Chapter 3

Mom's scream brought Dad and Dominic rushing upstairs.

After a blur of chaos, I was shoved into a car and rushed to a private hospital.

The room reeked of bleach.

I lay perfectly still, keeping my eyes closed.

"I shouldn't have shoved her..." Dominic's voice held a rare trace of regret. "The way she looked at me last night... It was so cold. I was just too worried about Bianca."

"You were way out of line! She's your real sister! She was burning up and you didn't even notice!" Mom scolded, her voice thick with tears.

In the past, hearing them feel guilty for me would have made me open my eyes in relief.

But now? It just felt pathetic.

They were only offering cheap guilt after the damage was already done.

"Mom, don't blame Dominic." Bianca's frail voice chimed in perfectly on cue. "He was just trying to protect me. If Valeria blames me, let me go instead. I'll die for her."

Dead silence in the room.

Mom and Dominic, who were just full of regret, suddenly went totally mute.

A few seconds later, Mom pulled Bianca into a tight hug.

"Don't be ridiculous! You're too fragile, you wouldn't survive!" Mom promised firmly. "Don't worry. Your sister is sensible. She agreed to take the fall, and I'll make sure she does."

I kept my eyes closed. I didn't feel a single ripple of emotion.

Right. No matter how much they claimed to care about me, the second Bianca was involved, the scales tipped without hesitation.

A day later, my fever broke.

I discharged myself. I stood outside the hospital for three hours.

Mom texted last night saying she'd pick me up. Now, she changed her mind.

“Bianca is really depressed. The doctor says she’s on the verge of a breakdown. I took her shopping in Long Island to cheer her up. Catch a cab.”

The autumn wind cut deep.

Before I could hail a cab, a black Porsche pulled up.

The window rolled down. It was my fiancé, Julian.

I opened the passenger door, but stopped.

On the seat was a French dessert that required a week's advance order.

Bianca's favorite strawberry mousse.

Julian casually moved the box. "I brought your favorite strawberry mousse to celebrate your discharge," he smiled at me. "I promised I'd take care of you."

"What do you want?" I sat in the car, my voice ice cold.

Julian froze. He clearly didn't expect the attitude.

He cleared his throat. His tone was gentle but left no room for argument. "I need a small favor. Paris wants to sign 'Valkyrie' as their lead designer."

My fingers curled.

'Valkyrie' was my pen name.

During those ten years of straying in Sicily, sketching was my only escape. It was my life's blood.

"I want you to give this identity to Bianca," Julian held my hand, trying to sound reasonable. "Valeria, face reality. You're going to the Don's estate as a hostage. Your reputation is ruined. High-end Parisian brands won't work with a woman tied to the mafia."

"But this could secure Bianca's place in high society," he said earnestly. "Once the heat dies down, I'll marry you anyway. You don't need these empty titles. I'll take care of you."

This was the man who claimed to love me.

Knowing exactly how much this meant to me, he effortlessly asked me to hand it over.

"Those are my designs," I pulled my hand back. I pronounced every word.

Julian frowned, thinking I was throwing a tantrum. "Valeria, don't be so stubborn. Bianca is terrified because of the dinner. She needs this to distract her."

Looking at his entitled face, I almost laughed.

I didn't beg like I used to. I just stared at him coldly.

"I refuse."

I opened the door, stepped out without a second thought, and slammed it shut.

Julian was furious at my blunt rejection.

The Porsche lurched forward, then slammed on the brakes right beside me.

He rolled down the window, eyes full of disappointment and confusion.

"Valeria, when did you get so selfish?! Are you giving it to her or not?!"