His Roulette: Wife or Mistress?

I woke up on a hospital bed. My doctor, Raffaele Santoro, looked at me with sympathy.

"I'm sorry. We couldn't save the baby. Your body is in poor health. You were already four months pregnant, but you were barely showing.

"And… according to the test results, you consumed something that triggered uterine hyperstimulation. It gave you contractions, and because of the delay, the baby couldn't be saved in time."

My fingers trembled as I laid a hand over my abdomen and broke down.

Before I left the house this morning, Alessia Lombardo had a huge grin on her face as she handed me a glass of fruit punch.

I'd waited seven long years for this baby to come. I'd imagined what my baby would look like when they were born. I'd wondered whether their eyes and smile would resemble mine or Marco Cossini's.

I'd been certain that regardless of whether they were a boy or girl, the baby would've become the heir to the Cossini family and received the best education possible.

But the only thing that had never crossed my mind was the possibility that the baby wouldn't even get a chance to see this world.

Despite the crushing grief that I was drowning in, I mustered the strength to tell Dr. Santoro, "Don't tell anyone about the pregnancy or the miscarriage. If anyone asks, just say I was hospitalized for stomach issues."

I'd already made up my mind to leave. Even if Marco found out about what had happened, what difference would it make?

Dr. Santoro sighed before nodding.

Just then, my phone buzzed. Alessia had posted a new update on her social media account.

"I can't believe I drew 800 thousand dollars in bonus today! Well, women like me are strong and independent, unlike a certain someone who's only capable of asking men for money."

The caption was accompanied by a screenshot of a bank transfer of 800 thousand dollars, along with a photo of her leaning against Marco's shoulder. A gentle smile played on his face, and she was beaming widely.

Tears blurred my vision. A memory abruptly flashed in my mind.

Back when Marco's father, the late Don Sergio, had been critically ill, the Cossini family's rivals kept a close eye on the family's every move. In just three months, Marco, as heir to the Cossini family, experienced countless assassination attempts.

I was the one who navigated the fine line between both sides on his behalf, accompanying him through every single negotiation, each one more dangerous than the last. In just six months, I lost 15 pounds. But not once did I say I was exhausted or complain about the situation.

After Marco became Don, he took my hand at our wedding ceremony and said, "Helena, from now on, you're my Donna. I will give you all I have to give."

Over the years, some had tried to warn me, hinting that Alessia had crossed too many lines in her relationship with Marco. However, I'd always had complete faith in Marco's love for me. I'd been so certain that once he was done repaying his debt of gratitude, it would all be over.

It wasn't until today that I realized I was waiting for a day that would never come. Marco would indulge in Alessia's whims and demands for the rest of his life.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I pulled out the IV drip, drawing a few beads of blood. Dr. Santoro stopped me, crying out in alarm, "What are you doing? You're still very weak right now!"

At that moment, the door to the hospital room swung open. Marco and Alessia came in.

When Marco saw that I'd removed the IV drip, he frowned and gently held my hand. "No matter how angry you are, Helena, you shouldn't be messing around with your health. I know you're upset. Once Alessia goes abroad for her studies, I'll make it up to you."

As I lay on the hospital bed, my heart turned numb, and my tears wouldn't stop falling. It was too late, Marco.

At last, I forced myself to sit up, took out the divorce papers I'd prepared, and handed them to him. "I need you to sign this agreement."

Marco took the document. Just as he was about to read it, Alessia's eyes flickered. Out of nowhere, she clutched her chest and cried out weakly, "Marco… I think my old gunshot wound is acting up again. It hurts so much."

He panicked and immediately pulled her into his arms. After flipping to the last page of the document and scribbling his signature without reading a word, he tossed it onto the bed.

"I don't care what the agreement is about. I'll give you whatever you want. Just focus on getting better."

Once he finished speaking, he scooped Alessia up in his arms and rushed toward the emergency room.

Staring at the signature on the divorce agreement, I smiled in relief.

This time, I was leaving for good, Marco.