That night, the underworld was buzzing with rumors.

One minute, Dante was spending a fortune at auction on a priceless jewel for Isabella.

The next, the Falcone and Moretti families were forging a powerful alliance.

Everyone on the street was betting their wedding was just around the corner and that I, the powerless "queen," was about to be cast aside.

Dante himself had told me he detested Isabella's arrogance, her madness.

But since when had that disgust been tainted by a flicker of something real?

It was late when Dante finally returned, carrying the scent of another woman's perfume.

I held up my phone, my gaze demanding an explanation.

He looked at the intimate photos of him and Isabella, a shadow crossing his face.

"You know how it is. Those vultures are always twisting things. Be good, don't believe their lies."

"This alliance with the Morettis will strengthen our family. It's how I guarantee you a secure life."

I didn't know if he was thinking of our blood oath or of Isabella when he said that.

"Alright, don't overthink it. Today is our anniversary."

"Look what I got for you."

He produced a velvet box as if from thin air.

So he did remember. My heart skipped a beat, a faint warmth spreading through me.

But it turned to ice the moment I opened the box.

Lifting the massive diamond ring, my mind flashed to the news report of the exorbitant jewelry set he'd bought for Isabella.

At the banquet, the main stone on her necklace had been a hundred times more brilliant than this one.

A bitter smile touched my lips. This lesser stone was a perfect symbol of his fickle heart—cheap and worthless.

Sensing my shift in mood, Dante's voice grew hesitant.

"What's wrong? Don't you like it?"

I met his gaze, searching for a hint of guilt.

"You got the wrong one, Dante."

"This cut of diamond is Isabella's favorite, not mine."

"If you've fallen in love with her, I can step aside."

My casual question threw him. First came panic, then impatience.

"Are you still upset about what happened at the clinic?"

"I told you, it's just business. For the family. Don't you ever talk about stepping aside again."

He reached out to stroke my hair, just as he had countless times before.

For years, this had been our silent ritual of reconciliation.

The next second, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly softened, a world away from the irritation of a moment ago.

"You get some rest. I'll come see you tomorrow."

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a photo of us.

It was our first picture together.

He'd saved for weeks just to have it taken.

The eighteen-year-old Dante awkwardly held the eighteen-year-old Elena in his arms, vowing to never betray her.

I pressed the yellowed photo to my chest, tears streaming down my face.

In truth, the signs of his feelings for Isabella had been there all along.

He would reject her advances by day, only to be found tangled up with her in some dark corner of a bar at night.

He’d cripple the hand of a rival who crossed Isabella, only to turn around and pay for that same man to be treated by the world's best doctors—a sheer display of power.

He even ventured into businesses the Falcone family never touched, just for more plausible reasons to interact with her.

All those details I had deliberately ignored now threaded together, tightening around my heart until it ached.

What looked like a life-or-death struggle to outsiders was, in reality, a thrilling game they both secretly enjoyed.

I tried not to think about it, but the whispers always found their way to my ears, into my heart.

They kept me awake at night.

The next morning, the nurse who came to change my dressing was accompanied by a furious-looking Dante.

He shoved his phone in my face.

"Why do you have to target her like this?"

On the screen was a photo of fresh graffiti scrawled across Moretti territory: "THE MORETTI PRINCIPESSA IS A WHORE."

I shook my head instinctively. "It wasn't me."

"You've always been jealous of her. If not you, then who?"

"Don't you know she's pregnant? What you did has humiliated the Moretti family. The shock almost made her miscarry!"

The word "pregnant" hit me like a bucket of ice water.

"She's pregnant? What does that have to do with you? I thought you hated her."

The air froze. A flicker of guilt finally surfaced in his eyes.

After a long pause, he spoke, his voice tight with strain.

"I'm sorry. The child… it's mine."

"I was drugged that night. Isabella saved me."

"Elena, what happened between us… it was for the good of the family."

With every word of his pathetic explanation, my heart sank deeper.

"An 'exchange of interests' that involves an heir?"

"Dante, can you get rid of it?"

My voice was a desperate whisper, thin and fragile.

"Elena, that's my child, too."

"You can't give me an heir, but I have the right to be a father."

"Besides, she just wants the child. It won't threaten your position as my wife."

I only hesitated for a moment, but his tone was already sharp with urgency.

So urgent that he spoke without thinking, wielding my deepest wound as a weapon to persuade me.

"You've never been a mother, so you can't understand her pain."

"But you can't be this selfish!"

Selfish?

I thought of the child I’d lost ten years ago.

When I went to save him, I was already three months along.

But we were young, and life was hard. I was so rail-thin I never even knew.

It wasn't until I lost him that I knew he'd ever been there.

I was so afraid of saddening Dante that I had buried the secret deep in my heart.

Ten years of silent suffering, only to be called selfish.

I was suddenly exhausted, with no strength left to argue.

Things had come to this. There was no need for me to stay. I would give Isabella and their child my place.

Maybe that would make things easier for him.

"There's an engagement party tomorrow night. This whole mess started because of you, so go and make it right."

After tossing out that cold command, he turned and left.

I arrived at the engagement party on time.

Dante had many enemies, so he rarely exposed me to the public.

But now, for Isabella's sake, he had pushed me into the spotlight.

I recited the speech he had prepared for me, word for word.

Not until the last syllable fell did I realize the script was, between the lines, filled with blessings for Isabella and praise for her as the family's future matriarch.

The camera flashes were blinding. I couldn't tell if the dampness in my eyes was from the harsh light or something else.

Just as I was about to step down from the stage, the large screen behind me flickered, then scrambled before settling on a video from ten years ago: me, being tortured by a rival gang for three days and nights.

In an instant, I knew who was behind this.

Because Dante had silenced everyone involved in that incident.

He had comforted me, promising that no other soul would ever know.

And slowly, I had begun to heal.

I never imagined that, years later, the one to tear that old scar open for the world to see…

Would be my husband.

As the video played, the terrifying memories I had long suppressed came rushing back, a weight I could no longer bear.

Microphones and frantic reporters cornered me.

They picked apart every bloody detail, repeating them over and over.

I clutched my head, which felt like it was about to split open, and collapsed to the floor, my hands trembling as I pulled out my phone.

I had to ask him why.

When the call connected, Isabella answered.

"Dante is busy picking out a gift for our baby. He doesn't have time for you."

"He's long since grown tired of a cripple like you. He approved all of this. If you know what's good for you, get lost."

"And if this lesson wasn't enough, you're welcome to try me again."

The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. The final blow landed. I couldn't take any more, and the world went black.