"Mr Thomson, I've made a decision. I will leave the city next week and start at your company."

Those words sliced through the heavy silence. Just hours ago, I was trapped in my own car after a brutal accident that cost me my baby.

Vincent Knight, the infamous mafia boss and my boyfriend of seven years, drove past with his alluring assistant, Angelina Brown. When he caught a glimpse of my blood-soaked dress, he shielded her eyes and muttered, "It's not good. Don't look." Then he sped away, leaving me in shock.

Now, night has fallen. As I stepped into our bedroom, my heart sank at the sight of a red lacy bra in the corner of the closet—definitely not mine.

Thousands of emotions crossed my mind. I took a deep breath and dialled a number. One which was forbidden for me.

——

"That's great. We'll be glad to work with you," Mr Thomson replied in an excited tone.

The Thomson Mafia Empire was the second most feared mafia group in New York. First and most terrifying was still the Knight Mafia Group, owned and led by Vincent Knight.

"Who were you talking to?" A stern voice came from behind.

Instantly I turned around and found Vincent standing there. I didn't realise when he walked out of the bathroom after a shower. His hair was damp, and pearls of water still clung to his skin.

When my eyes caught a glimpse of the cell phone in his hands, I wondered, Recently why does he carry that in the shower and take an hour to finish, unlike his usual quick showers?

"I asked you something," he said, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes.

Panic surged through my mind. 'What if he found out I was going to work with Mr Thomson, his biggest rival in the mafia world?'

As a Mafia boss, he would never forgive betrayal and anyone who would cross him or side with his enemies rarely got to live.

At that moment, my eyes turned towards the display of my cell phone. The call had ended.

"Wo.. work-related," I stuttered.

"Ah!" His expression darkened slightly. As usual, he wasn't interested.

And for the first time, I didn't throw any tantrums or complaints. Instead, I was relieved and started drafting my resignation letter on my phone.

Minutes later, his phone buzzed. Seeing the screen, his jaw tightened and he stepped towards the floor-to-ceiling glass window, pulling aside those heavy grey curtains.

I knitted my eyebrows together and followed his gaze. My stomach churned, outside I saw one of Vincent's most trusted men, surrounded by several of his other men.

Their guns were aimed at him. The man named Polo - he had been his left hand for years. Undoubtedly, I had seen him countless times, loyal and brave.

But now there was a defeated look on his face. However, Vincent had an indescribable expression. Then, in a cold and detachable tone, he instructed, "Shoot him."

He paused for a moment, increasing the tension in the room. "Anybody who betrays me deserves the same."

Instantly, a gunshot echoed. Polo's body was lying on the ground, lifeless.

I trembled as the reality of what I just witnessed hit me hard. Polo was dead. The man whom I used to see every day was gone.

What if he finds out about my deal with Mr Thomson, his rival? Will he do the same with me?

I shook my head as I realised that it happened swiftly just by Vincent one command.

Meanwhile, he didn't flinch, he pulled the curtains closed and reacted as if nothing happened.

His eyes flickered to the bed. There was an indescribable emotion on his face as he noticed that I didn't make his favourite coffee for the first time.

He casually stopped in his tracks and finally fixed his gaze on me.

"You just have a minor injury, nothing serious. I showed your CT Scan to a specialist. Just remember to keep your wound dry," he mumbled, his voice cold and determined.

"Okay!" I said, still typing. That afternoon, I had eight stitches in my leg from the accident. On top of it, I found out that I was four weeks pregnant but already showing signs of miscarriage.

The doctor apologised, saying that the baby must have been saved if I would have been brought to the hospital sooner.

When I didn't react, Vincent frowned and started walking over to check what I was doing.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A smile adorned his lips, and without a second thought, he turned and disappeared into his study.

Once he was out of sight, I opened up my secret social media account and scrolled through his feed.

There I spotted a new post — visible to everyone but me. To my dismay, it seemed more like a public apology.

Made my cutest assistant wait for ten minutes. Promised her dinner after work, but work got in the way. Going to make up with her soon.

I liked the post, and at the same moment received a notification from Mr Thomson: the contract. Without delay, I clicked the link and signed the document without a second thought.

The next morning, Vincent woke up early and brought pasta and cupcakes from a well-known restaurant.

Just as I was about to open the bag with red sauce pasta, he slapped my hand away.

"You like pesto sauce cheese pasta, right? I got one just for you."

I froze for a second before realising—the red sauce pasta wasn't for me. It was for Angelina.

"In our seven years of togetherness, you didn't know that I'm allergic to cheese?" The only words managed to come out of my mouth.

Vincent closed his eyes tightly in frustration

and stood abruptly, slamming the table with his palm. "Stop creating scenes. I don't care whether you eat it or not."

The moment he was about to leave, I walked into the bedroom and came back with a brown bag.

"Do me a favour and return this to Angelina."

The moment those words echoed in the air,

he raised his left eyebrow, taking the bag. A series of emotions flickered through his eyes when he saw a red lacy bra in the bag.

But when he saw my calm expression, he mumbled, "I'll ask her to stop being careless."

Undoubtedly, he sensed my low mood so he said, "I can give you a ride to work today."

Silently I nodded my head in agreement, reminiscing the fact that we had been together for seven years. And he never drove me to work, no matter how bad the situation was.

He tended to separate his professional life from his personal life. But his every rule changed when it came to Angelina. Even on her first day as his assistant, he drove her.

I was about to stand up when Vincent's words stopped me."Something important came up. I will give you a ride next time."

As I kept sitting at the dining table, thinking about the stark difference between how Vincent treated Angelina, his assistant and me, I accidentally knocked my fork off the table.

My fingers trembled as I bent down to pick it up. When I straightened, I saw Vincent standing at the entrance along with Marco, the second in command after Polo.

I winced at the sight as I remembered the events of last night. Vincent was still having the same unreadable, cold and distant expression.

The gun was holstered beneath his suit jacket. That weapon symbolised the power he held — over the city, over the syndicate, and over me.

Without looking back at me, he threw a glance at the wall clock and said, "See you later."

His tone was devoid of warmth as he turned and walked out the door, bodyguards following close behind.

Half an hour later, I sat in the office of Knight Financial Firm. It was the front of the darker business which Vincent used to run.

Meanwhile, my colleagues gave me a pitiful and terrified gaze. No one dared to speak about Vincent with me openly as they knew that it would haunt them. They knew who I was to him and the risk involved.

So, when I was in the cafeteria, filling my water bottle, I overheard two whispers. Both of the women had their backs on my face.

"So, it's true, Mr Knight ditched Scarlett for Angelina, his assistant?" One asked in a hushed tone.

"It seems like. I mean you should have seen today's morning. Angelina had a bloodstain on her dress, and he carried her out of the meeting in front of everyone." She paused. "Word is, she was there when that rival from the Martian family got taken out,” the other replied, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

My grip tightened around the bottle, hands shaking. Anger was rushing through my veins, and before I could maintain my composure, the bottle slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the floor.

The room went silent as water pooled around the broken pieces.

I crouched down to gather the glass, ignoring the sharp pain in my hands as I threw them into the trash.

Later, I ended up working late in the night. It was past ten. The building was nearly empty when I heard footsteps approaching.

Before I could turn around, a heavy coat draped over my shoulder. It was Vincent.

"Scarlett," he said in a low tone. "Why didn't you reply to my messages?"

Instead of saying anything to him, I absent-mindedly picked up my cell phone and scrolled through his messages.

Which flavour of cake do you prefer?

Seeing that, I recalled our conversation years ago, when I asked him for a pineapple cake after one of his business meetings and he taunted, "Cake? Scarlett, you're almost over 30 and you're just being childish."

Now he was standing behind him, as if everything was good between us.

However, I focused my attention on the computer screen, ignoring the sweet delicious aroma of chocolate cake.

My hands trembled slightly, but I continued typing, drowning out the memories of Vincent's words from years ago.

"You used to beg me for this," he mumbled, having a drastic change in his facial expression.

"It's past ten in the night. If I eat this now, I won't be able to sleep," I reasoned.

Within a minute, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Let's go home together."

Without waiting for my reply, he turned around and went away. Barely after thirty seconds, his phone buzzed on my desk. It was a message from Angelina.

"You stupid! Who sends dozens of cakes all at once? Do you want me to put it on?"

I gritted my teeth. My eyes were blazing with fire. My fingers hovered over my keyboard, but now it was hard to focus. I didn't want to stay in the same place as Vincent now.

Before I could stand up and leave, a loud bang erupted from the hallway. My head tried to spot the real reason. Moreover, that wasn’t just the bathroom door slamming—it was the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

A second later, Vincent rushed into the office. He was holding a gun. His veins filled with rage. His suit jacket flared open.

Three of his men rushed in, their guns raised and ready, faces cold and ruthless.

"Move from the back door," he said and held my hand to push me into the back seat of a sleek black Mercedes Benz.

"Is everything alright?" I asked to which he replied, "Nothing to worry!"

Silence followed by. A little after 11 we reached home, I directly went to my room and started packing my stuff as I didn't have much time.

A few minutes later, Vincent walked out of the bathroom. His chest is naked, revealing the tattoos and scars that showcased his life in the Mafia.

In no time, his eyes turned towards my empty vanity. He knitted his eyebrows together but it seemed like he didn't bother.

"Next week, I'm going on a business trip to Paris. If you want anything, make a list, I will bring that for you."

Without a delay, I replied, "I don't need anything. Thanks for asking."

We are leaving so what was the need to ask him to bring things for me?

Now he stepped closer, and asked, "What this?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "You’re upset because I didn’t bring you the right breakfast this morning? Is that what this is?"

No words came out of my mouth. I was tired and this time I didn't want to give any kind of explanation.

"I can’t stand women like you—acting like drama queens." His voice dripped with contempt. "You’re crossing your line, Scarlett."

Afterwards, he walked out of the room and went to the study.

Unlike every time going and apologising to him, I simply turned off the bedside lamp and waited. Neither he came back nor I went to him.

The next morning, I woke early and made breakfast as usual, going through the motions. At that time, Vincent walked out of his study, his phone in hand, already making orders to his men.

"Take the day off,” he said without looking at me. “By 5 p.m., I need you to make me an identical fondant cake for the picture I am providing you!"

Since the day I started dating Vincent, every year I have baked his birthday cake myself. I always did that with my own hands.

But tonight, it was different. When my eyes turned towards his phone screen, I saw it again.

It was Angelina's profile picture, a little cartoon avatar. Although, deep inside my heart, I knew for whom that cake was for but now it was confirmed.

It was her. I took a deep breath and no words came out of my mouth. Vincent was behaving completely insensitively. He didn't realise what I felt when he asked me to bake that cake.

Meanwhile, his eyes were fixed on me. He was waiting for my reply. Eventually, I nodded my head in agreement and kept my expression neutral.

"Send me the pictures," I said, standing up. "I'm going out to buy the ingredients."

My thoughts instantly went back to our first meeting. Seven years ago, that dark winter night changed everything for me. If Vincent hadn't been there, I wouldn't have made out alive.

It was an annual auction where high-profile mafia bosses were present. Tension was in the air when a sudden argument echoed. Within seconds, guns were drawn.

I still remember the terrifying sound of a gunshot piercing the surroundings. The next moment, a man in his late fifties collapsed, blood pooling around him.

His body was dragged out of that space as if nothing happened. Vincent had shielded me, pulling me away from that chaos.

At that moment, I gave him a long look, one last time and thought, "Once I finish this cake, I will be done with him."

I was taking long steps towards the door, my steps heavy with the weight of my decision.

Before I could press the doorknob, Vincent's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Scarlett…" he called my name, unsurely.

I stood intact and didn't bother to turn around. "Anything else?" I asked, my voice void of any emotions.

He paused and mumbled, "I'll transfer you the amount."

I shook my head in disappointment and kept walking, not saying a word. As soon as I stepped into the elevator, I pulled out my phone and opened our chat history.

Not 1, 20 or 100 but there were 5363 messages sent by me. And he just replied to 25. A mocking smile adorned my lips.

On the other side, upstairs, Vincent's phone buzzed up with the notification that the transfer of $100 had been rejected.

It wasn't difficult for me to imagine his current reaction after that subtle rejection.

Later that night, around 8 p.m., my phone started ringing constantly. As expected it was Vincent.

"Hey! Where have you been?" He asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Do you need anything?" I asked, ignoring his fake apprehension.

After a long pause, Vincent replied, "Nothing much." And then added further, "I just wanted to say…the cake is delicious. As always!"

For the first time, I didn't feel anything after hearing those words. Was he trying to make up? Or does he want me to forget about what he did?

When none of us spoke, he broke the silence. "I know… you have put in lots of effort."

My facial expression softened. I was letting my guard down for a moment. But Angelina's voice took me out of my trance.

"Vincent told me, you baked this delicious cake for me, Scarlett. Impressive! You're talented. I wish I could be able to do this. But I'm clumsy. Vincent calls me his little troublemaker."

The way she spoke was quite intimate. I could see through her words. Before I could comprehend anything, she invited me to her birthday dinner. I didn't even get the chance to politely decline the invitation and Vincent's voice echoed again.

"Well! Don't need to come here."

Afterwards, he hung up the call. Tears were at the edge of my eyes. But I didn't let them fall.

Minutes later, my phone buzzed again. It was a message from Vincent. It had his location pinned along with the note.

Bring Angelina's favourite perfume. She wants it as her birthday present right now.

I sighed, letting out a sarcastic smile. It took me 20 minutes to reach that location. When I pushed open the door to the private room, I smelled Vincent's strong cologne in the air. All of his bodyguards including Marco were guarding that place.

There he was! In the corner, feeding a slice of cake to Angelina. Her eyes were wide open as she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry!" My sudden apologies grabbed their attention. The moment Vincent landed on me, his expression darkened.

"What are you doing here?"

Before I could say anything, Angelina ran in my direction and greeted me in the most fake sweet tone.

"Scarlett, finally you are here."

Meanwhile, Vincent wasn't liking anything so he said, "Didn't I tell you not to come?"

I knitted my eyebrows together in confusion. Before I could utter anything, Angelina mumbled, "I wanted that perfume. So, I just tricked her into bringing me one."

When Vincent heard that, his expression softened as he ruffled her hair, "You, little troublemaker!"

Exactly he was calling the same name which she told me a few minutes ago.

After witnessing the whole scene, my mind was crystal clear. I knew I wasn't going to get a better time than this. In no time, I pulled out my resignation letter.

"Vincent," I stepped forward. "One of my colleagues has a family emergency, can you please approve this?"

However, he was so engrossed in Angelina that he didn't give a glance at the letter and scribbled his signature.

The moment I was about to take away that letter, his hand grabbed mine. He stared at me with confusion.

"You… came here just for this?" he asked, his tone stern and suspicious.

Without delay, I nodded. His gaze darkened, and as his hand brushed the burn marks on my palm, he flinched.

Angelina was looking at us with interest. "Scarlett! That blue bracelet on your wrist looks familiar." She paused. "Now I remember, I saw that in Vincent's trash can the other day."

Although her words hurt me, I pretended not to notice Vincent, who was covering his wrist awkwardly. "Nowadays these bracelets are common. If you want it, I can bring it for you as well," I said calmly.

Vincent didn’t respond.

When I walked out of the room, I threw the bracelet into the nearest trash can. I was wearing it for seven years but not now when it meant nothing.

As I stood by the elevator, I received another call on my cell phone. It was Mom. "Did you buy your ticket home yet?"

"Not yet," I replied, my voice emotionless. "I’ll book it in a few days."

I had to be very careful. If Vincent would get to know any of my plans, he would end up killing me.

I shivered even at its mere thought. Before I could hang up, Vincent's voice came from behind. "Booking a ticket?" He paused. "For what?"