His Mafia Wedding Wasn't Mine

The hotel ballroom was thronged with guests. I watched Vincent quietly.

His friend Marcus clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in with a teasing grin. "You're actually going through with it, then? The whole double-life circus? Aren’t you afraid that Chiara will find out?"

Vincent's jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze fixed on the champagne fountain across the room. "I had to do this. Molly is pregnant. Unmarried. I married her to protect her name. That's all. Once the baby comes, we'll divorce quietly, and then Chiara and I will have our wedding."

Marcus smirked. "What if she finds out the truth—aren't you scared she'll walk away?"

Vincent said confidently, "No, she won't. She's an orphan and has no family to fall back on. I'm all she's got."

I let out a bitter smile. Vincent was so confident that a fragile woman like me would never leave him, but he was wrong.

The ballroom doors swung open again, and my breath caught in my throat.

Vincent's childhood sweetheart, Molly, glided in, her wedding dress hugging a rounded belly. Her smile was radiant.

I remembered the way I'd once confided in Vincent, "Am I being paranoid? She touches your arm too much. She—"

"She is like a sister to me," he had interrupted, cupping my face in his hands. "Molly and I grew up together. She's family. That's all. Don't let your insecurities get the better of you."

I had swallowed my jealousy, ashamed of my own pettiness. But now the truth was clear—she meant more to him than I ever did.

He had even arranged a two-week trip to Fiji for me so that he could marry Molly while I was away.

If I hadn't come back early, I'd never have found out the truth.

Molly reached Vincent's side and slipped her hand into his, her diamond ring catching the light. "Ready, my love?" she asked, her voice honeyed.

Vincent nodded. He placed his palm on the small of her back, guiding her through the throng of guests. They moved from table to table, accepting congratulations, toasting with flutes of champagne. His hand never left her waist.

I stood in my corner, observing them quietly.

They looked like a perfect match. The thought made my heart ache.

I pulled my phone out, my thumb trembling over Vincent's contact photo—a selfie we'd taken on our first anniversary. And I pressed Call.

Across the room, Vincent pulled his phone from his jacket, glanced at the screen, and his expression flickered with something that might have been guilt.

"Vincent?" Molly tugged at his sleeve. "My cousins are waiting. They want to toast us. Come on."

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the accept button.

Molly leaned in. "Chiara's so clingy, isn't she? Does she ever give you a moment's peace?"

Vincent's brow furrowed. "She's just... insecure. It's not her fault."

"Of course it isn't." Molly patted his chest with a laugh. "You're too good to her, you know. Always answering her calls, always reassuring her. Honestly, if I were you, I'd find it exhausting."

The phone stopped ringing. I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me.

Vincent and I had a rule. A promise we'd made when we first started dating. We would always answer our calls, even if we were fighting.

Yet, now he forgot his promise to me.

"Ow—my calf!" Molly staggered, one hand bracing against the nearest chair, the other reaching out instinctively toward Vincent. "It's cramping up so badly. Vincent, could you rub it for me? Please."

Vincent didn't even hesitate.

I watched him kneel before her. His broad hands wrapped around her lower leg with practiced ease.

His face was soft with tenderness—the same tenderness he used to reserve for me when I woke from nightmares.

I turned away since I couldn't stand it anymore.

The cold air hit my face as I pushed through the exit. I went to a nearby park and collapsed onto a bench.

Minutes passed. My phone suddenly buzzed. Vincent's name lit up the screen.

I barely had time to bring it to my ear before his voice came rushing through, raw and breathless.

"Chiara? Did you come back early? Someone said they thought they saw you near the hotel."

I kept my voice even. "Yeah. And the driver took a wrong turn," I said, slow and deliberate. "We got turned around. It's nothing. You sound nervous, Vincent. Is that because you don't want me back early? Or… are you afraid of something?"

A beat of silence stretched between us.

I waited. I still clung to the foolish idea that he might just tell me the truth.

"You're overthinking again," he said finally, his voice flat and clipped. "I'm not nervous. Why would I be? I've got a few things to wrap up here. I'll be done soon, okay? Just wait for me at home."

Before I could reply, he ended the call.

I stared at the dark screen.

He thought I'd be sitting in that house. He thought I was still his—the same Chiara who'd believe every promise and wait patiently like a good little fiancée.

He didn't know I wasn't really an orphan—and my five-year deal with my family was up.

Soon, I'd return to them and disappear from his world forever.