4

"How?!" Vincent roared into the phone, his voice raw with fury. "Don’t fucking lie to me. Put my mother on the phone. Tell her to quit playing around with Giovanna. Fine—I’ll go to that damn Hawaii with her, alright?"

The assistant’s voice trembled on the other end. "Mr. Costa, please—I swear, I’m not lying. I just sent you the details… the location of her burial and the funeral arrangements."

Vincent’s fingers tightened around the phone as he hung up abruptly. His gaze flickered to me for just a second before dropping back to his screen. Silence stretched between us as he read whatever the assistant had sent him.

Then, after a long, agonizing minute, his face drained of color. His breath hitched. And when his eyes finally met mine, they were filled with utter disbelief.

"How could you not tell me, Giovanna?"

I let out a bitter laugh, my lips curling in a humorless smile. "And how exactly was I supposed to tell you, Mr. Costa?"

The day we were supposed to leave for Hawaii, Vincent disappeared. No calls. No texts. He hadn’t even shown up at the casino like he always did.

I searched for him everywhere. There was nowhere left to look.

Vincent suddenly looked... deflated. Like all the fight had drained right out of him. His grip on his phone went slack, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cry. "If you had just told me, Giovanna, I would never have—"

I cut him off. "I told you enough, Vincent." My voice was sharp, unforgiving. "Do you remember when I called you the first time Lucy was admitted to the hospital? When I told you she wanted to see you? That she was diagnosed with Alzheimer? That she didn’t have much time left?"

I watched as the regret flickered in his eyes, deep and painful.

"And what did you say to me?" I continued mercilessly. "‘Stop lying, stop cursing Lucy, and get her back to the mansion already. She just needs more rest. Quit playing games.’"

"You never believed me. Not even once."

Vincent’s expression crumbled. "I thought… I thought you were just trying to make me come home." His voice was hollow now, his arrogance shattered.

There was a time—just after Vincent and I got married—when Lucy had begged him to come home and spend some time with me.

When she had called him, telling him she wasn’t feeling well. And when he finally did show up, he found out she had exaggerated, just so she could see him spending more time with me.

Since then, every call, every plea, every desperate attempt from his mother had been dismissed as manipulation.

And now… he couldn’t accept that she was truly gone.

Vincent took a step closer, his fingers brushing over mine, desperate, seeking something. "This… this isn’t real, is it?" His voice cracked. "This is some kind of twisted joke. You and Lucy set this up to punish me, right? She was fine the last time I checked—how could she have had a heart attack?"

I jerked my hand away from his, disgust curling in my stomach. "The last time you checked?" My voice was ice. "Vincent, when was the last time you actually checked?"

He hesitated. The silence stretched, heavy and damning.

And then, finally, in a whisper, "Almost a year ago."

I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. "Do you even know how many times I took your mother to the hospital this past year?"

Vincent’s lips parted, but no words came.

Gone was the arrogance, the condescension. For the first time, he looked… sorry. Sorry for how he had treated me. Sorry for abandoning his mother.

His hand trembled as he reached for mine, his thumb brushing away my tears. "I’m so sorry, Giovanna. I never should have—"

I smacked his hand away.

Sorry?

Lucy had died without her son by her side. I had been called a bitch for years—for how long?—and now, all he had to offer me was a damn sorry?

I lifted my chin, my voice like ice. "Don’t apologize, Mr. Costa. I wouldn’t dare burden the mighty Vincent with regret."

If this had been before, Vincent would have exploded in anger, tearing me apart with words that cut deeper than knives, probably even had his bodyguards to punish me. But today? Today, he just looked desperate. Panicked. He reached for me again, but I shoved him away.

"Please, don’t do this to me now, Giovanna," he pleaded, his voice raw. "I already lost my mother. I can’t lose you too."

Then came the offer, his last-ditch effort. "If you want, we can go get that marriage certificate right now."

As if a piece of paper could fix this. As if it could make up for everything.

I let out a cold laugh. "No need, Vincent. We were together because of Lucy’s wishes. But Lucy’s gone now. There’s no reason for us to be together anymore."

Something inside him snapped. His face twisted, and in the next second, his patience was gone.

"Why the fuck do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?!" he roared. "Isn’t that god damn paper what you wanted all along? What she wanted all along?"

Even now, he belittled me. Belittled my love. Belittled Lucy’s wishes.

I was so tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of proving myself. Tired of being the one to sacrifice while everyone else found their happiness.

With a deep breath, I pushed myself up from the floor, ignoring the blood, the tears. For the last time, I looked at Vincent. Then at Alessandra.

“I am done.”

And I walked away.

I returned to the tiny apartment where my mother and I had once lived—before she became the Costa family's maid, before our quiet, drama-free life was swallowed up by theirs.

How long had it been? Twenty years?

Funny how I could barely remember what life was like before the Costa. It was as if everything before them had been erased, a distant dream I couldn’t reach.

I used to believe the Costa was my second home, that I can have a happiness there. Even when Vincent treated me like dirt, I swallowed my pride, convinced myself to stay—for Lucy, for the naïve love I once had, for the faint home that I wished to have after my mother passed away.

I owe the Costa nothing.

I locked myself in for the next couple of days, barely eating, slipping in and out of sleep where dreams of Lucy, Vincent, and I in Hawaii tormented me.

I lost sense of time. If I was hungry, I ate. If I was tired, I slept.

I didn’t rush the sorrow. I let it settle in, knowing I had to process everything before moving on.

After all, I wasn’t a robot. I had emotions.

But in the end, I overestimated my strength. I passed out in that little apartment, and when I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed. And next to me—Vincent.