After the argument, the rain did not let up.

Mabel was staring at the curtain of rain, lost in thought, when her Consigliere, Henry Lester, hurried in.

"Donna, we've just received word. The Don has sent her to Saint Laurent Manor."

The hand holding her wine glass tightened abruptly.

That place?

Saint Laurent Manor: the residence Anthony had spent three years building, specially commissioning a designer to create it for her.

"And…as soon as she moved in, she smashed up the dressing room in your master bedroom.

"She said your custom crimson gown looked like blood. It frightened her…and might disturb Mr. Zachary's spirit."

Henry was still choosing his words when Mabel lifted her eyes.

"So?"

"She cut the dress to pieces," he said, unable to look at her. "Laid it in the dog kennel. She said only dogs could drive away evil spirits."

Was that really about not disturbing the late Zachary's spirit?

That was nothing more than grinding her face into the ground, a blatant declaration of dominance.

"Prepare the car."

"But the Don specifically instructed—"

She shot him a cold glance.

"I said, to Saint Laurent Manor."

…

Mabel's car smashed straight through the manor's front gate, screeching to a halt in front of the main house under the stunned gaze of the Soldati.

"Donna! You can't—"

"Move."

She pushed the doors open and walked straight in, her black coat whipping violently in the rain.

The fireplace was blazing. Cheryl, wrapped in Anthony's oversized shirt, was curled up on the sofa. At her feet lay a prized hunting dog.

Beneath the dog was a heap of shredded crimson velvet.

The gown was a masterpiece hand-stitched by one of Italy's finest tailors. Now it was matted with dog hair and stains.

When she saw Mabel storm in, radiating killing intent, the girl jolted in fright.

The Rottweiler lunged forward to protect its owner, barking wildly, fangs bared.

Mabel's eyes hardened.

A silver butterfly knife slid into her palm.

The dog howled and fled, tail tucked tight.

"Blood! It's bleeding!"

Cheryl screamed, clutching her head, but Mabel caught her wrist before she could spiral into another episode.

She grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and pressed the blades against the girl's temple.

"I hear you love Zachary so much you'd do anything for him. Cutting up my gown for a kennel isn't enough?"

Her voice was calm, almost amused.

"Why don't I shave your hair and make another cushion out of it?"

"No! Help! Anthony! Save me!"

Anthony was not coming.

She had checked before arriving. At this hour, he was negotiating a weapons deal worth hundreds of millions.

Just as she was about to cut the first lock of hair, someone attacked her from behind.

A close-quarters disarm technique.

She had no time to react. Her shoulder dislocated with a sharp jolt. The scissors flew from her hand and embedded in the wall.

She was shoved into a display cabinet and crashed onto shattered glass.

Anthony stood there in a bathrobe.

His hair was damp, posture still in striking form.

The same hands that had once held her had just dislocated her arm without hesitation.

"Anthony! I was terrified!"

Cheryl rushed into his arms, sobbing.

When his gaze landed on Mabel's blood-stained figure, he paused.

He stepped forward.

"I didn't mean it. You were out of control."

"Don't touch me."

Mabel twisted away and forced herself up through the glass shards.

"When you taught me that move five years ago," she said coldly, "you said it was for enemies.

"So tell me, Anthony—am I your enemy now?"

Anthony fell silent before softening his tone.

"If you really hurt Cheryl, Zachary wouldn't forgive you. The family elders would use it against you.

"It's just a gown.

"She has trauma. Red reminds her of his death. If you want more, I'll bring the Milan tailor. Ten gowns. A hundred. Why draw a blade over this?"

Mabel only felt tired.

To him, she was making trouble over nothing.

When she refused to yield, his patience thinned.

A Don's authority did not welcome defiance.

"Everyone in Vicente knows you're the Oliver family's Donna. She just needs protection. Why can't you be generous? Must you disgrace the family before outsiders?"

"Anthony…please don't blame Mabel…"

"This is my fault… I deserve to die… Zachary's here… I can't breathe…"

Her voice faded.

"Cheryl! Breathe!"

He lifted her in his arms.

He noticed the blood near Mabel but still walked out.

"Mabel, you disappoint me.

"Stay at the manor and reflect. When you've learned, I'll come for you."

…

She sat alone in the wreckage.

After a long silence, she reset her arm with brute force.

Pain shot through her, but she swallowed it.

Gasping, she whispered, "Anthony. Consider this arm repayment for your teachings.

"And I'll show you what true defiance looks like."

Night had already fallen when Anthony returned to Saint Laurent Manor.

When he pushed the door open, he saw Mabel sitting on the sofa. The lights were off. Moonlight spilled in through the windows, stretching her silhouette into something lonely and cold.

Seeing her like this, his heart softened despite himself. The agitation from earlier ebbed away.

He crouched in front of her, lowering his voice. "Does your arm still hurt? I'm sorry. I didn't control my strength. Let me apply the medicine for you."

Mabel said nothing, only turning away from his touch.

Anthony sighed and took out the gift he had prepared.

"The emerald jewelry set you liked at the last auction.

"I know you're still upset about Cheryl, but we're family. Don’t let an outsider come between us."

She finally reacted, but instead of looking at the jewelry, she reached beneath the cushion and pulled out a stack of documents.

"I don't need an apology. Just sign these."

On top was a Withdrawal Agreement from the Oliver family. Beneath it lay the divorce papers.

"Mabel, are you out of your mind?"

Anthony sprang to his feet and slammed the papers onto the coffee table. Pages scattered everywhere, sliding across the floor.

"You want a divorce? Over something this trivial? You want to leave the Family? Do you even understand what you're saying?!"

Unlike his fury, Mabel simply watched him rage in silence. Then, slowly, she curved her lips into a faint smile.

"Anthony, in your eyes, my dignity, my sacrifices, and even my life are all trivial.

"Only Cheryl's emotions matter.

"Honestly, I'm tired. If you believe she's so fragile she needs your constant protection, then I'll make space for her. As for the Donna position, whoever wants it can take it."

"You're just throwing a tantrum!" Anthony laughed in anger, pacing back and forth as he struggled to contain himself.

"When did you turn into such a dull housewife, obsessed with catching mistresses all day long?

"Cheryl is Zachary's fiancée! Zachary died saving me! Taking care of her is only right! You insist on using morality to tie my hands, forcing me to choose between duty and you… Don't you think that's cruel?"

"Cruel?" Her voice was steady, unflinching. "Or is it shameless?"

She was not afraid of confrontation, nor did she want to retreat into silence.

"You call that taking care of her? What haven't you done personally? If one day she wants a child, will you take responsibility for getting her pregnant, too?

"Do you dare to swear in front of Zachary's grave that you don't harbor a single selfish thought toward Cheryl?"

"Enough!"

Anthony cut her off violently, veins bulging at his temples.

"You're blinded by jealousy! The more you talk, the more absurd you sound! Since you can't speak rationally, take a few days to cool off before we talk again!"

He stepped on the scattered papers and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

…

Late at night.

The pain in her right arm kept Mabel awake.

She went to look for painkillers. As she passed the study, voices drifted through the crack in the door.

"Don, please don’t be angry. The Donna is only reacting so strongly because she cares about you too much. That’s why she’s hostile toward Ms. Reyes."

It was Henry, speaking cautiously—her Consigliere, always careful with his words.

"Cares about me?" Anthony's voice was heavy with exhaustion and irritation. Even through the door, Mabel could picture him rubbing his brow impatiently.

"That's caring for me? That's endless control.

"She's spoiled by my indulgence.

"She thinks that just because she's fought beside me for ten years, shed blood, and taken injuries, she's earned eternal credit. That I should yield to her in everything.

"But has she ever thought that if it weren't for me, she might already have been kidnapped, humiliated, and trampled by countless people?"

Henry hesitated. "But…she has been with you through life and death for ten years…"

"Whose sacrifice hasn't been ten years?" Anthony shot back without hesitation. "Have I ever treated her poorly?"

Unable to stop herself, Mabel leaned closer to the door, wanting to hear more, wanting to hear his true thoughts.

"The killing intent around Mabel is too heavy. Being with her, I'm always on edge. She's an excellent partner when things were bloody, but in life, she lacks the softness a woman should have. She's always too hard, too sharp.

"But Cheryl is different. She's pure and simple, like a blank sheet of paper. I have to take Zachary's place and protect her."

…

Mabel did not listen any further.

She stood in the shadows, her body going cold, each of his words stabbing straight through her organs, leaving her unable to breathe.

So the ten years she had spent fighting and the scars she had borne from shielding him with her body had become proof that she was not a normal woman.

He found her tainted.

Too hard. Not gentle enough. A butcher stained with blood.

When the situation was unstable, he praised her as his right hand, the one who stood beside him to restore the Family’s glory.

Now that he sat at the top, he claimed only with Cheryl could he forget the violence and enjoy the peace of an ordinary life.

Mabel lowered her gaze, staring at the wound in her palm that had not yet healed, and let out a self-mocking laugh.

She did not push the door open to confront him. She did not cry or make a scene.

She simply wiped away her tears and turned back toward the bedroom.

He was so certain she would not leave? That everything she did was for a tantrum?

Anthony was gravely mistaken.

In her world, there was no such thing as holding on.

Anything that did not belong to her, she would discard without hesitation.

A few days later, it was Anthony’s 30th birthday banquet.

It was the grandest event of the year in Vicente. Capos, underbosses, consiglieri, made men, and associates from all sides arrived to pay their respects.

In previous years, the woman standing beside Anthony, receiving the congratulations of the crowd, had always been Mabel.

However, on that day, the one at his side was Cheryl, dressed in white, smiling softly.

She clung to Anthony's arm, her expression shy yet blissful, basking in the spotlight that had once belonged to Mabel.

The guests exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them as whispers spread.

"So the rumors are true. The Oliver family’s Donna has fallen out of favor."

"Tsk. Men are all the same. Once they’ve made it, who wouldn’t prefer someone young and spotless? Mabel’s hands are stained with too much blood. How could she compare to Ms. Reyes, who looks so gentle?"

…

Anthony seemed to enjoy Cheryl's dependence. From time to time, he leaned down to murmur in her ear, shielding her from excessive toasts.

Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, the grand doors of the hall were shoved open with force.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance.

Mabel walked in from the backlight.

She was not wearing an elaborate gown but a sleek black velvet dress. The high slit revealed long, straight legs. Her lips were a vivid crimson, her hair loose and flowing.

She wore no jewelry save for the obsidian ring on her ring finger.

Yet the authority unique to the Donna radiated unmistakably from her.

Her beauty was sharp, unrestrained, and aggressively dazzling—so striking that it was impossible to look away.

The contrast was immediate.

Cheryl's face went pale as she instinctively shrank into Anthony's arms.

He had not expected Mabel to appear. A flicker of surprise, followed by undisguised admiration, crossed his eyes.

Mabel walked straight up to them, casually picked up a glass of red wine, and looked at Cheryl with a faint, mocking smile.

"Ms. Reyes, you look beautiful tonight. Anyone who didn't know better might think you're the one marrying into the Oliver family."

The girl's eyes reddened. Her voice trembled.

"M…Mabel, you've misunderstood. Anthony was only worried I wouldn't adapt to an occasion like this…"

"Is that so?" Mabel let out a soft laugh, her tone laced with ridicule. "Zachary is still watching from above. And yet, you can't wait to hold his elder brother's arm, playing social games among power and prestige. That so-called devotion of yours… How cheap it looks."

"Enough!"

Anthony snapped sharply, stepping in front of Cheryl. His gaze darkened as it locked onto Mabel.

"Mabel, it's my birthday. Do you really have to make a scene in front of everyone?"

Mabel drained her wine in one go, then slammed the empty glass onto the table.

"Anthony, you’re the one doing something disgraceful. Since you're so eager to protect her, I'll give you exactly what you want tonight."

With that, she removed the obsidian ring from her finger and tossed it away.

The entire hall erupted in shock.

That ring symbolized the Donna’s status. How could she throw it away so casually?

Mabel turned and walked off without looking back.

"If you want it," she said coolly, "crawl over and pick it up yourself."

…

On the third-floor terrace, the night breeze was cool.

Mabel lit a cigarette.

She watched the smoke coil upward, blurring the lights and music of the garden below, and felt an oppressive heaviness in her chest.

Bastion Manor had already shut her out.

She was now an outsider.

Soft footsteps sounded behind her.

Without turning, Mabel said coldly, "Get lost."

"Mabel, why go this far?"

Cheryl's voice was light.

The timid fragility from earlier was gone. The tears on her face had dried long ago, replaced by a provocative smile.

"Anthony only has me in his heart. The more you make trouble, the further you push him away. He said you're too strong, and being around you exhausts him. What he needs is a place to rest, not a reminder of how bloody the past was. You're a comrade-in-arms to him, nothing more."

Mabel's fingers paused briefly around her cigarette. Then she let out a cold laugh.

"So you're finally done pretending?"

Cheryl stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"So what if I was pretending? As long as Anthony believes it, that's enough.

"Mabel, you're old. Your time is over. Zachary is dead. Those still alive have to move forward."

She smiled maliciously.

"Tell me, if Zachary knew his brother and his fiancée ended up together, would he crawl out of hell in rage?"

Smack.

Mabel slapped her hard across the face.

"You're not worthy of saying his name."

Cheryl's head snapped to the side. She covered her cheek, but instead of anger, a strange smile spread across her face.

"Why so angry? Come on, hit me again. The harder you hit, the more Anthony will feel sorry for me."

Suddenly, the girl grabbed Mabel's wrist, her eyes wild.

Mabel's gaze turned icy. Instinctively, her hand went to her waist.

It was a habit; she never went anywhere without a gun.

Now, the muzzle pressed squarely against Cheryl's forehead.

"Slapping is boring," Mabel said coldly. "I'll send you to your death instead. Seeing a corpse? Now, that will make him truly heartbroken."

Her voice dropped to absolute zero.

She meant it. She was genuinely prepared to kill.

Yet, Cheryl did not retreat in the slightest. Her smile only grew brighter, more twisted.

"Do it," she whispered. "Pull the trigger, Mabel. Let Anthony see how you kill the woman Zachary loved most."

As she spoke, she suddenly reached out and grabbed the finger Mabel had hooked on the trigger.

Mabel's pupils shrank. She did not have time to pull away.

Cheryl forced the gun downward, aiming it at her own shoulder, and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot exploded across the terrace.

Cheryl screamed, then used the recoil to fling herself backward over the railing, plummeting toward the ground below.

"Argh! Help! Mabel! Don't kill me!"

The shrill scream tore through the night, drawing gasps from the guests below as they looked up.

Mabel stood at the railing, gun still in her hand, staring down at the instantly chaotic crowd.

She knew it.

This round: she had lost again.

All because she was not ruthless enough.