Chapter 3

I called five times in a row. No answer. On the sixth, it went straight to voicemail.

Enzo had blocked me.

My fingertips went white.

Just then, Elara pulled out her phone and called Enzo too.

The line barely rang once before Enzo picked up—like he couldn't bear to make Elara wait a second longer. His voice was full of concern. "Elara, what's wrong?"

"Enzo!" I forced down the coppery taste of blood rising in my throat and demanded, sharp and cold, "What gives you the right to put my project and my bonus under Elara's name?"

The moment he heard my voice, Enzo's tone turned to ice. "Corinne, how long are you going to keep making a scene?"

"Elara is an intern. She needs projects to back her up. You're a Moretti wife—and you're fighting an intern over credit? So petty. Aren't you ashamed?"

It felt like a blade had carved a bloody wound straight through my heart. I swallowed every bit of the pain and said, stubborn and raw, "I did the project. The bonus should be mine!"

"If you don't give it to me right now, I'll make this public! Then let's see who'll dare to work with Elara ever again—the girl who got ahead on connections!"

Enzo's voice was dead cold, hammering against my eardrums. "Corinne, when did you become so despicable? Does bullying someone beneath you give you some kind of superiority complex?"

"It's only five hundred thousand." He paused, then ordered his assistant in a low voice, "Send her a bonus too."

Even through the phone, I could hear the impatience in his voice—and the way he doled it out like some enormous favor.

A sour haze spread silently through my eyes. I blinked it away fast before it could become tears.

"Enzo. Did you ever love me?"

The question sounded stupid. If it were the old me—still in love—my pride would never have let me ask it.

But it slipped out on its own, and I realized I wasn't looking for a yes. I just genuinely didn't understand. Why would this man treat a woman he'd decided to marry like this?

The line crackled. He was silent.

Then his voice came through, more impatient than before. "Don't ask stupid questions, Corinne. I need a wife. You fit. So play the part, and stop causing trouble."

I got my answer. Suddenly, a low laugh escaped me—so hard my eyes went red and my thin shoulders shook. "Enzo, what makes you so sure I'd even want to be your wife?"

There was a pause on the other end. Then he hung up.

An hour later, Enzo appeared at my desk.

"Corinne, what did you mean by that?" His brows were furrowed, the air around him heavy.

At the same time, my phone buzzed.

A itinerary reminder. Leaving the city in three days.

Enzo reached over and took it, lighting up the screen.

But I'd already set the message to hidden.

Without the passcode, all he could see was my lock screen.

A bouquet of roses he'd given me on my birthday this year.

The truth was, he hadn't even remembered my birthday. His assistant had reminded him. The assistant had bought the roses too—he'd handed them to me offhand as a birthday gift.

Cheap flowers with not a shred of sincerity behind them. And I'd photographed them, frozen the moment, set it as my lock screen, and looked at it over and over.

That was how much I loved him.

The tension in Enzo's shoulders eased all at once, his anxiety melting away.

"Stop with the tantrums." His tone was indifferent. "The pre-wedding banquet is in three days. As the hostess, make sure you arrive early. The day after the banquet, you'll be the Donna of the Moretti family."

The banquet would end just in time for my flight. I didn't want any complications before boarding.

So I nodded.