Chapter 6

I dragged my suitcase straight to the apartment I had bought years ago with all my savings. After Dante became a mafia Don, this place had been left empty.

When I saw the cozy decorations, bitterness welled up in my chest. This had once been the place where he promised to spend the rest of his life with me. Now, it had become my refuge from him.

I unpacked my things, lay down, and let the bone-deep exhaustion swallow me whole.

That night, in the early hours of the morning, I was jolted awake by violent pounding on the door. The moment I opened it, Dante burst inside, reeking of whiskey and something worse. A woman's perfume.

He yanked me into his arms and pressed me against his chest so tightly I could barely breathe.

"Cara." His tone was gentle, nothing like the coldness from earlier that day. "I knew you'd be here. Don't be mad at me anymore. Look what I brought you."

He pushed me down onto the couch, then knelt on one knee and opened his palm. The star pendant. It had been repaired.

My heart skipped a beat, then a bone-deep chill washed over me. He actually thought this would fix everything. He naively believed that a repaired cheap trinket could repair our relationship.

I stared at him steadily. "You shouldn't be here. Leave."

His expression crumpled instantly, looking hurt. "Why are you pushing me away? Don't you love me anymore?"

I lowered my head as images flashed through my mind. The helplessness during the accident, the humiliation earlier that day.

"Dante." My voice trembled. "You said I was just a stand-in. Does a stand-in have the right to love you?"

I waited quietly. Waited for him to deny it, to argue back, to say even one thing that would prove the past seven years had not been a complete lie. However, he had already fallen into a deep sleep.

In the morning, I ate breakfast alone.

He stumbled into the kitchen while rubbing his temples. "Cara, where's the aspirin?"

I sipped my milk without looking up.

He froze. Something in those bleary eyes seemed to clear instantly. He went to wash up. Showered, shaved, the whole routine meticulously done. When he returned, he smelled of the soap I always used, though he was still wearing yesterday's shirt. Like always, he tried to plant a kiss on my forehead.

I dodged. He stiffened, unease and panic flashing across his face.

He knelt beside me and took my hand. "I only treated you that way yesterday because I didn't want you to offend Alessia. I'm sorry, cara.

"Hit me. Yell at me. Whatever you need to do to let it out. Just please forgive me."

There was no emotion in my eyes. "It's fine."

His mouth opened, then closed.

He had been prepared for my tears, my screams, even a fight he could win through persistent coaxing. But he had never expected me to say those casual words. "It's fine."

His fingers tightened around my hands. "Tonight. Let's go to that rotating restaurant. The place where we first met. Let's go back there. Remember how happy we were then?"

He was certain I would not refuse him this time.

He was right.

I did want to go, but not to reminisce about the past. I wanted to retrieve that photograph.

It was a photo of us kissing, taken after we won the restaurant's Valentine's Day contest. In it, we were grinning like idiots, like two fools hopelessly in love.

I refused to let myself appear on someone's social media later, tagged with the shameful label of 'mistress'.

He left the pendant on the table and walked out. I did not touch it.

...

That evening arrived quickly. I was getting ready for the date when I suddenly received a message from him.

[Emergency business trip came up. Can we reschedule? Wait for me to come back, okay?]

Another pathetic excuse.

I opened Alessia's social media account with practiced ease. Sure enough, she had posted a new update just one minute ago. It was a photo taken at the hospital's prenatal department.

The caption read: [Welcome, little one. Mama and Papa can't wait to meet you.]

The top comment showed Dante's profile picture alongside his message.

[Mama and Papa will protect you together.]

The phone slipped from my fingers. I caught it reflexively, though I wished I had not.

Three days ago, my child died in my womb and no one knew. Now, he was celebrating a child that was not mine. Tears spilled from my eyes, and I let them fall. I forced myself to compose a message to Papa.

[Terminate all cooperation with the Castellanos. Every deal, every partnership. Cut them all off.]

Dante craved power. He hungered for wealth. He wanted to climb to the very top where no one could reach him. And I would no longer be the ladder he used to climb.

I went to the restaurant alone. The hostess stopped me at the entrance.

"I'm sorry, signorina. This entire floor has been reserved for a private event."

I pulled out the black card Dante had once given me. "I just need to get something. A photograph. The one hanging on the wall."

She agreed readily.

The restaurant was empty except for two people sitting at the window table—Dante and Alessia. A cake with lit candles sat on the table. She leaned forward and blew out the flames. In the flickering candlelight, her face looked especially soft.

Dante gazed at her adoringly. "What did you wish for?"

She smiled. "That our baby will be born healthy."

As if remembering something, she asked casually, "If Chiara got pregnant, would you look forward to her baby too?"

He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deliberate.

"Why would I let her carry my child? She's just your replacement." His lips brushed her cheek. "Why are we talking about her tonight?"

I bit down hard on my lip as tears splattered onto the floor.

At that moment, I did not even have the urge to confront him. I walked to the wall and tore down our photograph, the one of us kissing and laughing. We were still young and foolish and full of lies then. I ripped the photo into pieces.

That same night, I booked a ticket home.

Three days. I would give myself three days to become someone else. Someone who would not flinch at the sound of his name. Someone who could look him in the face without feeling despair.

After that, I would give them a wedding gift they would never forget.