightstand had been turned upside down.

Augusto frowned.

He picked it up.

The frame was empty.

His expression changed slightly.

He walked quickly toward the wardrobe.

The few coats Serafina often wore were missing.

For a moment, his heart skipped.

Then he laughed quietly.

“Did she run away again to cool off?”

He shook his head.

The message she sent earlier came back to his mind.

They had fought before.

She had left before too.

But every time, she came back.

In the end, hadn’t he always fixed everything?

A gift.

A few words.

A little patience.

That was enough.

The faint scent of citrus perfume still lingered in the room.

A scent that belonged only to Serafina.

Somehow, it calmed him.

Before long, Augusto fell asleep.

But at 3:40 in the morning, a nightmare dragged him awake.

His clothes were soaked with sweat.

After changing, he instinctively reached toward the other side of the bed.

His fingers touched only cold sheets.

The moment of contact cleared his mind completely.

Serafina never stayed out overnight.

Never.

Even when they argued, she would always be the first to compromise.

She would send him messages.

Tell him where she was.

Tell him when she would return.

But this time, there was nothing.

Augusto grabbed his phone and opened their conversation.

The only message left was:

[Let’s break up.]

Nothing else.

His expression darkened.

“What did I do this time?”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Was it because he forced her to disinfect herself yesterday?

Or because he ignored her anger afterward?

Since when had Serafina become so unreasonable?

He typed a message.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Deleted it again.

Finally, with impatience, he pressed send.

[Come home when you’re finished acting childish.]

The response came almost instantly.

A red exclamation mark appeared.

The message failed.

Augusto froze.

A strange uneasiness spread through his chest.

He called her.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Every call went unanswered.

The cold mechanical voice echoed through the room.

“The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…”

On this stormy night, that voice sounded colder than ever.

Still refusing to believe anything was wrong, Augusto reached toward the bedside lamp.

His fingers touched something beneath it.

A note.

A bank card was placed on top, holding it down.

The words written on the paper were simple.

“What I owe you: 500,000.”

Only six words.

But the final stroke of the pen had torn through the paper.

Augusto stared at it.

Suddenly, a memory from two years ago returned.

The night the creditors came for Serafina’s father’s blood-debt.

The night they cut off her father’s pinky as punishment.

Serafina had knelt on the freezing ground, crying until her voice broke.

Her entire body had trembled.

And he had promised her.

He promised he would never let her face that kind of pain again.

A chill ran down Augusto’s spine.

He grabbed his phone and immediately called the people handling the Family’s accounts.

“Serafina?”

The person on the other end hesitated.

“She came by yesterday.”

“She cleared her name from the accounts.”

Augusto’s grip tightened.

Panic finally began to spread.

No money.

No position.

No support.

Where could she possibly go?

He searched through his contacts and found a number he had not called in years.

“Sorry for disturbing you this late.”

His voice was unusually tense.

“Is Serafina with you?”

After a brief silence, the answer came.

Relief slowly replaced the fear in his chest.

“We had a small disagreement.”

“I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”

The permission was granted.

A faint smile appeared on Augusto’s lips.

He had worried for nothing.

He had underestimated her.

There was no way Serafina could truly leave him.

No one walked away from him that easily.

With that thought, Augusto finally closed his eyes.

And slept peacefully.

Meanwhile, Serafina slowly woke to a cold hand touching her forehead.

Her blurry vision gradually cleared.

A familiar face appeared before her.

Dante Ricci.

Augusto’s old blood-brother.

They had grown up together, fought together, and survived countless battles side by side.

“Don’t worry.”

Dante’s voice was calm.

“You collapsed suddenly, and your phone was dead. I brought you somewhere safe.”

“Rest here tonight.”

Serafina’s body was weak.

Her mind was still heavy.

But the moment she recognized him, caution returned to her eyes.

Her fingers instinctively wrapped around the seashell pendant at her throat.

Dante noticed.

He wanted to say something.

But the words stopped before they left his mouth.

His thumb brushed once over the faded scar on his forearm.

Then he lowered his hand.

Serafina thanked him politely.

Then she lifted the blanket, put on her coat, and prepared to leave.

“You’re still too weak.”

Dante watched her stubborn movements.

“Should I call Augusto to pick you up?”

The moment his name was spoken, Serafina stopped.

Her voice was cold.

“We’re already over.”

“Please don’t mention him again.”

After saying that, she walked toward the door.

Dante did not stop her.

Instead, he simply handed her an umbrella.

“Take this.”

Serafina looked outside.

Rain was still pouring heavily.

Remembering how coldly she had treated him, her expression softened slightly.

“Thank you. I’ll return it.”

Dante placed a card into her hand.

“I saw your evaluation of the collection last month.”

He paused.

“Even without Augusto, your talent is worth recognizing.”

Serafina looked down.

The card carried the name of the Ricci Family’s gallery.

The same gallery responsible for handling the works of the mysterious artist Arturo.

She hesitated.

Arturo.

A name she had admired for years.

His paintings always carried a strange vitality.

Butterflies breaking free from their cocoons.

Young figures diving into endless oceans.

Every piece seemed alive.

As if the artist wasn’t simply painting the world, but revealing hidden emotions buried inside people.

Serafina had always trusted her own understanding of art.

Her judgments had earned respect from many painters who preferred to remain anonymous.

But Arturo was different.

She had never dared to interpret his work publicly.

He never appeared before anyone.

No one outside his inner circle had ever seen his true identity.

Every painting he released carried only one signature.

A single uninterrupted brushstroke.

The Family considered it the only proof of authenticity.

For years, Serafina had dreamed of understanding the deeper meaning behind his paintings.

And now, this might be her only chance.

“If you decide, call me anytime.”

Dante looked at her.

“Or come directly to the gallery.”

After a long silence, Serafina accepted the card.

Dante stood by the window after she left.

A cigarette burned between his fingers.

The room slowly filled with smoke.

He picked up his phone and sent Augusto a short message.

[I’m back.]