It was late at night when the plane landed.

My brother, Julian Ricci, was already waiting at the airport. As soon as I entered the arrivals hall, I spotted him in the crowd.

"Samantha, over here."

I walked toward him with a smile, but his expression suddenly froze, his eyes scanning the space behind me. In the past, no matter how busy Caspian was, he would always send a motorcade and entourage to escort me home. Even if it was just for show—for the dignity of a Don—he would always play the part.

The crowd behind me slowly thinned. Julian lingered a moment longer, searching, before finally looking away in disappointment. He turned back to me, forcing a smile. The question hung unspoken between us; we both knew the answer.

We walked one after the other into the parking garage. He opened the rear car door for me, and I gave a faint smile and got in. Startled by the sound of the door closing, the cat sleeping on the adjacent seat blinked at me, its eyes bleary. A few seconds later, it seemed to finally recognize me and jumped excitedly into my lap.

It hadn't seen me in a year, yet it remembered, nuzzling against me as if no time had passed at all. I gently stroked its head, a wave of sadness washing over me. Years ago, Caspian had been just as infatuated with me. Every time I finished work, he would bury his forehead in the crook of my neck and murmur in his deep, possessive voice, "Samantha, I missed you so much."

For a moment, it was as if I had returned to the days of our passionate love—as if our ten years together had been nothing but a fever dream. And now, the dream was over.

I settled on the West Coast and opened an art gallery, something I had always wanted to do. After leaving Caspian, I was finally free to pursue something I truly loved. No one would mock me for opening a gallery, calling it "frivolous" and unbecoming of a Donna. I no longer needed to force myself to conform to those archaic and oppressive family rules just to please him.

In the blink of an eye, half a year passed. I made it through the first few months without Caspian, slowly growing accustomed to a life of solitude. I no longer had to worry that he would suddenly rush out during an intimate moment because of a call from Angelica. I no longer had to fear being warned with a cold stare and confined to the oppressive estate just because Angelica's daughter, Rosalie, said she didn't like me.

Life went on peacefully, until one day, six months later, Caspian called me for the first time. I stared blankly at my phone screen, my eyes fixed on the name "Caspian." It wasn't until Julian prompted me that I snapped out of it and numbly answered the call.

Caspian's patience seemed to have reached its limit. His voice was cold, laced with a commanding tone.

"Samantha, this farce has gone on long enough. Are you satisfied now?"

His words left me stunned.

He cleared his throat and sneered, "If you've had enough of your tantrum, then come back. The family summit needs its hostess. Besides, I've brought Angelica and her daughter to the estate, and you need to take care of them. I've already lost my own child; I can't let anything happen to them."

"Samantha, I don't have time to play these childish games with you."

I gave a bitter smile. Every time I was unhappy, he always assumed I was just throwing a tantrum, as if I were deliberately competing with Angelica and her daughter for his affection. Once, Rosalie wouldn't stop crying and insisted that I tear up a beloved painting to amuse her. Without a second thought, Caspian compelled me to do it with just a look.

"Samantha, a child can't cry for too long. It's just a painting, don't be so attached."

It was at a family dinner. Under the watchful eyes of the guests—some sympathetic, others relishing the spectacle—I destroyed my own work with my own hands. Afterwards, I locked myself in my room for days, finally collapsing onto the cold floor. Later, a bodyguard loyal to me secretly took me to a private doctor.

The doctor said I needed rest and support from my family due to extreme mental stress. However, Caspian was busy comforting Angelica, who was feeling unwell after being "frightened." He hung up on my calls again and again.

"Samantha!" His sharp voice on the phone pulled me back to reality.

The corner of my mouth twitched as I said calmly, "I made myself clear the day I left."

He paused, clearly shocked. "You're serious about the annulment? Then at least come back and settle things properly. How long are you going to keep up this willful tantrum?"

There was nothing left in my heart for him.

"I've already signed the annulment agreement. It's with my lawyer, Mr. Howard Sterling," I said flatly. "He told me he has already contacted you. If there's nothing else, please don't bother me again."

"Samantha, you—" Caspian seemed to have more to say.

But my mind was made up. I hung up the phone.

I thought Caspian and I could make a clean break. I never imagined he would drive to the West Coast overnight.

His bulletproof SUV screeched to a halt in front of me. The window slowly rolled down, and I met his cold gaze calmly. Caspian gripped the steering wheel tightly, saying nothing.

After a long, suffocating standoff, he finally slammed his fist on the steering wheel and snapped impatiently, "You're the Donna of the Knight family, the matriarch of Chicago. What more could you possibly be unsatisfied with?"

Yes. I was the Don's wife, an object of envy for everyone. What was there to be unsatisfied about? However, I was also a wife who deserved her husband's respect. If he didn't love me, then I would leave. It was that simple.

"Caspian, my position couldn't be clearer," I said. "I want my freedom."

"Damn it!" Caspian threw open the car door and grabbed my arm. His muscular arm clamped around me like an iron vise. "Samantha, are you sure you want to give up this family?"

I looked at the hand that had once been tattooed as a promise of love and felt only a sense of mockery. In that moment, with a sudden, stark clarity, I realized he disgusted me.

I frowned and shook off his hand. "Caspian, what on earth do you want?"

His hand froze in mid-air.

After a long moment, he finally sighed, his tone softening noticeably. "I… I want you to come home."

Seeing his conflicted expression only fueled my irritation. Caspian was a smart man. How could he not understand why I was so insistent on leaving? He was just playing dumb.

I took a deep breath and explained it to him with the last shred of my patience. "Caspian, you yourself said that Angelica is the woman you need to protect. You said I stole the position that should have been hers. You said Rosalie needs a father figure. And it was you who stubbornly refused the C-section, causing our child's death and nearly costing me my own life."

"Now, I've done exactly as you wished. I'm willing to separate from you and give up the title of matriarch. I'm giving you and your 'responsibility' what you've always wanted, so why are you fighting it?"

"Caspian, I'll say it one last time: I want an annulment. Do you understand? I want my freedom."

Caspian rubbed his temples, looking utterly defeated, and smoked one cigar after another. When the cigar case was finally empty, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it on the ground.

"Samantha, I…"

It was he who refused to draw a line with Angelica, slowly eroding all the love I had for him. So why was he acting like the victim now?

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, suppressing the anger rising in my chest.

"I've entrusted all matters to Mr. Sterling. If you refuse to cooperate, he will petition the family elders on my behalf for the annulment. Caspian, it's over between us."

After that night, Caspian seemed to vanish completely from my world. My life fell back into the rhythm of running the gallery, everything settling into a peaceful order. In my spare time, I would attend charity auctions and meet like-minded people.

"Samantha, it's cold today. The air conditioning in the venue is strong, you should wear something warmer."

A familiar male voice sounded behind me.

I spun around, and my gaze met Caspian's, his expression a tangled mess of regret and frustration.