Chapter 3

I looked at Molly—her chin lifted, her smile a thin, victorious curve—and something clicked into place.

"That message I got," I said slowly. "The one saying Vincent was getting married. That was you, wasn't it?"

She didn't flinch. If anything, her smile widened. "Yes. I wanted you to see it with your own eyes. To watch the man you love marry someone else. That's the only way you'd really believe it, don't you think?"

Then she raised her left hand, fingers splayed, and let the light catch the ring on her fourth finger. A gold band set with a deep crimson stone—the donna ring, the symbol of the mafia wife.

"He put this on me today in front of everyone," she said, her voice dripping with pride. "That makes me his donna, Chiara. Not you."

My gaze locked on that ring. The same ring Vincent had shown me a year ago, when he'd whispered that he'd slide it onto my finger on our wedding day. He'd said it was tradition—passed down through generations, meant only for the woman he'd choose to stand beside him.

I never imagined the first woman to wear it would be Molly.

I dragged my eyes away and met hers.

"Don't worry," I said quietly. "I'm leaving. You can have him. He's yours."

But she shook her head, her expression turning sly.

"I don't believe you." She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're still too much of a threat. I need him to despise you. Completely. So there's no chance he'll ever come running back."

I frowned, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. "What are you—"

Before I could finish, she lunged forward—not at me, but at the railing. Her stomach slammed into the iron bar with a dull thud, and she crumpled to the ground, clutching her belly, her face twisting into a mask of pain.

"Vincent!" she shrieked. "Vincent, help! Please, she pushed me! Oh God, the baby—"

Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

Vincent burst onto the terrace, his eyes wild. He saw Molly on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks, and then his gaze snapped to me—standing there, frozen, my hands at my sides.

Molly sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I was just telling her I was sorry for staying here, and she lost it. Please, Vincent, I'm scared."

Vincent didn't ask me what happened. Instead, he shoved me aside with force. Then he dropped to his knees beside Molly and gathered her into his arms.

I staggered backward, my spine slamming into the railing. A searing pain shot through my lower back, white-hot and blinding.

I bit down on a cry, my fingers gripping the cold iron to keep from falling.

He didn't even glance my way.

"Are you okay?" he asked Molly, his voice low and urgent. "Did she hurt you? What did she do?"

Molly whimpered, pressing a hand to her stomach. "She's furious that I'm here, that I used your bedroom. She said she wanted me out and when I tried to reason with her, she tried to push me off. Vincent, I'm so scared. I didn't think she'd actually hurt me."

Vincent's jaw tightened. He turned to me, and the look in his eyes was cold—so cold I barely recognised him.

"Chiara. How could you lay a hand on a pregnant woman? If you're angry, take it out on me—not on her. I'm the one who brought her here. But you don't touch her. Do you understand?"

He paused, then added firmly, "Apologize. Now."

I stood there, my back still throbbing, his words ringing in my ears.

He never asked for my side of story. He simply accepted Molly's version—and believed I was a cruel woman.

"I'm not apologizing," I said, my voice flat and cold. "Because I didn't push her. She did this to herself. She's lying to you, Vincent."

His eyes flared with anger. He exploded, "Stop it. Stop making this worse. You're being petty and jealous, and I'm done with it. I never thought you'd stoop this low."

Molly tugged weakly at his sleeve. "Please, Vincent… don't yell at Chiara. I understand—she's jealous. She thinks there's something between us, but we're just old friends. She's just misunderstood."

She winced, clutching her belly. "But my stomach really hurts… can you take me to the hospital? Please."

Vincent's attention snapped back to her. He scooped her up without another word, cradling her against his chest, and strode toward the stairs.

Just before he disappeared inside, he threw one last line over his shoulder. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. "

And then they were gone, and I was alone on the terrace, the night wind cutting through me.

I waited until the ache in my back dulled to something bearable, then forced myself to walk back to the guest room slowly.

I pulled out my phone, opened the flight app, and changed my departure from three days away to tomorrow. The earliest flight out.

Then I started packing. I didn't keep a single thing he had gifted me. Instead, I dropped them into the trash can.

When I was done, my suitcase held only what was mine before him. My own clothes. My own books. Nothing bought with his money.

A little while later, the screen buzzed with a message from Vincent.

"Molly's getting checked at the hospital. I expect you here tomorrow morning to apologize to her. Don't make this harder than it already is."

I stared at the message for a long moment. Then I turned off my phone, slid it into my bag, and zipped it shut.

No reply. No fight. No goodbye.

Because I was done.

I whispered under my breath, "Goodbye, Vincent. You and your childhood sweetheart can have your perfect world. I won't be in it."