Serena had long stopped expecting to share a bed with her husband.

Luca’s excuse was always the same—he couldn’t sleep with anyone beside him.

But she knew better. He just couldn’t sleep beside her.

When he told her to give Isabella her room, she didn’t argue. That alone seemed to throw him. He had probably prepared some slick justification, but she cut it short.

“Fine,” she said, her tone almost careless. “I’ll move my things out tonight.”

For a moment, his eyes flickered—something like hesitation—but Isabella slid her arm through his and cooed, “See? She understands.”

Serena turned away without answering. She crouched and wrapped her arms around a wooden crate packed with clothes and books, heavier than she should have attempted alone. Her heel slipped against the polished stone, and the corner of the crate smashed against her hand. The bones in her knuckles screamed. She collapsed to her knees, breath catching, pain radiating sharp and hot up her arm.

Neither Luca nor Isabella noticed. He was already listening to her chatter about her trip abroad, smiling faintly as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Serena stayed crouched on the floor, her injured hand trembling against the weight, her lashes wet. It wasn’t the first time she had bled in silence, and it wouldn’t be the last.

By sunset, the halls of the villa were stripped of her. She had sent box after box out with the staff until nothing remained but bare furniture.

“You didn’t need to clear so much,” Luca remarked as he adjusted his cufflinks. “Isabella’s not staying forever. When she leaves, you’ll move back in. Why waste the effort?”

“They were old things,” Serena replied smoothly. “Dead weight. Better to clear them out.”

“You’ve never thrown anything away before.”

She only smiled faintly. “Sometimes you burn the old, so something new has room to grow.”

It was the truth, but not one he could ever understand.

Luca didn’t press. Instead, he changed the subject with a snap of finality. “There’s an auction tonight. Important faces will be there. You’ll come. Isabella, too.”

---

The auction house sat like a palace on the riverfront, guarded by black-suited men with guns under their jackets. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over rows of velvet chairs. The air was rich with money and danger—politicians, bankers, dons, all gathered under one roof, trading both art and influence.

The host, a slick-tongued broker with too-bright eyes, hurried to greet them. “Mr. Romano, what an honor. Your seat is ready.”

He gestured toward a pair of chairs near the front. “And of course, a second seat—for your wife?”

The words fell like a blade.

Serena stood a step behind Luca, watching. Two women. One chair. His choice.

It wasn’t a surprise when his hand closed around Isabella’s. “This is Isabella Caruso. Don Caruso’s daughter.”

Recognition lit in the host’s eyes. “The Caruso princess. An honor.”

“And her?” the man asked, glancing toward Serena.

Luca’s expression didn’t flicker. “My operations officer. Handles logistics.”

The words were clean, precise—erasing her role as his wife without hesitation.

Serena felt the sting cut through her ribs, but her face remained calm, unreadable. She stood tall behind them, nothing more than a shadow.

They took their seats, gleaming under the light. She stayed behind, an ornament no one acknowledged.

The hall was too bright, too suffocating. A sudden spasm of pain tore through her abdomen, sharp and merciless. She pressed a hand against her side, her steps quickening as she slipped out toward the restroom—her chest heaving as though she were fleeing.

The chill of the marble floor seeped into Serena’s bones. At first, she thought it was just fatigue, the kind that came from standing too long in heels, smiling when her heart was bleeding dry. But then the cramps twisted deeper, sharp and merciless, until she was forced to steady herself against the sink.

She reached for the door. The handle refused to turn.

A shadow fell across the crack beneath the frame. Then Isabella’s voice drifted through—syrupy sweet, dripping with venom.

“Still clinging to that ring on your finger, cousin? You really think it means anything?”

Serena pressed her forehead against the wood, her breath uneven.

“Luca’s always belonged to me,” Isabella continued. “You were just the placeholder. A ghost keeping his bed warm until I returned. And you dare walk into tonight’s auction like you belong at his side?”

Pain cut through Serena’s abdomen. Her body trembled, but her words came sharp, low.

“If you want him so badly, take him. I won’t fight you for scraps.”

Isabella laughed, the sound sharp enough to draw blood.

“You think I’ll believe that? You’ve been obsessed since we were children. You’ve always wanted what wasn’t yours. First my father’s trust, now my man. You’re pathetic.”

There was a scrape as something heavy was dragged outside the door. A sign slammed against the wall: Vault Access – Restricted. No one would dare open it now.

“Stay here,” Isabella said coldly. “Freeze in the dark. No one’s coming.”

Her footsteps faded, leaving Serena trapped in silence.

The air grew colder by the hour. Serena sank to the floor, the cramps clawing through her body. She pounded the door once, twice—each strike weaker than the last.

“Help… someone…”

Her voice barely carried. The marble stole her heat, her strength. Finally, her body gave in, curling tight against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.

---

The auction ended hours later. Luca glanced once toward the corridor, brows faintly drawn. Serena hadn’t returned.

“Maybe she was upset,” Isabella murmured, looping her arm through his. Her eyes glistened with false guilt. “If I’d known sitting beside you would wound her pride, I never would’ve taken her place.”

“You’re Don Caruso’s daughter,” Luca replied, his tone dismissive. “She’s just staff. If she can’t handle her role, let her sulk. Maybe the lesson will do her good.”

Isabella lowered her gaze to hide her smile. You see, Serena? You’ll never matter more than I do.

That night, Luca went home with Isabella on his arm. He never once asked about his wife.

---

It wasn’t until dawn that a cleaning woman turned her master key in the restroom door.

She gasped at the sight: Serena, crumpled in the corner, silk dress damp, her skin pale as bone.

“Madam! Saints preserve us—how long have you been in here? You’re freezing!” The woman crouched, frantic. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Serena stirred, lashes heavy, forcing herself upright against the wall. Her voice was hoarse but steady. “No. Thank you. I’ll manage.”

The pain in her body had dulled, leaving only exhaustion and cold.

For one foolish moment, she had believed Luca would come looking. But the night had passed, and he hadn’t even noticed her absence.

She remembered when Isabella once vanished for ten minutes at a party—Luca had ordered every soldier in the compound to search, nearly calling the police.

But for his wife? Nothing. Not a single word.

That was the difference between love and indifference.

Step by step, she left the hall and hailed a cab. At the exit, her confiscated phone was returned.

No messages from Luca. No missed calls.

But one number had lit her screen again and again. Unknown.

She pressed play on the last voicemail.

“Serena. I won’t give you thirty days. I’ve already put eyes on you. Seven nights—no more. If Luca Romano won’t protect you, I will. Willingly or not, you’ll be mine.”

Her grip tightened on the phone. A bitter smile curved her lips.

Even abandoned, she wasn’t unseen. Even discarded, someone was already moving through the city’s shadows for her.

When Serena left the cab and returned to the Romano villa, she barely had the strength to keep her steps steady.

Inside, Isabella was sprawled across the leather couch in a silk robe—Serena’s robe, stolen from her wardrobe. A jeweled necklace glittered against her pale skin, one Luca had once pressed into Serena’s palm after a successful shipment.

The moment Isabella spotted her, a mocking smile curved her lips.

“Back so soon? You look like hell,” she said sweetly, standing with deliberate slowness. Her hand rose to tilt Serena’s chin, nails grazing her skin.

“Look at you—white as a corpse. People will think you’re halfway to the grave.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice until her breath tickled Serena’s ear. “See this necklace? He fastened it himself. Said it looked better on me. Just like the rest of him.”

The words were poison. Serena’s hand shot up, and the crack of her palm against Isabella’s cheek echoed through the hall.

“Know your place,” Serena hissed. “I’m Luca’s wife. You’re nothing but the woman he sneaks around with. Push me further, and I’ll go public. The world will know you’re nothing but a thief who clawed her way into another woman’s bed.”

Isabella’s face burned, but her smile never faltered. Instead, her knees buckled, and she crumpled dramatically to the floor just as footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“Serena, stop!” she gasped, tears spilling on command. “I never should have come here—I’ll leave, I swear! I’d rather die than ruin your marriage!”

Before Serena could react, Luca’s shadow loomed. He was at Isabella’s side in an instant, catching her before she “collapsed.”

“Isabella,” he said urgently, “I invited you here. If anyone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me.”

Serena’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. The words weren’t for her. They never were.

“Apologize to her,” Luca snapped, his eyes cold as steel.

“I did nothing wrong,” Serena answered, her voice low but steady. “Tell me, Luca—aren’t you even curious where I was last night?”

“Did you—” he began, a frown flickering.

“Aren’t you wondering—”

“I don’t care where you were,” he cut her off harshly. “What I care about is you laying hands on Isabella. Until you apologize, you’re stripped of your duties. You’ll stay confined here until you admit your mistake.”

For Luca, authority was everything. He thought taking her rank as underboss was the harshest punishment. What he didn’t realize was that Serena had only ever taken on the burden to protect him, to make his world lighter.

Her chest hollowed out, but her face remained calm. Luca turned away, carrying Isabella with him. Before leaving, he barked to the staff:

“Until she apologizes, she doesn’t eat.”

---

The days blurred.

Three times a day, the maid came with a tray—then whisked it away untouched when Serena refused to bow her head. She survived on water alone, her body weakening, but her spirit unbroken.

Isabella’s messages filled her phone. Photos of her wearing Serena’s dresses. A clip of her and Luca dining on the balcony. A video of his hand sliding a diamond ring onto hers in jest, as if mocking the vows Serena still bore.

In the past, the sight would have shattered her.

Now, it barely stirred her heart.

A man who betrayed so easily wasn’t worth her grief.

---

On the fourth night, Serena left her locked room for the garden. The air was cool, the night deceptively peaceful.

Then a blur of fur barreled from the shadows. A Rottweiler, Isabella’s prized guard dog, lunged straight into her. Normally, she could have braced herself, but days of hunger had hollowed her body to glass.

She hit the ground hard. Pain tore through her abdomen, blood soaking her clothes as her knees buckled under her. Her vision blurred. She knew at once—life inside her had been extinguished before it even had a chance.

“Help!” she gasped, clutching her belly. “Please!”

The guards rushed forward, panic etched into their faces. One lifted her, shouting orders as the driver started the car.

But when they reached the street, red barricades blocked the way.

“I—I can’t go through!” the driver stammered. “Boss shut the roads down—Isabella’s birthday party. Streets are closed for her parade. No one passes without Luca’s clearance.”

Serena’s dress clung to her in wet crimson. Fireworks burst across the sky, showering the city in gold. Cheers echoed down the blocked street. All for Isabella.

Not for her. Never for her.

Her trembling hand reached for the ring on her finger. With all the strength she had left, she wrenched it free.

The diamond caught the flare of fireworks for one last brilliant flash—then clattered into the gutter, swallowed by darkness.

Her husband. Her marriage. All of it—gone.