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.]

The rain slowly faded into a light drizzle.

Serafina wandered through the empty streets without direction.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She only followed the warmth glowing from the small shops along the road, drawn by the scent of freshly baked bread and the steam rising from the windows.

By the time she realized where she was standing, she was already in front of her father’s storefront.

This small shop had always been one of the Family’s quieter businesses.

On the surface, it sold ordinary bread and pastries.

Behind the scenes, it carried another purpose.

In the back kitchen, Carlo Colombo was kneading dough and preparing fillings.

When he heard footsteps outside, he didn’t turn around.

“It’s still too early. The pastries aren’t ready yet. Come back later.”

But the person outside didn’t leave.

After a few seconds of silence, Carlo finally looked up.

The moment he saw her, he froze.

Then disbelief and joy flashed across his face.

“Serafina…”

He quickly wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and walked toward her.

He looked nervous, almost like a child who didn’t know what to do.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining so heavily. Come inside quickly. You’ll catch a cold.”

Serafina wanted to leave.

Her first instinct was still to turn around.

But her feet refused to move.

She stood there quietly.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Carlo lowered his head.

His thumb rubbed against the back of his hand, picking at his skin.

It was the same habit he had whenever guilt overwhelmed him.

Only then did Serafina notice how much he had changed.

The man who once seemed strong enough to protect the entire family now had silver mixed throughout his hair.

She remembered when she was young.

She had once owned a happy family.

But everything collapsed after her mother became seriously ill.

That rainy night had never left her.

The sound of the door being kicked open.

The debt collectors breaking into their home.

Her mother choosing to end her own life rather than continue carrying the unbearable pressure.

Her aunt dragging her away, demanding she become a bargaining piece for a marriage arrangement.

For years, hatred had lived inside Serafina.

Hatred toward her aunt.

Hatred toward her father.

And most of all, hatred toward the helpless girl she used to be.

But no matter how deep the resentment was, one truth remained.

The man standing before her was her last family.

The only person connected to her by blood.

In their world, blood was the only bond that could never be completely erased.

Serafina finally sighed.

A tired breath.

But to Carlo, it sounded like forgiveness was finally within reach.

He rubbed his hands nervously and looked at her carefully.

“I’m exhausted.”

Serafina’s voice was quiet.

“I just want to sleep.”

Carlo’s eyes immediately brightened.

“Of course. Of course.”

He stepped aside quickly.

“I’ve cleaned your room every day.”

“I always thought maybe one day you would come back.”

“I’ll wake you when your favorite pastries are ready.”

Serafina only responded with a soft hum.

She walked upstairs.

But before disappearing, she glanced back once.

She saw Carlo quickly wipe away the tears at the corner of his eyes.

She turned away.

She didn’t want to see anymore.

Her phone rang moments later.

Carlo noticed the sound and immediately lowered the volume, afraid it would disturb her.

Then he walked outside into the rain before answering.

By the time the call ended, his expression had changed.

Pain flashed across his face.

His lips moved slightly.

There were words he wanted to say.

But in the end, he swallowed them.

Only his heavy breathing remained.

Serafina woke to the sound of the old washing machine downstairs.

Her fingers unconsciously touched the card inside her pocket.

The card Dante had given her.

After lying there for a long time, she finally made a decision.

She called.

After applying a little makeup and changing into a pair of heels, Serafina walked downstairs.

Carlo stood by the door.

Dark circles showed beneath his eyes.

He hesitated before speaking softly.

“Be careful.”

Serafina opened her mouth.

But no words came.

After a moment, she simply nodded.

Carlo watched her leave.

He didn’t turn away until the car disappeared from sight.

At that exact moment, Augusto arrived.

He stepped out of his car, wiping his hands with a disinfectant cloth.

As usual, he carefully cleaned every finger.

A drop of sterilizing alcohol crossed each knuckle.

He walked past the vehicle leaving the street.

Separated by only a car window.

He never saw her.

“She just left?”

Augusto looked toward the disappearing car.

He covered his nose with a handkerchief, frowning at the dust left behind.

Dante’s message still lingered in his mind.

Something felt wrong.

In their world, survival depended on sensing danger before it arrived.

The silence before violence.

The calm before bloodshed.

Augusto was about to ask Carlo to pass a message to Serafina.

Then his phone rang.

Ceciliana.

“Arturo’s gallery is searching for a new curator again.”

Her voice carried excitement.

“I was so disappointed last time because I missed meeting him when he was sick.”

“This time, I can’t miss it.”

“You’ll come with me, right?”

Augusto answered without hesitation.

“Of course.”

With the Montanari family supporting her, obtaining the position would not be difficult.

But that was not the reason he agreed.

What he enjoyed was the feeling of being needed.

Meanwhile, inside the gallery.

The atmosphere was quiet and elegant.

This was one of the Ricci Family’s most important fronts.

Here, wealth moved through paintings instead of weapons.

Every brushstroke carried hidden value.

Dante sat across from Serafina, carefully reading her proposal.

“Bound by the cocoon, expressing a free soul.”

His finger tapped lightly against the table.

His voice was calm.

But the moment Serafina heard those words, her body froze.

Memories returned instantly.

The curator selection.

The competition between her and Ceciliana.

The final vote that had ended in a tie.

The final decision had belonged to the silent investor.

Augusto.

She remembered the day she handed him her proposal.

She had spent countless nights studying Arturo’s work.

Every painting.

Every hidden meaning.

Every possible interpretation.

She had rewritten the proposal again and again, hoping to create something perfect.

She knew she was being selfish.

She hoped that even if Augusto tried to remain fair, a small part of him would still choose her.

But he didn’t.

He chose Ceciliana.

His cold announcement destroyed everything.

Ceciliana’s laughter.

The whispers around them.

The mocking voices.

“So fair-minded.”

“You just don’t want your precious Ceciliana to work too hard, right?”

Augusto accepted those praises calmly.

His eyes never left Ceciliana.

That was the first time Serafina walked away without caring about his feelings.

Later, when Augusto found her, he didn’t apologize.

He didn’t comfort her.

He only said:

“She’s more suitable than you.”

The memory still burned.

Her anger surged.

And just as a cup of hot coffee nearly spilled onto her clothes, Dante reached out and steadied it.

“Careful.”

He handed her a tissue.

Serafina quickly thanked him.

She looked down at the stain and frowned at herself.

Dante noticed her discomfort.

“Someone will clean it soon.”

“Don’t worry.”

Then he returned to the proposal.

“Your interpretation of Arturo’s work is different.”

“But it is also the closest to what he wanted to express.”

“I believe this exhibition is in capable hands.”

Serafina’s eyes stung slightly.

So this was what genuine recognition felt like.

Not because of her relationship with someone.

Not because of her family name.

Simply because of her ability.

During the gallery tour, the pain in her feet gradually worsened.

The heels had already rubbed her skin raw.

When no one noticed, she quietly bent down and pressed her swollen ankle.

At the end of the hall stood the final piece.

A painting hidden behind a deep red curtain.

Dante slowly pulled the curtain aside.

Serafina noticed a faint scar on his wrist.

A thin mark left by a sharp object.

His thumb brushed over it once.

Then stopped.

“This is the centerpiece of the exhibition.”

“Arturo’s unreleased work.”

“Breaking Net.”

The canvas revealed golden-white roses blooming across the surface.

Fine golden threads extended from the petals, spreading outward like a beautiful cage.

In the corner was a single unbroken brushstroke.

The signature only the Family recognized.

The only proof of Arturo’s identity.

“Why is it called Breaking Net?”

Serafina asked.

Dante didn’t answer.

He only smiled.

“Look closer.”

Serafina frowned and stepped forward.

She adjusted the angle of the spotlight.

When the light shifted, dark green vines slowly emerged from beneath the roses.

They wrapped around the flowers.

Hidden branches stretched through the gaps.

A trapped beauty.

A struggle for freedom.

Dante looked at her with admiration.

“It seems choosing you for Arturo’s exhibition was the right decision.”

Before Serafina could answer, a cold voice suddenly cut through the quiet room.

“Serafina?”