Chapter 7

There were two minutes left before Christmas Eve ended. Gianna's phone screen lit up abruptly once more.

It was Matteo again!

Gianna stared at that name for a long time. As she prepared to hang up directly, her trembling hands accidentally hit accept instead.

"Mmm..."

The low groan a man only made during intense pleasure mixed with the creaking of a bed frame stabbed into Gianna's ears.

She held the phone, feeling as if she had been struck by lightning. Her mind went blank. She was not some naive little girl. She knew what those sounds meant.

"Baby, slow down!"

Unlike her usual arrogance, Lucia's voice was now seductive as she screamed and begged for mercy.

After the storm passed, the woman giggled flirtatiously. "Baby, you're so skilled. Have you done this with someone else before?"

Gianna's breathing hitched.

The sound of a lighter came through the receiver. With laziness and hoarseness, Matteo answered simply, "No."

"Really?" Lucia clearly did not believe him. "Have you never had a girlfriend before?"

This time, he said much more. "I had one, but she was boring and rigid—like a block of wood. I wanted to touch her, but she was too conservative. She kept going on about saving the best for after marriage. It was completely dull."

Gianna's stomach churned again. She began to gasp for air.

She remembered Matteo holding her and saying, "Your body is weak. I want to wait until you're healthy and willingly marry me. You're a treasure, so I can't bear to treat you carelessly."

It turned out he was not cherishing her. Facing a block of wood, he simply could not summon any desire.

"Not like you..."

Matteo seemed to roll over and pin Lucia down, his voice thick with lust. "You're a natural temptress.

"Lucy, you're my first woman. Only you can make me crave more."

The phone fell to the floor. The call ended.

The respect and care Gianna thought she had were simply because she was not charming enough, not wild enough, not as exciting as that mafia Principessa!

The time had already passed midnight. Christmas had arrived.

Her birthday was completely over.

Gianna picked up the phone and opened her photo album favorites.

On her 20th birthday, Matteo had just established a foothold in the city. With injured hands, he made her a lopsided rabbit cake.

On her 21st, he became the renowned Signor Santoro. He gave her a cake decorated like an oil painting with "To Gigi, with love" written on it.

On her 22nd, he became the powerful man everyone feared. The cake was as exquisite as a work of art. He firmly said he would marry her.

This year, he sent her a live erotic broadcast.

"Happy birthday to me..." She sang softly to the empty air.

She closed her eyes. It felt as if her grandmother was still beside her, holding her warmly.

After singing the last line, Gianna deleted the entire album. Then she raised her hand and forcibly pulled out the IV needle.

After a sharp pain, a few drops of fresh blood fell on the white sheets. Gianna did not press down to stop the bleeding. She could not even feel the pain.

Compared to the pain of flesh being carved from her heart, what did this superficial wound matter?

Barefoot, she stepped onto the cold floor and walked step by step toward the hospital room door, toward a night without Matteo.

The moment she pushed open the door, cold wind from the corridor rushed in and dried the tear tracks on her face.

The nurses were busy distributing candy and giving patients blessings, celebrating Christmas together.

Taking advantage of this gap, Gianna slipped out of the ward. She looked back one last time at the window.

"Matteo," she whispered softly, saying goodbye to someone who was not even there. "That was the last time I waited for you. From now on, we'll go our separate ways, never to meet again."