Chapter 3

After leaving the medical center, I had the driver stop at a private bank near Fifth Avenue. I placed several private documents inside a secure vault.

It was already dark when I returned to the Upper East Side townhouse.

Sofia opened the door herself, carrying herself like the true mistress of the house.

“Isabella, the staff couldn’t find another pair of slippers. You can wear the disposable ones.”

I looked down.

She was wearing my Venetian velvet slippers, custom-made for my smaller feet and embroidered with silver vines. Her heels hung over the edges, yet she deliberately walked past me in them.

Matteo sat at an antique card table with several heirs from allied families. Chips, whiskey, and unopened cigars covered the surface.

He glanced at me, then returned to his cards.

I changed into the disposable slippers and entered the drawing room. Cold air immediately swept in from the terrace.

The fireplace had been extinguished, and every French door stood open. December air cut through the room. I sneezed several times, and the rash that had only just settled began itching again.

I moved to close the doors, but Matteo caught my hand.

“Sofia feels overheated. The fresh air helps.”

“Cold air triggers my rhinitis.”

“Put on a coat.”

His tone sounded reasonable, but he pushed the door open again.

Sofia sat beside the head of the table with my cashmere wrap around her shoulders. She lifted her champagne glass toward me.

“Sorry. I felt dizzy earlier, and the doctor said the room should stay ventilated.”

The tiny cut on her finger had already closed. Matteo still ordered a servant to bring another blanket for her legs.

No one had asked whether my allergic reaction had improved.

“How long will the doors stay open?” I asked.

The card game fell silent.

Matteo set down his chips, irritation appearing between his brows.

“Until the game ends. Two hours at most. You can stay upstairs.”

“My rhinitis can’t tolerate this.”

“Then don’t stay in here.”

He picked up his cards again, ending the discussion.

One of the men gave an awkward laugh.

“Go rest upstairs, Isabella. We’ll leave after this round.”

I nodded and walked toward the staircase.

The laughter resumed behind me.

“Why are you being so polite? Matteo clearly doesn’t care.”

“She does look a little pathetic.”

“If she were truly offended, she would have left already. A scholarship orphan who entered our circle through Matteo would never give up the DeLuca name.”

“Sofia wore her wedding gown, and she still didn’t say a word. Women like that know exactly how to make themselves stay.”

They made no effort to lower their voices.

Matteo never stopped them.

Their words probably reflected what he believed. He loved me, but he had never respected me. In his mind, everything I possessed came from the DeLucas. No humiliation could outweigh what he believed he had given me.

I returned to the bedroom and packed the last of my belongings.

The gowns, jewelry, and handbags purchased by the DeLuca family remained untouched. Only my passport, private documents, and the Venturi family seal were missing from the bedside cabinet.

The family plane would arrive tomorrow morning.

I no longer needed to remain in this house until then.

When I returned to the drawing room with my suitcase, the laughter around the table slowly died.

Matteo’s expression darkened.

“You’re creating this scene over a few open doors?”

“I’m staying somewhere else.”

“Because I wouldn’t let you close them?”

He rose and approached me, impatience restrained beneath his voice.

“Sofia was humiliated at the wedding and injured herself today. I asked you to accommodate her for two hours.”

Sofia immediately set down her glass, her eyes turning red.

“This is all my fault. Isabella, you don’t need to leave. I’ll go.”

She had barely stood when Matteo pressed a hand to her shoulder.

“You stay.”

Then he looked at me.

“If she wants to leave, let her.”

The others abandoned their false politeness.

“Packing a suitcase over something this small is exhausting.”

“This is a DeLuca house. Does she honestly think she owns it?”

“She has no family, yet she behaves as though she were the heir.”

They laughed.

They had no idea that the person without an inheritance had never been me.

I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle and walked toward the door.

Matteo’s voice followed me.

“Isabella, if you walk out tonight, Monday’s registration is canceled.”

I stopped and looked back.

He stood beneath the chandelier, entirely certain that the threat would make me stay. For years, he had used marriage, shelter, and the DeLuca name as rewards, believing I would always lower my head to receive them.

“All right.”

I opened the door.

His face hardened.

“Once you leave, don’t come back.”

I dragged my suitcase down the steps without answering.

An unmarked black sedan waited at the curb. The driver took my luggage and opened the rear door with a respectful bow.

The townhouse door slammed behind me.

A second later, glass shattered inside.

Matteo had swept a Baccarat crystal decanter into the fireplace.

By then, I was already inside the car.