Chapter 3

With the wedding drawing near, Dario came to our house more and more often.

Each time, he claimed he was there to bring gifts for Arianna, but every now and then, I felt his gaze linger on me.

One day, he arrived carrying a box of freshly baked apple pie, still warm. He handed it to Arianna, but she pushed the box back.

"I never eat cheap food like this."

Dario froze for a moment before instinctively looking at me.

The day before, he had passed by a bakery and remembered how, in his previous life, I would often stare at apple pies with longing. So before he knew it, he'd bought one.

"Since Arianna doesn't want it, you can have it," Dario said.

I glanced at the box he was holding out to me.

"You can ask the maid to throw it in the food waste bin," I said, lifting my chin.

With that, I turned and went upstairs without sparing Dario another glance.

Dario stared at the box in his hands, wondering if he'd been out of his mind to go out of his way to buy something so beneath his.

…

The day before my wedding, Madre knocked on my door and handed me an old wedding dress that had already lost its luster.

"The tailor's busy making Arianna's gowns and wedding dress," she explained. "He doesn't have time to take your measurements.

"This is the wedding dress I wore when I married your Papa. It's a little old, but your future husband is already 60. It will do."

I glanced at the dress. The pearls along the sleeves were coming loose, the hem was frayed, and dust had become embedded in the lace trim so deeply that I couldn't brush it away.

"No need, Madre. I already have a dress."

Madre hadn't expected me to refuse. Her expression darkened as she placed the dress on my bed.

"You and Arianna are different," she said, frowning. "She's the pride of our family, and all the guests will have their eyes on her. But no one cares about your marriage. Stop being so picky!"

With that, she turned and left.

I quietly closed the door, then opened my wardrobe.

Inside hung a pure white dress. Under the light, the satin shimmered like champagne in motion, its smooth fabric cinched elegantly at the waist, while delicate beadwork gathered around the neckline.

Alberto had delivered it earlier that day. He'd told me it had been custom-made to my measurements.

A knock sounded at the door again.

I walked over and found Dario outside.

"The wedding is tomorrow. Don't even think about causing trouble," he warned, awkwardly rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Arianna has suffered enough. But this time, she won't have to know what pain is ever again."

I almost laughed at Dario's absurd claims.

Arianna had grown up by Papa and Madre's side, received an excellent education, and become the most accomplished young lady in the family.

I, on the other hand, had been left to fend for myself from childhood. I delivered pizzas, washed dishes, pulled weeds—I did every kind of work imaginable.

Even after my family found me, they gave me the maid's room to live in and Arianna's unwanted clothes to wear. The other members of the Valenti family mocked me, saying I reeked of being a commoner.

In my previous life, after I married Dario, everyone blamed me for Arianna's death.

"If Arianna had married Dario instead, none of this would've happened!" Madre had cried out in front of all the guests at Arianna's funeral.

In the end, when I was dying of illness, there wasn't a single person by my side.

Dario seemed unaccustomed to my silence.

"Where did you get that ugly dress?" he asked, his gaze falling on the open wardrobe behind me. "It belongs in the trash."

"Are you planning to embarrass Arianna and yourself in front of all the guests with that thing?'

I didn't want to waste another second arguing with him, so I slammed the door shut in his face.

Staring at the closed door, he let out a cold snort before turning and walking away.