Thirteen Days to Leave My Husband

My husband slept with his best friend's sister.

Not once, not twice, but multiple times, and he even brought her into our home. The bed, the couch, the kitchen counter. He told me he only loved me, yet his body told a different story.

I didn't even have to imagine it. I heard her voice with my own ears.

"Marcello, when are you going to divorce her? You promised me."

"Soon, baby. Not now. She's still grieving over our dead daughter."

"Poor thing. Having a mother like her… no wonder. But don't worry, I'll give you a child soon. I'll get pregnant."

"I'm counting on it."

"But tell me the truth. Do you really love her, your wife Arianna?"

"Yes. I love her."

My husband, the man everyone in this city whispered about, the cold, dangerous Don of the Castellano Family, still had the audacity to speak about love while touching another woman.

Thirteen days. That's all I needed. My travel documents would be ready by then. So I went to the consulate and filed my application.

"Hello, I'm here to apply for emigration," I said at the counter, handing over my paperwork.

The clerk glanced at me, stamped everything quickly, and slid a receipt across.

"Your application will be processed in thirteen days, ma'am. Please wait patiently."

I nodded and walked out. Behind me, I caught the sound of murmuring.

"Did I hear right? Mrs. Castellano applied for emigration?"

"She's leaving the country? But Don Castellano dotes on her more than anyone. What could've happened?"

"Remember that wedding seven years ago? Biggest event in the city. The cathedral, the five hundred guests, the old Don giving his blessing before he passed. Three years ago when she got into that car accident, Marcello gave her half his blood. Last year she went missing for an hour, and he turned the city upside down looking for her. Had every soldier in the Family on the streets. And now she's leaving him?"

I let out a quiet laugh, the kind that doesn't reach the eyes.

Yes. Everyone knew how much Marcello "doted" on me. To the outside world, I was the only woman he cared for. He was ruthless to everyone else, untouchable, feared even by his own men. Capos lowered their eyes when he entered a room. Associates crossed themselves when his name came up in conversation. But for me, he was all fireworks, diamonds, and sweet words.

I still remember how it started. He saw me once at a gathering his grandfather Don Enzo hosted and decided I was it for him. He sent gifts, luxury cars, even put on a three-day fireworks show that lit up the whole city. When I casually mentioned I liked chestnut cake, he drove through a snowstorm all night to bring one to me. He was drenched, lips blue from the cold, but the cake was still warm when he pressed it into my hands.

And when my parents died in that accident, he abandoned a billion-dollar negotiation in New York to rush back to me. He found me shaking, hollow, broken. He pulled me into his arms and whispered, "Arianna, I'm here. I'll always be by your side."

Back then, I thought he was my safe place. My Mr. Right. I gave him my whole heart.

But love doesn't stop men like Marcello from straying. Nine months ago, temptation knocked, and he answered. His best friend's sister, of all people. Giulio Santoro's own blood. He thought I'd never find out. But secrets don't stay buried forever. We had just sent our two-year-old daughter to heaven when I saw the truth. When I smelled her perfume on our couch, when I pieced together the lies, I knew I was done.

Marcello can play his games, charm the world, and tell me a thousand sweet lies. But this time, I won't stay.

I slipped my documents into my bag, flagged a cab, and told the driver to take me to the Castellano estate.

The moment I walked into the villa, something hit me. A strange, heavy smell clung to the air, sweet and bitter all at once. My stomach twisted.

And then I saw them.

Marcello was standing on a ladder, pinning decorations to the wall. Beside him, Serafina Santoro smiled like she owned the place.

When the door clicked shut behind me, Marcello turned. His hands froze mid-air, then he came down slowly, carefully. The cold Don everyone feared disappeared in an instant. His eyes softened, his lips curved into that practiced smile that used to melt me.

"Arianna, baby… why are you dressed so light? You'll catch a cold. Didn't you go out with your friends? Why'd you come home so soon? I was planning to surprise you."

Surprise.

My gaze slid up to his neck. There it was. A fresh hickey, deep and red, mocking me.

My chest squeezed, but I forced myself to blink it away.

I said nothing.

Serafina's giggle broke the silence. She walked up, swinging her hair, voice sweet but sharp. The thin gold bracelet on her right wrist caught the light as she gestured.

"Arianna, Marcello really dotes on you. He even prepared all this for your anniversary."

She pointed to a pile of gifts stacked in the corner. My eyes followed her hand and that's when I saw it. A wet patch, soaking into the fabric of the sofa beneath the gifts.

The smell. The mark. The truth.

So this was love? He really had sex with her right next to my anniversary presents?

The ache in my chest spread like fire, but I kept my lips shut.

Marcello, blind as ever, walked over with a velvet box. He opened it, lifted a bracelet, and clasped it gently around my wrist. His right hand brushed mine, and I felt the weight of his grandfather's silver ring, the old Don's signet, cold against my skin. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I set up a candlelit dinner for us. Just you and me."

I shivered and pulled back. "No. I don't feel well."

Every second near him felt like punishment.

He frowned instantly, all concern, all performance. He called private doctors, one after another, refusing to rest until they said I was fine. He ordered Mateo, his right-hand man, to fetch health supplements. He even brought me a glass of warm milk, pressing it into my hands until I drank it.

That night, exhaustion finally dragged me under. But when I woke in the dark, my throat was dry, I left my room for water.

And froze.

The door across the hall was wide open. Moonlight spilled through the window, lighting up two figures tangled on the bed.