Chapter 2

Serena's POV

Niccolo's mother, Vittoria Sforzani, had never approved of me. Apart from major holidays and family gatherings, Niccolo never let me visit the family estate alone, afraid his mother might mistreat me.

I'd thought our happiness would last forever. That was… until Niccolo's childhood friend returned from studying abroad.

The first time I learned of her existence was when Niccolo came home wearing a pair of cufflinks I'd never seen before.

When I asked him about them, he smiled and explained, "My childhood friend, Marta, just came back from studying abroad. She's my assistant now. She gave me these to celebrate our reunion. What do you think? Nice, aren't they?"

My hands froze as I straightened his clothes.

Niccolo had never liked wearing accessories given to him by other people. As a designer, I had impeccable taste, and he'd always insisted that nothing anyone else picked out could compare to what I chose for him.

Yet this time, he'd personally replaced the cufflinks I'd selected with Marta's gift. That sudden, unfamiliar feeling of being replaced immediately set off alarm bells.

And when Niccolo spoke about Marta, his voice was filled with unmistakable fondness and nostalgia.

From that day forward, the privilege of choosing his clothes, something that had always belonged exclusively to me, gradually passed into Marta's hands.

She began frequently offering unsolicited opinions on the outfits I prepared for him.

"That dark patterned tie isn't right for today's occasion. It's too dull."

As she spoke, she would pick up a tie she'd brought herself and personally knot it around Niccolo's neck.

Whenever Niccolo picked me up for an evening function, Marta would sometimes turn to me with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Corleone. But Don Corleone and I have some business to discuss. Would you mind sitting in the back?"

I looked at Niccolo.

For the first time, he didn't choose me. "The sooner I finish dealing with work, the more time I'll have to spend with you. Can you be a little understanding?"

Swallowing the hurt rising in my chest, I turned and climbed into the back seat.

Their conversation soon drifted from work to amusing stories from their childhood, and laughter kept floating back from the front seats. It was as if they were reminding me that I was the one who didn't belong.

Not wanting to seem overly sensitive or suspicious, I kept telling myself they were just old friends and colleagues. But what they said next shattered what little dignity I had left.

"Don Corleone, those cream-filled pastry rolls you gave me last time were delicious. I only mentioned craving them in passing. I can't believe you actually managed to find some that tasted so authentic! Where did you buy them? I'd love to know."

Niccolo chuckled. "Serena made them herself. If you like them that much, I'll have her make you some more next time."

My head snapped up. I'd burned my hands in several places while baking those delicate, crispy pastry rolls. Yet now Niccolo was telling me that the only reason he'd asked me to make them was that Marta had wanted some.

The hurt I'd been holding back finally became too much, and tears spilled down my cheeks.

By the time Niccolo opened the car door for me, I was already sobbing uncontrollably. He crouched beside me, his face full of concern as he asked what was wrong.

"Why did you lie and tell me you were the one craving those pastries?" I asked through my tears. "Do you have any idea how much effort I put into making them?"

Niccolo glanced at the burns on my hands, guilt filling his eyes. "I'm sorry, Serena. I didn't know you'd hurt yourself making them. I just wanted to show her how good you are at baking. That's all. There was nothing else to it."

At his words, I hurriedly grabbed his arm and pleaded with him. "Then could you transfer her to another branch? Please, Niccolo. I'm begging you. I don't want to see her anymore."

Once again, Niccolo hesitated before turning me down. "She's an excellent assistant, Serena. Can you please stop letting your personal feelings interfere with the family's interests?"

I stared at him in disbelief, a dull ache spreading through my chest.

From that moment on, I became the unreasonable, hysterical woman everyone accused me of being.

I would abandon my work just to follow Niccolo around, determined not to give Marta a single chance to get close to him.

I started checking his phone every day. Whenever I saw a message from Marta saying she wasn't feeling well, I'd confront her relentlessly.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish by sending him that? Do you want Niccolo to feel sorry for you, or are you hoping he'll drop everything and come take care of you?"

Marta would begin to sob quietly. "I'm sorry, Serena. I just thought Niccolo might help me pick up some medicine, since we're friends."

I'd glare at her coldly, refusing to back down. "Marta, don't think I don't know what you're up to! I'm warning you, you'd better stop trying to seduce my husband!"

When Marta began crying even harder, Niccolo shoved me aside. "That's enough! Marta is just my friend and employee! Can you stop making a scene over nothing? Serena, look at what jealousy has turned you into! You're acting like a complete lunatic!"

I stared at him, stunned. The man I'd fallen in love with now seemed like a complete stranger, his expression cold and distant.

Yet I still instinctively clutched the hem of his shirt and choked out through my tears, "I'm sorry, Niccolo. I'm just so afraid you'll leave me..."

Perhaps the sight of me crying so miserably softened his heart, because Niccolo sighed and asked Marta to leave us alone.

He pulled me into his arms and comforted me, promising that I was the only woman he would ever love. Only then did I gradually calm down.

I tried to convince myself that Marta was nothing more than an old friend and his assistant. There was nothing to worry about. I even considered apologizing to her for losing my temper that day.

But whatever peace I'd managed to find came crashing down when my son told me he wanted Marta to attend his school's open house instead of me.

That was the moment I finally saw things clearly.

Without my even realizing it, my own son had begun to favor Marta over me.

He no longer kissed me goodbye before school every morning, nor did he tell me he loved me the way he used to.

Sometimes, when he saw me crying, he would even make cruel remarks. "No wonder Grandma doesn't like you. You're nowhere near as good as Marta."

All of this made me even more sensitive and quick-tempered, to the point where Niccolo and Tullio would instinctively shield Marta behind them before I could even open my mouth.

I slowly raised my head, and the moment I met their wary gazes, I suddenly felt exhausted.

I'd gambled everything on love, and I'd lost. So, I would accept my defeat. It was time for me to walk away.