The next afternoon, I met the Falcone family's lawyer, James, and formally requested the return of all Rossi family assets.

James looked up. His face was pure shock.

“You’re certain? You want to pull all legitimate businesses from the Falcone portfolio?”

“But… under your management, their value has tripled in five years. Why so suddenly…”

He trailed off. I dropped my gaze.

Before yesterday, I’d believed that too.

These businesses were my tools. I used them to launder every dollar of Matteo’s bloody empire.

I remembered three years ago, Matteo holding me in our penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan as the sunset painted the city gold.

“See all those skyscrapers?” he’d said, pointing. “Half of that comes from my casinos and my deals. But without you, it’s all just blood money.”

He kissed my neck, his voice low and intoxicating. “You’re my best strategist, Natalia. This empire is nothing without you.”

Back then, I believed him.

I used my head for business to wash every dirty dollar he made.

Casino cash became art investments. Profits from underground deals became real estate developments.

I built him a legitimate empire.

“Mrs. Falcone?” James’s voice pulled me back.

“Obey the order. I want all the documents on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”

After confirming the procedures, I walked out of his office.

The moment I got back in my car, my encrypted phone buzzed.

When I opened it, it was a photo from Cecilia..

It was her, kissing a sleeping Matteo. Her swollen breasts were pressed against his chest.

Right after the photo came a message.

“Had to ‘take care of me’ all night after I drank too much. Now he’s left his marks all over me. Ugh, so sore.”

I thought about all the other times.

Cecilia always provoked me like this, sending intimate photos.

The lipstick marks on Matteo’s bare chest, a woman's watch on his wrist, a piece of lingerie left in his car…

Before, her cheap tricks would always set me off.

Matteo and I would fight. We’d even gotten physical.

And every time, he’d shut me up with a rougher kiss, a more possessive grip.

“I told you, she’s just for fun. For the thrill of it. You’re Mrs. Falcone. Don’t lose your composure over a whore.”

Matteo was sure I loved him. He was even more sure that I wouldn’t dare leave him, for the sake of our families' alliance. So he did whatever he wanted.

I smiled, but all I felt inside was a wasteland.

When I returned to the Falcone estate, the butler, Marcus, greeted me.

“Ma’am, Miss Cecilia is here......and she’s in the Boss’s study now.”

I stopped in my tracks.

That oak-paneled room. Matteo’s private sanctuary.

Priceless oil paintings on the walls, exquisite revolvers on the shelves.

When I first secretly married Matteo, he never let me in there.

Until one drunken night, he carried me into the study and promised me a grand wedding.

That night, he pulled up my dress and pressed me against the cold desk.

Papers scattered across the floor, but nothing could stop him from entering me.

“Isn’t this a thrill, Lia?” he’d whispered in my ear, thrusting hard.

His sweat dripped onto my skin.

He held me and promised softly, “After the wedding, this room is yours alone. I swear, I’ll never let anyone else into our secret space.”

But now, he’d let Cecilia in without a second thought.

The me from back then was so pitifully stupid, deceived by his sweet words again and again. Foolishly, I let him lie to me ninety-eight times.

“Marcus,” I said, looking at the nervous butler.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“The rules have changed,” I cut him off. “From now on, there are no rules for her.”

I walked toward the master bedroom on the second floor, each step light and slow.

The divorce papers, signed by Matteo himself, felt warm in my hand.

From downstairs, I heard Cecilia scream. A scream of pleasure, of climax.

Then, Matteo’s low laugh.

I thought of him signing the papers last night, distracted, his mind already on his way to Cecilia.

He never even read them.

Because it never occurred to him that I would want to leave him.

For five years, I had endured every betrayal, every humiliation, every broken promise.

He thought I would endure it forever.

He was wrong.

There wouldn’t be a next time.

I went back to the bedroom and looked at the closets full of clothes.

Every single piece held a memory, a broken promise.

The red silk evening gown. Matteo said the color was like blood, like a rose, like his love for me.

The white cashmere coat. He bought it for me in Paris, said it would protect me from the Chicago cold.

The black lace lingerie, his favorite…

Every one of them was a monument to a lie.

I started to pack, then stopped. These clothes weren't mine. They were costumes for a life that was a lie. He could keep them.

“Natalia.”

An hour later, Matteo’s voice came from downstairs, low and tired.

My hand froze in mid-air.

“Make me the tea and bring it to the study,” he said. “I have a long night ahead of me.”

The calming tea.

For years, whenever Matteo had trouble with business or insomnia after an attack from a rival family, he’d have me make it for him.

I’d made it for him countless times.

And every time, he’d say only my tea could help him sleep.

“I will,” I replied softly.

This would be the last time.

With a sigh, I stood up and went to the kitchen.

I didn’t expect to see Cecilia there.

When she saw me, a smirk played on her lips.

“Natalia, your patience is really something else. I thought you were going to storm in and rip my clothes off.”

As she spoke, she deliberately pushed out her chest, showing off the angry red hickey on her collarbone.

“Is that right?” I looked down, taking out the herbs one by one. “Would you like a cup? This batch just came in. Six thousand dollars a pound.”

My calmness threw her.

She looked me up and down like I was some kind of freak.

“Do you know why he needs that tea tonight?” Cecilia leaned against the counter, hiking her skirt up even higher. “Because we were going so wild in the study. He said you never get him that worked up.”

“And you want to know the real reason he married you? It was a bet. Between him and me.”

My hands stopped.

“What bet?” I turned to face her.

Cecilia’s smile grew wider. “A bet that if he married the Rossi family’s grieving little princess, he could get those old men in your family to hand over control of the docks.”

“And you know what the stakes were?” Cecilia went on. “I had to sleep with him 30 times. As long as you married him, willingly…”

“Cecilia, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

Matteo’s tall frame filled the kitchen doorway.

His face was a storm of panic and guilt, his eyes shooting daggers at Cecilia.

But Cecilia didn’t flinch. She just wrapped her arms around his neck.

“What did I say that was wrong? Matteo, you know you only agreed to this marriage to win the bet.”

Matteo’s expression was a mess.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he just opened and closed his mouth, speechless.

His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. Guilt and confusion were written all over his face.

I stood there, frozen, Cecilia’s words ringing in my ears.

Six years ago, my father died, leaving behind the docks and a massive fortune. Every family wanted a piece.

But I chose Matteo.

Because he saved my life when we were children. Because I’d been secretly in love with him for ten years.

I married him in secret, against the wishes of my family.

The day we registered our marriage, I was too excited to sleep.

I thought he’d finally noticed me. I thought that when he saved me all those years ago, it meant something. I thought he’d fallen for me, too.

Now, the brutal truth felt like a poisoned dagger, gutting every fantasy I ever had.

“Natalia…” Matteo started.

I knelt down and quietly picked up the scattered herbs.

“He won’t need the tea,” I said, standing up, my voice terrifyingly calm. “It looks like you’ll have him sleeping soundly tonight.”

Cecilia smirked in triumph. Matteo just stood there, his face a storm of emotions.

I turned to leave.

“Natalia, wait…” Matteo called after me.

I didn’t turn back. “Is there anything else you need to say? About the bet?”

“It’s not what you think…”

“Then what is it?” I spun around and stared into his eyes. “Matteo, look at me and tell me the truth. When you married me, was there ever a single moment you did it because you actually cared for me?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Cecilia giggled beside him. “See? He admits it.”

I just nodded and turned away in silence.

Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, my encrypted phone rang.

It was Matteo.

“Natalia, what Cecilia said this afternoon… she was just making it up. Don’t take it to heart.”

His voice was urgent, like he was terrified I’d believe her.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I understand everything now.”

“No, you don’t! Maybe it started with business, but I fell in love with you.”

Perhaps my overly calm demeanor made Matteo uneasy. He said anxiously.

“I swear, next month, I’ll give you a real wedding at Lake Como.”

I closed my eyes.

The same promise he’d been making for five years.

“Matteo,” I began.

“What?”

I was going to tell him the truth. “Are you free tomorrow? About the alliance agreement and our marriage…”

Before I could finish, Cecilia’s voice cut in from his end of the line, a sultry purr.

“Matteo, how much longer are you going to be? The plane’s about to take off.”

Matteo’s voice dropped, sounding rushed.

“Natalia, what did you just say? I didn’t catch that.”

“There’s an urgent matter I need to handle in Las Vegas. Everything else can wait until I get back.”

I stared at the black screen and let out a cold laugh.

I was going to give him a clean break, but he couldn’t even give me that.

In the days that followed, I finished all power transfers and asset withdrawals.

I moved my things back to the Rossi family estate.

My father’s study was exactly as he’d left it.

“Welcome home, Miss,” our butler, Antonio, said respectfully. “Your room has been prepared.”

In the days that followed, Matteo sent me messages every day.

A castle hotel on the shores of Lake Como.

A Victorian chapel.

A three-million-dollar custom wedding gown.

Every picture came with the same text: For you.

It looked like he was finally trying.

But at the same time, Cecilia was posting daily videos to her private social media.

Her and Matteo, popping champagne in the presidential suite at Caesars Palace.

Her, walking through casinos in a million-dollar Hermès couture gown.

Her, filming from Matteo’s private jet, showing off a new Cartier bracelet on her wrist.

Every video was a declaration to the world: she was the woman Matteo adored.

The day before Matteo’s promised wedding, Tony came to me in a hurry.

“Miss, you need to see this.”

He handed me a tablet.

The video showed the VIP lounge of the Bellagio. And there was Matteo, down on one knee in front of Cecilia.

He was holding a box. Inside was a massive pink diamond ring.

“Cecilia, marry me.”

The Matteo in the video had eyes full of love, his voice so tender I almost didn’t recognize it.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers.

Cecilia cried as she nodded. Matteo slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her deeply.

I recognized the ring instantly. The five-million-dollar pink diamond he had promised me.

“Should I take care of this video?” Tony asked.

“Wipe the source. Blacklist anyone associated with it,” I said calmly. “Don’t let anyone see it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Tony left, my phone rang.

It was Matteo, his voice buzzing with excitement. “Natalia! Great news! I’m coming back to Chicago tomorrow. We can finally have our wedding!”

“A Victorian chapel, the best florist in Chicago. I swear, there will be no more surprises this time.”

The next day, I didn’t go to the chapel. I went back to the estate where he and I had lived for five years.

It was completely silent.

Noon came and went. No call from Matteo, asking where his bride was.

He didn’t stumble in until 9 p.m., reeking of booze.

He saw me sitting on the sofa, his eyes flashing with guilt.

“Natalia…” he swayed into the living room. “I’m sorry. The wedding… it had to be…”

“Had to be what?” I asked from the couch, my voice flat.

“Cecilia… she had a bad night at the tables. Lost everything. She was a mess. I couldn’t leave her like that.” He collapsed into the chair opposite me. “But next time. I swear, next time…”

Hearing it, I felt nothing.

Sure enough, for the ninety-nine time, he stood me up.

I just watched him, then slid the notarized divorce agreement across the table.

“There won’t be a next time,” I said, “Our alliance and our marriage — both end here..”