My fiancé, Vincenzo, the Don of the Cavalieri family, reached out for the first time in ages—all because I hadn’t used his credit card for three days.

"Baby, I've already approved the funds for the next stage of your heart treatment. See? As long as you learn to be good, I'm willing to give you anything."

His tone dripped with the same patronizing generosity he always used, the voice of a powerful man feigning concern for his fiancée.

But he didn't know that as the word "Baby" flashed across my screen, I was drafting the papers to dissolve our engagement.

Before I left, the only thing I could take from this penthouse apartment was the old T-shirt I had worn when he first brought me home.

No one would have guessed that the future Donna of the Cavalieri family—in name only—hadn't even been allowed to buy a single art book I coveted in the three years of our engagement.

Every single expense had to be approved by Isabella, a woman who was supposedly just Vincenzo's most trusted subordinate, the one managing the family's finances.

"Caterina, handling the books is messy work. You shouldn't stain your hands with it."

"Let Isabella handle trivial matters like paperwork. Your only job is to be beautiful—to be my perfect Principessa."

And so, my financial freedom became a privilege I had to beg for from Isabella—the woman supposedly "handling trivial matters for me."

Three days ago, I had an acute heart attack. I cried and begged him to approve five hundred thousand dollars for an emergency surgery.

But Isabella, citing the need to "avoid FBI scrutiny of overseas fund transfers," deliberately blocked the payment.

In the end, the delay caused permanent damage to my already fragile heart, all because I missed the optimal treatment window.

And just like that, I was done with him.

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1

When I walked out of the private clinic's examination room, the doctor's calm words still echoed in my ears:

"The damage to your heart muscle is irreversible. Miss Bianchi, there's nothing more we can do for you here."

My heart plummeted into an abyss, taking the diagnostic report with it.

When I arrived at Vincenzo's penthouse office, he was signing a document with Isabella.

When I proposed ending our engagement, he didn't even look up, merely letting out a low chuckle.

"Throwing a tantrum again? Because I didn't come home for dinner last night?"

"Caterina, don't make jokes like that. It's not funny."

I lowered my eyes, suppressing the familiar, hollow pang in my chest, and said firmly, "Vincenzo, I'm not joking. I want to end our engagement."

Vincenzo finally looked up at me.

He moved around the massive mahogany desk toward me, his arm wrapping around my waist in a familiar, possessive hold. I stiffened and pushed him away.

His hand grasped at empty air. A flash of displeasure crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"I know you're upset that your treatment was interrupted. But that was a lesson in our financial protocols—for the family's security."

"Isabella was just strictly following my orders. Why would you undermine her in front of the family?"

"I restored your access to the funds yesterday. Baby, my time is precious. I run this entire family. Don't make me waste it soothing your hurt feelings, alright?"

Before I could answer, he glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist. "I have a meeting. I'll bring you your favorite macarons tonight. Wait for me at the apartment. Be good."

He was certain I couldn't leave him, certain that with a crumb of affection, I would bow my head in gratitude.

After all, in the past, even when he abandoned me at a charity gala to pick up Isabella, all it took was a simple, "She's an important member of the family," and I would be the one wiping away my own tears.

But I had stopped liking macarons a long time ago.

And whether the treatment was restored or not no longer mattered.

If, three days ago, Vincenzo had answered my call in the middle of his damned meeting, I might still be that same fool, living in a dream.

Back then, I had pleaded with him, begging him not to hang up, to just listen to me for one second.

But none of it could compete with the pathetic, simpering sound of Isabella's voice in the background:

"Don, did I say something to upset Miss Caterina? I was only reminding her that five hundred thousand dollars is a large sum. Without a detailed breakdown of its use, I couldn't approve it in good conscience."

"If Miss Caterina really needs it urgently, I'm willing to approve it even if it violates the rules, but I'm afraid the committee will investigate... it could affect your reputation, Don..."

"That's why I was stricter with the approval process. It was also to help our future Donna develop the financial discipline required by the Cavalieri family."

Hearing this, Vincenzo was clearly convinced, completely forgetting my pleas.

"Caterina, you see? Isabella is always thinking of me."

"Can't you learn from her? Stop being so impulsive and unruly."

"Listen to Isabella. Go through the proper procedures, and then we'll talk."

It was always like this whenever I needed him.

"I'm at the docks dealing with business. Find Isabella if you need something."

"Follow Isabella's arrangements."

"Do whatever Isabella says."

I was his fiancée, the Donna-in-name-only of his criminal empire, yet I lived without a shred of dignity.

Forget daily expenses; even for the charity galas I had to attend as the Don's fiancée, or family ceremonies where I was expected to stand by his side, I had to request jewelry and gowns from his confidante.

And every time, Isabella would dismiss my requests with a sweet smile and a casual flick of her wrist.

"Miss Caterina, that emerald necklace is a family asset. It has to be logged before it can be taken out. You'll need to submit the request again."

"Oh, Miss Caterina, you applied too late. All the couture gowns have been allocated. Why don't you wear this one from last season? You have natural beauty. The Don won't mind."

"Miss Caterina, why are you always like this? Look at the list you wrote. Didn't I tell you to confirm everything before you bring it to me to sign?"

She would always drag things out until the last possible second, leaving me to watch from the sidelines as I stood awkwardly beside a radiant Vincenzo in an ill-fitting, outdated dress.

And Vincenzo would just wrap his arm around my waist and whisper, "Caterina, this dress again? I don't mind you being frugal, but don't embarrass the Cavalieri name."

"You can't even manage something this simple. You still need Isabella's help. When will you ever grow up?"

The only reason I couldn't handle this "simple thing" was entirely because of Vincenzo's "good confidante."

But he never saw it. Or maybe he just didn't care.

He knew my heart was fragile. He knew I couldn't stop my medication or delay my treatment. Yet, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he still told me to just go find Isabella.

Prying life-saving money from Isabella was harder than snatching a steak from a rabid dog.

"An emergency treatment requires a one-time payment of five hundred thousand dollars? Miss Caterina, you're not just making up an excuse for pocket money, are you?"

"Five hundred thousand is no small sum. Miss, could you provide a 'non-affiliated party' certificate from the Swiss clinic before I sign? For compliance reasons, I have to reject this for now."

I explained to her it was for an emergency surgery and that a detailed plan could only be made after my condition stabilized.

Isabella tapped the desk with her blood-red nails, feigning a sudden realization. "Oh, so that's how it is. I've been blessed with good health, so I'm not very familiar with medical matters."

"However, the family's financial compliance and anti-money laundering reviews are very strict. This could easily attract the FBI's attention. How about this, Miss, you provide a full paper trail for the legal source of all funds, and then I'll approve it for you?"

Then she narrowed her eyes. "Besides, for all we know, the clinic could have been bribed. I'm not doubting you, Miss. I just have a responsibility to protect the Don's reputation."

"Why don't you go find the family's lawyer and get a liability waiver?"

Just like that, Isabella stalled and stalled, until the critical window for my heart treatment slammed shut.

By the time the money finally came through, even the best private doctor in the family could only shake his head in regret.

In that moment, an endless hatred mixed with soul-tearing agony churned inside me.

I knew it was over.

A suffocating weight pressed down on me. It felt as if my heart gave one last, feeble flutter before the hope inside it died completely. This engagement was no longer a sacred promise, but a cage meant to imprison me.

Once I knew what I had to do, a strange sense of relief washed over me. The powerful aura of Vincenzo that had weighed on me for years abruptly vanished.

So, when I saw Isabella's provocative post on social media, I felt nothing.

The photo showed Vincenzo teaching her how to shoot at a private range, his chest pressed flush against her back. I calmly took a screenshot and then casually liked the post.

When Isabella was involved, Vincenzo’s reply was always instantaneous.

"Caterina, why are you randomly liking things? It was just training. Don't overthink it."

"You know you're the only one in my heart. Isabella is a capable subordinate; she's like a sister to me."

He immediately sent another message:

"Since you've already liked it, taking it back now will just make you look petty. Everyone in the family is watching."

"Be a good girl. Go leave a comment praising Isabella. This is your chance to show your grace as the future Donna and help me maintain my image. You've always been so understanding, haven't you?"

I wasn't going to bother.

But on second thought, I couldn't just swallow the bitterness.

So I did as Vincenzo said.

"Isabella is indeed the best 'sister.' She not only helps the Don with his work but shares his private life, too. Managing the family finances, taking care of my fiancé... she's so dedicated. What a heavy burden she must carry."

"Every dollar you save for the Don now will be your own when you take my place. Then you won't have to live like a beggar, the way I do."

After replying, I tossed my phone aside.

Then I began to calmly pack my things.

My phone buzzed violently on the table; it was Vincenzo. My cold reply must have finally tipped him off that something was wrong, because he began calling me repeatedly.

I answered, and his voice was tight with suppressed fury: "Caterina! What the hell are you talking about? Was your account hacked?"

"Baby, stop it. Delete the comment, and we'll talk this out..."

I hung up and threw the phone onto the sofa.

The world was finally quiet.

Packing didn't take long.

After all, in this luxury penthouse, every valuable item belonging to the future Donna was locked in a vault that required multiple verifications. For all these years, I had been an unwelcome guest, living in a house that was never mine. Even my scent was just a fleeting trace.

For the first time, I saw everything with perfect clarity.

Vincenzo returned quickly.

That was the speed of the Don. When he cared, the entire breadth of New York City was nothing more than a few heavy stomps on the accelerator.

But he didn't rush back because he was worried about me.

He came back because I had challenged his authority.

For a man with a pathological need for control, his fiancée ignoring his calls and posting sarcastic takedowns on social media was a public act of defiance.

He didn't even glance at the pitifully small suitcase at my feet.

He strode over, carrying the scent of Isabella's perfume.

"Caterina, baby," his thumb caressed my chin, the calloused pad grazing my skin. "Why didn't you answer my calls? You know I don't like to wait."

I turned my head away, avoiding his touch. "I wanted to be alone."

Vincenzo's hand hung in the air. He paused, then instinctively wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Still angry about that photo?"

"Caterina, you know Isabella is just my subordinate. She's an important member who has risked her life for the family. As the Don, it's my responsibility to train my people."

"The old guard already looks down on you for your background," he sighed, his warm breath brushing against my neck. "Don't be jealous over such trivial things. It comes across as insecure, hmm?"

Hearing this, my stomach churned, yet I couldn't help but want to laugh.

For years, this had been Vincenzo's method of control: handing me a sugar-coated blade, then watching me swallow it and expecting my gratitude.

"Insecure?" I took a step back, breaking free from his embrace. "It seems our Don is a very busy man. So busy he hasn't noticed his confidante parading all over New York as if she's already the Donna."

The smile on Vincenzo's face froze. "Caterina, when did you become so thin-skinned?"

"It's not easy for a woman like Isabella to make her mark in the family. You're the future mistress; you should be more considerate of her instead of listening to rumors. The last time you threw a fit at the meeting over the funds, Isabella cried all night, and she still defended you."

He looked at me with reproach, as if I were the ungrateful sinner.

"I provide you with the best life so you can live without a care in the world. If you keep targeting Isabella like this, I'll be very disappointed."

"Besides, your heart is fragile. Intense emotions aren't good for you."

"Caterina, listen to me. You don't need to think so much. Just follow Isabella's arrangements and focus on your recovery."

I finally couldn't help but laugh out loud.

But there was no joy in it.

In front of Vincenzo, I yanked open the zipper of the suitcase at my feet.

"Carefree? The best life?"

"Vincenzo, is this the love you give me?"

The suitcase lay open, completely empty. Inside were only a few T-shirts, faded from countless washes, with stretched-out collars—the old clothes I had brought with me when I first met him three years ago.

"I'm leaving, and I can't even find five decent things to wear."

"In this so-called 'gilded cage,' I have to fill out an application just to get a haircut. Buying a new lipstick depends on the mood of your precious confidante. The maids in this house take home more cash each month than I do!"

Vincenzo frowned. "Caterina, don't exaggerate..."

I ignored him, grabbing the sleeve of his expensive custom suit and dragging him to the closed vault door of the walk-in closet.

I pointed at the flashing red light on the electronic lock.

"Go on, my devoted Don. Show me how to open this lock."

"It needs a password, a fingerprint, and then remote authorization from our hardworking, selfless Isabella!"

"What kind of cherished woman has to live like a beggar, kneeling at the feet of her husband's confidante to beg for things!"

Vincenzo stared at the electronic lock, a look of pure bafflement on his face.

He turned his head, looking at me in disbelief. "This is what this is about?"

"Baby, you're raising hell, even threatening to leave, just because getting money is inconvenient? Or... are you just jealous of Isabella's power?"

Hearing those words, my heart went cold.

All my anger and grievances, in his eyes, were nothing more than a childish, materialistic woman throwing a tantrum.

I let go of his sleeve and took two steps back, my gaze vacant. "Forget it, Vincenzo. It doesn't matter what you think anymore."

"Let's end our engagement."