Chapter 2

His words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass, but I didn't flinch. Lorenzo held Rosaline against him, his jaw set in that familiar, protective stance he always assumed whenever she was near.

Rosaline peered from behind his broad shoulder, her dark eyes wide with manufactured terror. It was an old performance, and I used to fall right into her trap.

I remembered three years ago, when the quiet humiliation had driven me to my limit. I had confronted Rosaline in the gardens, demanding to know why she kept ending up on the island with my fiancé. When she smiled—a tiny, cruel little curl of her lips—I had lost control and slapped her.

The fallout had been swift and brutal. Rosaline had collapsed, pale and trembling, claiming the shock had sent her delicate health into a spiral.

Lorenzo hadn't even yelled at me. He had simply looked at me with cold disgust and banned me from the estate for two months, forcing me to publicly apologize to her.

I was the one who spent nights crying in an empty room, humiliated, while Lorenzo spent those weeks nursing Rosaline back to health. I was the one who suffered, while she played the delicate victim and gained even more of his devotion.

I wouldn't play that game tonight.

"I don't plan on taking anything out on her, Lorenzo," I said, my voice steady and unsettlingly calm. I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm only here to take my spin."

Low giggles rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

"She still thinks she has a chance?" a woman whispered loudly.

"Seven years of 'Better Luck Next Year' isn't enough of a clue for her?" another sneered.

“Perhaps she is not destined to be our Donna!” Another one mocked with a meaningful glance at Rosaline.

I turned away from the crowd and stepped toward the center of the hall, where the massive, gilded wheel stood under the chandelier. "Mock all you want," I said softly, loud enough for the quieted room to hear. "This time, I will spin a name."

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. The timid, desperate Lucy who begged for his affection was nowhere to be found. My absolute confidence seemed to unnerve him, breaking through his usual icy composure.

"Wait," Lorenzo commanded, his grip tightening on Rosaline’s waist as he stepped forward. "The order of the ceremony will change tonight. Rosaline will spin first."

Murmurs broke out among the guests.

"Why should she go first?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Rosaline’s health is frail, as you well know," Lorenzo stated smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She was forced to endure a long drive here, and standing for extended periods exhausts her. As the host, I am ensuring my guest's comfort. Besides, custom dictates that guests of honor take precedence."

Guest of honor, on the island built for me.

"Go ahead," I said, stepping back with a tight, hollow smile. "Let her spin."

Rosaline offered Lorenzo a timid, grateful look before gliding gracefully toward the stage. She placed her small, manicured hand on the golden peg of the wheel. With a delicate flick of her wrist, she set the heavy wheel into motion.

The clicking sound echoed through the silent room—tick, tick, tick, tick.

Lorenzo watched the mechanism with a subtle, triumphant smirk. I stood perfectly still, watching the calculated fraud unfold right in front of the entire elite class.

The wheel slowed down, clicking past slot after slot, until the heavy pointer dropped into the final notch with a decisive thud.

The host read the golden letters aloud: Lorenzo Moretti.

Rosaline gasped in faint surprise, placing a hand over her heart, while Lorenzo stepped up to wrap his arm around her once more, looking at me to catch the devastation in my eyes. But he found nothing.

Rosaline turned to me. Her face of a pitiful, frail girl, was gone, completely replaced by a smugly proud woman as she wrapped her hands around Lorenzo’s shoulder, saying softly, “Lucy, your man is mine for tonight!”

“Don't worry, I’ll return him tomorrow with some little changes.” She winked.

I remembered those days when Lorenzo returned from Lucy's Island. He would give me a bouquet of flowers and a soft kiss on my cheeks before whispering into my ear, “Rosaline is just a good friend of mine, Lucy. Give rest to your wild thoughts and stop overthinking.”

“She is the woman you should worry about the least.” He would say, but the lip marks on his white shirt and open packets of condoms in his coat’s pocket would give him away.

Back then, I used to convince myself saying it's just one night out of those three hundred sixty-five nights when he shared his bed with me. Perhaps I really shouldn't worry since he always says, ‘One night of love can't erase the passion I have for you, Lucy. You are my fiancé. That will never change.’

But this time, it was different. I walked past them and stood right in front of the spinning wheel as I said, a soft smile touching my lips, “It's my turn now!”