Chapter 3

The next day, Victor whisked me off to a presidential suite downtown with that mysterious little smile of his.

He dropped to his knees at my feet like a devoted worshipper and opened the box in his hands. Inside lay our marriage certificate—replaced—and a set of sapphire jewelry.

"Baby, the certificate's all taken care of."

"This set is the newest piece from the most famous jeweler alive. Consider it my apology."

His arms wrapped around my waist, his face tilting up toward mine with that same earnest look, those blue eyes swimming in adoration.

If I hadn't known that the master jeweler had designed two identical sets this season—and that both had been bought by the same buyer—I might've actually believed the love in his eyes.

"Tonight, you're mine, Flora."

I stared at Victor's still-handsome face and suddenly felt like everything in front of me was just foam—pretty, hollow, about to pop.

And he was still standing there, puffing that fake bubble bigger and bigger.

Pinocchio never got a happy ending. Neither would Victor.

He didn't catch anything off in my mood. He leaned up toward my lips, his eyes clouded with raw want.

I was about to turn my head away when a cat's meow drifted over from the room next door.

Sweet, lingering, teasing—and the man in my arms actually stopped mid-kiss.

He pulled out his phone like it was urgent, made a call, and started apologizing.

Victor was always perfectly put together—couldn't even stand a crooked cuff link. But this time he was rushing out without his tie, that hunger in his eyes narrowing his gaze, his breathing just a little too quick.

He pulled me into a deep hug, his face painted with guilt.

"Baby, you know how it is. Being a Don means putting out fires all the time. My Donna—you understand, don't you?"

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

Even knowing that so-called cat was Anna, even knowing what came next—I still wanted to give him one more chance.

"Baby, I can handle it. Just take the certificate and head back to the estate. If you're late, I'll worry."

He slipped his own sidearm into my purse.

"If anyone gives you trouble, use this, baby."

Before I could ask anything else, he was gone.

And then my sister—finally—sent me a voice call.

"Anna, did you like the sapphires I just sent you?"

"And coming to Milan every month to see you—that's not enough, baby?"

Through the receiver came the rustle of fabric, the soft shift of clothing, and Anna's reply.

"Tonight, I want all of you. Hmph."

"Jealous little thing. Needs a lesson."

Then their breathing—mixing, quickening, tangling.

I calmly pressed record.

So this was what my "happy" life really looked like—him giving another woman everything he was supposed to give me.

On our wedding day, he'd blindfolded me, led me down the aisle, and told me with such excitement that he'd be faithful to me forever.

Turns out one little Anna was all it took to shatter every vow he made.

And I'd actually believed it. Made a complete fool of myself.

I wrapped my arms around myself, leaned back against the headboard, and told myself to hold on. Three more days. That's all.

An hour later, Victor came back to the estate with horses.

Anna showed up ten minutes after him.

I loved riding. But over the years, he'd always said it was too dangerous, too risky.

Watching him gently introduce each horse to Anna, explaining their temperaments in that soft voice—I caught the flash of hatred in her eyes.

I was so tired.

I swung onto a golden-brown stallion and was about to ride out when Anna spoke up.

"Flora, it's so rare that Victor and I are both here with you in the same room. How about a toast to celebrate?" She held up a bottle of high-proof whiskey, her tone defiant.

"Want some?"

"No—don't!" the stable master yelled. But it was too late.

The horses caught the scent of hard liquor and went berserk.

Every single one of them bolted—wild, desperate runs—throwing riders left and right.

In that chaos, Victor threw himself over Anna.

Meanwhile, I was alone, fighting to stay on my stallion as it bucked and thrashed—and then I was thrown.

"Oh, God—Donna!"

In my last blurry second of consciousness, I saw Victor screaming my name while still holding Anna tight in his arms.

But no matter how loud he shouted, he never let her go.

That night, Victor stayed by my bedside the whole night.

But all I gave him was my back—silent, still.

I didn't want to see his loving eyes or his tender gestures anymore. Fake was fake.