Our story started with a single, reckless night of sin while he was drugged.

But I didn't regret it.

After that night, I foolishly believed I had claimed his heart.

For six years, we were inseparable and became a couple that made the entire underworld envious.

However, everything was changed when I overheard him laughing with his capos outside the lounge.

"Vincent, when will you put a ring on Lyra’s finger?"

My footsteps froze. Then, his voice, still cold and utterly merciless, cut through the door.

"She’s nothing but a fuck buddy. How could I marry her?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent warning. A suffocating, dead silence fell over the lounge.

"When I broke up with my ex, she asked me to try dating other women. If we still have feelings for each other after six years, we’d reunite. We have a deal." His tone was chillingly calm. "My trial is over. It’s time for her to come back."

"What about Lyra?" Another capo asked, sounding almost pitying.

"I’ll throw her a fake wedding." Vincent replied, a cruel smirk audible in his voice. "Let her have little fantasy. It’s the least I can do before I discard her."

A glacial chill seeped into my veins, making my fingertips tremble. Six years of affection…All those moments I thought were real were nothing but a twisted, calculated trial. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall.

I resolutely turned on my heel and walked away into the shadows. By dawn, I booked a one-way flight to Switzerland.

I have no memory of stumbling out of the club. The neon lights and the bass of the music were just a sickening blur. Moments later, Vincent emerged, surrounded by his men. He didn't look back. He just slid into his Maybach and drove off into the night.

Wiping my tears away in a frantic daze, I threw myself into the first cab that stopped.

"Follow that Maybach up ahead." I ordered, my voice trembling but resolute. I needed to see his ex with my own eyes. I had to know the woman who had haunted his mind all the time and I could never defeat for six years.

Vincent pulled over nearby the terminal at the international airport. I threw a wad of cash at the driver and practically fell out of the car, hiding in the shadows behind a concrete pillar.

Vincent stood by the exit. A moment later, a woman in a white dress stepped out, dragging a suitcase behind her. Her silhouette was soft and delicate. But, I was astonished at the sight of her face as if lightning had struck me to the core.

She is Elara Borgia, my step-sister.

I could have accepted him falling for anyone, but why did it have to be Elara Borgia? I bit down on my lower lip so hard and tasted the metallic tang of blood, completely numb with the pain.

Falling into a trance, I saw Vincent had already taken Elara’s luggage. He pulled her against him, his arm wrapped around her waist as they walked toward the car. I just couldn’t accept it yet and flagged down another cab to keep following them.

Through the windshield, I could see Vincent turned his head and spoke to Elara, incredibly tender. He even reached out to tuck the stray hair behind her ear. That devoted care was something I had begged for but never received in our six years.

As I stared at his car ahead, my vision completely blurred by tears, an accident occurred at the intersection.

A deafening screech of tires tore through the street, followed instantly by the sickening crunch of metal on metal! The taxi I was in slammed into the back of Vincent’s Maybach. Before I could even brace herself, another car bumped into the rear with brutal force!

BANG!

The violent impact threw me forward. My forehead heavily smashed into the back of the front seat. A blinding agony erupted in my skull, and warm blood instantly poured down.

Amidst the chaos, I peered through the shattered window. The door of Vincent’s Maybach flew open. Vincent was out in a flash. He sprinted to the other side, pulling Elara into his arms with a gentleness reserved only for her.

He cradled her, scanning her body for injuries, his brow deeply furrowed in agonizing concern. Scooping Elara up, Vincent turned to leave the wreckage. But his gaze accidentally locked onto the taxi. Through the broken glass, he saw me, bleeding and trapped in the crushed backseat. For a second, I saw a flicker of clear shock in his emotionless eyes. But it vanished just as quickly.

Sensing his hesitation, Elara murmured softly against his chest, her hand resting on his lapel.

"Vincent, what’s up? Did you see anyone? I'm fine, it's just a scratch. If you have things to deal with, just go ahead… It seems that a taxi got hit really badly…"

A heavy silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Then, Vincent tore his eyes away.

"Nothing happened."

With those words, he held Elara tighter and walked away in to the night, not looking back once. Staring at his ruthless and disappearing figure, I wanted to laugh, but only tears mixed with blood slid down my face.

Over the past six years, I was nothing in his eyes. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed her best friend, Vesper Corleone.

"Vesper… I'm leaving.” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. “Get my immigration papers ready."

When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile scent of the hospital hit me like a physical blow. Vincent walked in, his gaze briefly sweeping over my wounds. He tried to reach out his hand and touch my forehead. I turned my head away, dodging his touch.

"What are you doing here?" My voice was barely a rasp.

His hand froze in mid-air.

"I'm your boyfriend." Vincent argued, his voice dripping with a cold, cynical tone. "If I don't show up, who else would?"

His words were a blade, twisted precisely into my heart. Maybe he was right. If he didn’t come, who else would it be?

My mother had died young. My father was biased, and my stepmother was like a venomous snake. That house was nothing but a cage I had been trapped. I had built my life on arrogance and rebellion, pretending I didn't need care from anyone.

For six years, it was Vincent who helped out whenever I needed him. He had let me lean on him, and led me to mistake I had finally found a safe harbor. But now it was Vincent who had just shoved her back into the abyss. My heart ached until it went completely numb.

"Even if no one cares about me, I don't need you."

My eyes were rimmed with red, burning with unshed tears. Vincent mistook my silence for stubbornness, thinking I was just forcing myself to act strong. A faint, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow. Before he could speak, a nurse hurried into the room.

"Mr. Corleone, Miss Elara Borgia is done with her tests. She’s been asking for you."

Lyra snapped, like a scared cat.

"Go play nursemaid to your ex-girlfriend! I don't need you!"

Vincent stared at me in silence for a few seconds. He held back his impatience, trying to convince me of his affection.

"Elara is just an ex. You’re my girl.” He said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding cadence. “Furthermore… we'll hold a wedding ceremony soon. Have you forgotten you already accepted my proposal? Don't be jealous over someone irrelevant."

I couldn't stop it. A laugh tore from my throat, sharp and jagged. I laughed so hard that my entire body trembled, sending sharp, blinding pain through my wounds. But the physical agony was nothing compared to the absolute devastation in my chest.

"Vincent, are you serious about marrying me?” I forced my laughter down, lifting a face stained with tears. “Or, you just want to find someone to marry to get what you want?” I stared at him, my eyes as cold and broken as shattered glass.

A strange, faint tremor hit Vincent's chest. Something unnamable flashed in his dark, fathomless eyes, gone before it could be caught. This was the first time Vincent had ever seen me cry.

Even if he had been ruthless with me in bed, I had only ever bitten my lip in stubborn defiance, never letting a single tear fall. His frown deepened, suppressing a sudden, inexplicable discomfort in his chest.

"Enough. I have urgent matters to attend to. I'll come back later."

Watching his resolute, retreating back, I finally collapsed against the pillows, letting the tears fall in a silent, endless stream. I thought I would cry for hours, but my body had already reached its limit. I had simply run out of tears. In the sterile ward, all that was left was a dead, freezing void.

For the next few days, I was entirely alone, tending to my own wounds. Occasionally, I would hear the nurses whispering in the hallway. They were talking about Elara, praising her luck. Vincent was feeding her by hand, staying up all night by her side, treating her as if she were made of spun glass. His partiality for her had become an open secret.

One day, passing by Elara’s ward, I paused and peeked through the cracked door. Vincent was sitting by the bed, peeling an apple with meticulous care, while Elara rested against his shoulder, smiling up at him with gentle affection.

The scene was like a red-hot iron nail driven straight into my pupils. The world went black for a second, my heart seizing in violent, agonizing spasms.

But I didn't cry. I had finally learned how to love, and now, I was learning how to let go. From this moment on, I would never shed another tear for Vincent Corleone.

The second I was discharged from the hospital, I applied for my visa. I was done waiting. I refused to waste one more second breathing the same air as Vincent.

With my visa secured, I returned home and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I opened my eyes, the night had already swallowed the sky. Needing to clear my head, I stepped out into the garden. But, I hadn't been out there long when Elara appeared.

"Lyra." She cooed, her voice soft but dripping with unapologetic provocation. "I heard your story with Vincent over the past six years."

I couldn't be bothered to her pathetic games, and turned on my heel to leave. But the second I pivoted around, a blood-curdling scream tore through the night.

Elara had thrown herself forward, smashing her forehead against the sharp stone edge of a garden bench. Blood instantly poured down her face.

"Elara!"

Almost simultaneously, Vincent and my dad, Dominic Corleone, rushed out of the living room. I had wondered why the hell Vincent was here in the first place.

Elara was on the ground, clutching her bleeding forehead, tears streaming down her face.

"Dad, Vincent… please don't blame Lyra. I just lost my balance…"

Dominic's face turned the color of iron. Pointing a trembling finger at me, he roared in a blind fury.

"You ungrateful wretch! What did you do to your sister?!"

I stood rooted to the spot, and watched her farce indifferently. My heart was broken as if it was a block of solid ice. My eyes swept past my enraged father and landed on Vincent.

He was crouched beside Elara, carefully inspecting her wound. When he finally looked up, the usual calm in his fathomless eyes was gone, replaced by a bone-chilling, ruthless scrutiny. In that moment, the cold seeped straight into my marrow. I knew he didn't believe me either. Yes, Elara was his secret obsession. Why would he ever take her word over me? I just sneered.

Dominic immediately barked out his bodyguards.

"Grab this ungrateful wretch! Drag her to the ancestral hall and get her to kneel! Give her thirty lashes! No one is to let her up without my permission!"

I fought back with everything I had, but the bodyguards pinned me down effortlessly. I cast a desperate, pleading glance toward Vincent. But he was entirely caring about Elara, completely blind to me being dragged away.

I was ruthlessly hauled into the side hall. A guard raised a heavy leather whip and brought it down hard against my back!

CRACK!

The agonizing, flesh-tearing pain hit me instantly. My vision went black. I bit down on my lower lip so hard, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

The whip lashed down again and again. My whole body convulsed in agony. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes as my consciousness began to slip away.

Old memories flashed through my mind. Vincent had once vaguely known about my bad relationship with my father and tried to help me. I still remembered the nights I was drowning in grief, sneaking out to my mother's grave in the pouring rain. He had found me, wordlessly stripping off his jacket to wrap around me, and driven me home in silence. I reminisced about those moments of tenderness I had foolishly mistaken for care…

Back then, I could never have imagined that one day he would be the one to push me into this absolute abyss.

A metallic tang flooded my throat. I coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

…

When my consciousness finally returned, I found myself lying on my own bed. Every inch of my body ached as though it had been crushed by a truck. Gritting my teeth against the blinding agony, I have my bags packed.

Moments ago, my immigration papers had finally been approved. Clutching my luggage, I headed for the door, ready to make my escape to the airport. But the moment I pushed open the door, I came face to face with Vesper Corleone. Seeing my bruises and cuts, Vesper instantly broke down into a sobbing mess.

"Are you really leaving? My uncle is already planning the wedding! How did you two suddenly fall apart?"

I just shook my head. "I'm done playing house with him. We're finished."

Vesper could do nothing but stand by and watch me leave. But, he insisted on seeing me off to the airport. In front of terminal, I pulled Vesper into a brief embrace, patting her back gently. Then, I let go, offered a casual wave, and turned toward the security checkpoint.

Vesper watched my silhouette disappear into the crowd. Unable to hold her tears back any longer, she collapsed to the floor, weeping uncontrollably. Fueled by a fierce, righteous anger, she pulled out her phone and called Vincent.

"Uncle! Why did you give up Lyra for Elara?"

Vincent's voice came through the line, laced with genuine confusion. "When did I ever give up on Lyra?"

"Then why is she immigrating to Switzerland and never coming back? You must break her heart!"

Dead silence fell on the other end of the line. A few seconds later, Vincent's voice returned.

His cool, untouchable composure was entirely gone, replaced by a rare, suffocating panic.

"What do you mean…Lyra left?"