The plane touched down in Tripoli at dusk.

Behind me, the sky was on fire. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my husband, Don Vito Hart.

[I'm here. I came to bring you home.]

No reply.

I called his underboss, Enzo Stark. His voice was hesitant.

"You… you really went to Libya?"

An explosion rattled the terminal windows. My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Which district is he in?"

A long pause. Then, quieter:

"He never left the country."

His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The business trip… it was a lie."

The line went dead. A photo appeared on my screen. Time-stamped today.

Vito was smiling. Bright, but something behind his eyes looked tired. His arm was wrapped around a woman. They were blowing out candles on a birthday cake.

I recognized her instantly.

Rosa Quinn.

The woman he'd knelt and sworn on his mother's grave never to see again. Three years ago. I still had the scar on my own palm where I'd made him swear.

Vito had forgotten. Today was my birthday too.

My phone buzzed again.

"Sera, the truth is—the Don never ended things with Rosa. We all knew. But you two seemed so happy… no one dared tell you."

I read the message twice. Then I slipped the phone into my pocket.

There was no need to pretend anymore.

"Ma'am, please use the emergency exit. Do not remain here."

The airport speaker crackled again. I took one step, and my legs gave way.

I had traveled through hell to get here. No sleep, no food, just the roar of engines and the taste of fear.

And for what?

On the flight back home, I finally let myself cry.

When I landed, I went straight to the law firm. I looked like hell — matted hair, cracked lips, hollow eyes. The elevator doors opened, and I heard a woman's voice behind me, playful and sweet.

"Who stole the lace one from my bag? Now I'm going commando. This is your fault."

A low laugh on the other end of the line.

"Careful. I'll make you pay for that later."

I turned slowly.

Rosa Quinn. Flawless makeup. A soft, smug smile.

She was still on the phone. "Do you still have enough in your drawer? Or did you use them all?"

The elevator doors closed. The mirrored walls reflected two women. One polished, young, laughing. The other — gray-faced, broken.

She didn't recognize me. Why would she? I barely recognized myself.

A man's voice drifted through the phone. Low. Familiar.

"You know I can't resist you."

She giggled. "If your wife heard that, she'd file for divorce again."

"Let her. I always bring her back. She can't leave me."

The elevator's air conditioning bit into my skin, but I felt like I was choking.

She lowered her voice, teasing. "Are you trying to make me jealous? Careful, or I'll walk into your office and announce to everyone that Don Vito Hart is cheating on his wife. With his old mistress."

A chuckle. "Behave. Don't let her find out."

The doors opened.

He was standing there. Vito Hart. My husband. The Don of the Hart family.

Suit sharp, tie straight. He stepped forward, wrapped an arm around Rosa's waist, and kissed her.

She laughed and pulled back. He pulled her closer and kissed her deeper.

She tapped his chest. "There's someone here…"

Vito finally looked up.

I turned away fast. My eyes burned.

"Let her watch," he said. "It's not what you think."

Rosa melted against him, shaking with quiet laughter. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I only came back to the office for a file," he murmured. "I hate being away from you."

She smiled. "Fine. Tonight, whatever you want. As a reward."

The elevator dropped to the parking level. I followed like a ghost.

They got into his car. The license plate was my birthday.

Soon, the vehicle rocked gently.

I stood there, cold crawling up my spine.

No one knew.

The first time Vito and I were together — it was in a car like that. His palms were sweaty. He kept asking if I was okay. I said yes, and he laughed, said I was too good to him.

"I'll never let you down, Sera."

Later, he wrapped me in his coat and turned the heat to full. I leaned on his shoulder and dreamed out loud. Someday we'd have the best car money could buy.

He said yes. Whatever car. In my name.

He built an empire. We married. Three good years.

Then I found him in bed with Rosa, his underboss's daughter.

I wanted a divorce. I didn't want a cent.

The day the papers were signed, he jumped from the third floor.

He didn't die. Broke his leg. Lying in a hospital bed, begging me to stay.

I was weak. I stayed. I nursed him for six months until he could walk again.

We remarried. He was better than before. Promised he'd never hurt me again.

And now.

The barely healed wound on my heart was ripped open.

Bleeding fresh.

I don't remember getting home.

The doorman looked at my face — torn clothes, bandages on my cheek — and didn't believe I was Sera Hart. He called Vito.

When I heard his voice, I snatched the phone and threw it against the wall.

I walked away with nothing. No wallet. No phone. Just the clothes on my back.

I had spent every dollar on a one-way ticket to Tripoli. Half a million. Because someone told me Vito was trapped there, that he'd been caught in a firefight.

I didn't think. I just went.

My phone buzzed. My mother.

"I just heard you went to Tripoli. Dear God. Are you both okay?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "We're fine, Mom."

"Thank God. You're barely three months pregnant. How could you take such a risk?"

I hung up. My hand drifted to my belly.

Vito didn't know. He'd left for "business" the day I found out.

I went to that war zone thinking — if we die, we die together. The three of us.

Now the pain came in waves.

A pair of arms wrapped around me. The familiar smell of tobacco.

Vito.

"Where have you been? What happened to you?"

His eyes were full of concern. As if he hadn't ignored me in that elevator.

I forced a smile. "Fell down once. Then again when I tried to get up."

Like this marriage. Every time I trusted him, I fell again.

"Must have been expensive to fly back on short notice."

He flinched. Then lifted me like I weighed nothing. "Worth it. My wife was waiting."

He knelt and started cleaning my wounds. His brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry, Sera. I shouldn't have left you alone."

His phone rang. He stepped away, answered, and came back with a guilty look.

"I have to go out. Wait for me."

I said nothing. Watched him put on his coat.

How many nights had I sat by the door, waiting? How many meals reheated?

The tightness in my chest snapped.

I stood and pushed him.

"Go. And don't come back."

He tried to kiss me. I turned my head.

He sighed. "I'll make it up to you tonight."

Then he was gone.

I collapsed onto the bed from exhaustion. But the nightmares came. Bombs. Fire. Screaming.

I woke up staring at our wedding photo on the wall.

After the first affair, Rosa had pressed her wet palms against that same photo, leaving four greasy prints. I smashed everything in the house.

Vito got on his knees. Said our second wedding was a rebirth. Begged me to keep the picture.

Those vows echoed in my ears. I still didn't understand.

Why hurt me again?

I grabbed my phone and searched for Rosa's social media.

She was an "influencer" now. Never showed her face. Just videos of her holding a man's hand.

I clicked through them all.

That hand — long fingers, a thin scar on the pinky.

I knew that scar.

Vito got it when we were eighteen. A thug tried to grab me. Vito stepped in and took a broken bottle to his hand.

"It's okay," he'd said, wincing. "Even if I'm scarred, you're stuck with me."

I found the contact number in Rosa's bio.

I called.

A cold voice answered. "Who is this?"

My blood went cold.

Vito had a memory like a steel trap. He could recite case files from ten years ago. But he didn't recognize his own wife's number.

"It's me," I said. "I'm looking for Rosa."

"She's in the shower."

He didn't even register my voice. Flat. Dismissive. Like I was a telemarketer.

Through the receiver, I heard water running. Then Rosa's voice, sweet and lazy.

"Baby, can you bring me a towel?"

The phone was set down. Footsteps walked away and came back.

"Here."

"You dry me off…" A playful whine.

"I have to leave early tonight."

"What, are you impotent now?"

He laughed, low. "You know damn well I'm not."

Rosa giggled, then gasped like she'd fallen onto a bed.

I tried to hang up. My fingers wouldn't press the button.

Thirty minutes later, she posted a new video.

A pair of large hands massaged her calves. Thumbs circling, moving up from her ankle.

The comments exploded. "Teach us your ways! How do you get a man like that to serve you?"

She replied: "True love is natural. When a man loves you, he gives everything."

Someone wrote: "No face? Probably a mistress."

Rosa posted a voice reply.

I pressed play.

Vito's voice came through the speaker. Low. Clear. Each word deliberate.

"She's not what you think. There's more to it than you know."

I pressed my lips together.

Closed the video.

Dialed again.

"Divorce."

A pause. Two seconds of static. Then: "What? I'll be home soon."

"No need. We'll use the same terms as last time."

His voice dropped. I heard a bedspring squeak as he sat up.

"I'm handling something important. I'm coming back."

In the background, a woman's muffled murmur.

I laughed and tears spilled over. "Stay busy."

He lowered his voice, strained. "We agreed. No matter how angry, we don't say that word."

On the other end, something shifted. Rosa whimpered and went quiet.

I hung up.

My hands shook as I pulled out the folded paper. The edges were curled.

His vow. Never betray.

Not enough to sign, he'd said. He bit his finger and pressed a bloody print next to his name.

"The pain helps me remember."

I opened my laptop and sent him the divorce agreement.

My phone rang within seconds. His voice was tight with anger.

"Sera, calm down. I know I've been neglecting you because I've been busy with work, but I'll do anything to make you stop mentioning divorce. I'll be home soon."

A tear fell and hit the screen.

"I only want a divorce and to leave you forever.""