Chapter 2

Perhaps realizing his reaction had been far too aggressive, Marco walked over to my side and rested his hands heavily on my shoulders. He leaned down, whispering softly against my ear: "It's Dad's birthday today. Can we please stop making a scene? Come upstairs with me. Let me show you the gift I brought back for you from Monaco."

I stood up, cleanly stepping away from his touch. "No one is making a scene. Whatever you do has absolutely nothing to do with me anymore."

Turning to Salvatore, I gave him a respectful, gentle nod. "Salvatore, I'll be leaving now."

He looked at me with deep reluctance and sorrow. "Alright, child. If you ever need anything, you can always come find me."

My eyes stung with unshed tears, and I nodded.

Watching this interaction, Marco frowned in confusion. But soon, he seemed to convince himself of a different narrative and laughed. "Dad, you really spoil her too much. With you constantly backing her up, she's going to watch me like a hawk every single day. I won't have a shred of freedom left."

Salvatore was in no mood to play along with his jokes. He bluntly announced the end of the banquet and turned to head back upstairs.

Sophie, shedding her previous timidity, suddenly found her voice. "Elena, I don't know how I offended you, but whatever it is, I want to apologize first. The Don works incredibly hard. Please don't run to his father to complain and get him scolded. I..."

I raised my hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "You haven't offended me, and I have nothing to complain about. If your heart aches for him that much, why don't you just marry into the Moretti family? Then you can take care of him formally and intimately, without needing to play all these games and cook up convoluted excuses."

Sophie's face instantly flushed with humiliation, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I didn't..."

"That's enough. She's just a young girl who recently graduated. She doesn't have that many hidden motives." Marco pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Sophie. "As for you, Elena—don't use your family background as an excuse to insult people. You're showing absolutely zero grace."

I stared at the handsome face I knew so well, a wave of profound bitterness washing over my heart. Knowing each other for twenty years, and loving each other for ten. And this was how he truly viewed me.

Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.

While Marco was still comforting a quietly sobbing Sophie, I walked straight out of the room. As I reached the courtyard, my steps involuntarily halted in front of the rose garden. Up in the ancient oak tree stood a small treehouse.

That was built by a sixteen-year-old Marco, entirely by hand, for me. He had spent his whole summer break climbing up those creaking wooden steps, hammering together the walls and roof. Finally, using a Swiss Army knife, he carved "M + E" into the wooden beam inside, underlining it with a single, firm word: Always.

“From today on, Elena, this treehouse is our secret base. My heart will be exactly like this place—forever open only to you.”

“Really? Then you have to promise there will never be anyone else.”

“I promise.”

Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder from behind. I turned my head. Marco was looking down at me, his eyes carrying that familiar warmth. For a split second, I felt a wave of disorientation.

"Why did you just walk off by yourself? We agreed to go to Paris next week. You've lost quite a bit of weight recently; your measurements will definitely need to be retaken."

Just as I opened my mouth to reply—

"Wow! This tree is so beautiful! There’s even a treehouse! Marco, can I climb up and take a look?" Sophie had already run over to the base of the oak tree, her hand resting on the very first wooden rung of the ladder.

Marco looked as if he wanted to say something. He glanced at me, then smiled weakly. "Go ahead. No one uses it anyway."

He walked over to the bottom of the ladder, looking up as she climbed. "Be careful, the second plank is a bit loose."

The exact same words triggered an echo in my mind, spoken in a much younger, sweeter voice.

“Elena, you go first. I’ll hold you from below.”

“Who needs you to hold me? I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Oh really? Then who was the one crying when they got stuck halfway up the tree last time?”

“That was three years ago! I'm completely immune now!”

...

Sophie’s giggles drifted down from the doorway of the treehouse. "Marco, it’s so pretty in here! Take a picture of me! I want to stand right by the door."

He let out a sigh. "I really don't understand you young girls. Even a treehouse needs a photoshoot." His tone carried that deeply ingrained, indulgent fondness I knew best. He took a few steps back, raising his phone to find the right angle. "Can't you smile a bit more naturally? Ten photos and you have the exact same expression."

"You demand too much!"

Leaving them behind, I walked alone toward the estate's main gates. The laughter behind me grew fainter and fainter, as the wooden ladder swayed gently in the wind.