Chapter 1

"Elena, are you sure about this? Once you join this international medical research project, everything about you in New York will be wiped clean for security reasons. Damian won’t be able to find you as long as he lives."

"I’m sure."

When I got home, Damian had just stepped out of the kitchen.

His cooking was world-class, but as the most powerful man in Manhattan, he had never lifted a finger to cook for me—not once.

"Back this late?" He walked over, reaching out to ruffle my hair out of habit.

I shifted to the side, dodging his touch, and walked straight into the master bedroom. There was Sophia, draped in my silk robe, lying grandly in our marriage bed.

Seeing me, Sophia flashed a weak, fragile smile.

"Elena, the doctor said I can't handle the cold. Damian said this room has the best climate control, so he let me stay here for a bit. You... you wouldn't hold a grudge against a dying woman, would you?"

Damian walked in, his voice carrying a trace of blatant favoritism he didn't even try to hide.

"Sophia doesn't have much time left. Just consider it as helping me pay back the debt I owe her father. Sleep in the guest room tonight. Once she’s a bit better, I’ll make it up to you—double."

For the first time ever, I didn't scream or make a scene. I just grabbed my laptop containing the evacuation files and turned to leave.

Behind me, I heard Sophia’s high-pitched cooing "Damian, this soup you made is amazing."

Damian’s deep voice held a rare tenderness. "If it's good, have some more. As long as you're happy, I’ll give you whatever you want."

This morning, I was in the middle of a miscarriage, watching his car speed away in the pouring rain, feeling nothing but despair.

He thought it was just a heavy period. He thought that later on, a piece of jewelry or a formal title would smooth everything over.

The doctor told me with a sigh that if I’d gotten there thirty minutes earlier, the baby might have made it.

I walked into the study, printed out a divorce settlement, and signed my name.

Damian went into the bathroom. He didn't find the bathwater I usually pre-set to his preferred temperature every night.

He finally remembered I existed.

Seeing me busy in the study with a cold expression, he pushed the door open, a hint of conciliation in his eyes.

"Still icing me out? I had to leave you this morning because it was an emergency. Sophia needed me there. At the family gathering next month, I’m officially announcing you as the Donna of the family. You can have whatever you want then to make up for it, okay?"

But before I could even answer, a pained moan came from the room next door. His face went pale, and he bolted back to her immediately.

He didn't come back out for the rest of the night.

The next morning.

I opened my door and ran right into Damian coming out of Sophia’s room, his collar a bit messy.

He was silent for a second before explaining, "Sophia was in a lot of pain last night. I was afraid she wouldn't pull through, so I had to stay with her."

I replied flatly, "Got it."

I walked right past him toward the kitchen.

Damian frowned and followed me, his tone laced with a frustrated kind of affection.

"Elena, don't be like this. Sophia is sick. She might not even make it through the winter. You’ve always been the bigger person; don't let her feel like she owes you during her final days."

Ever since Sophia came back with that "terminal diagnosis," his scales have been completely tilted.

He thought he was paying back a favor; he thought he was showing mercy to the weak. He had no idea that his "mercy" killed our only child.

Now, I truly don't care anymore.

I took out my phone and slid it across the counter to him.

"Don't worry. She doesn't feel like she owes me a thing."

On the screen was a post Sophia had made in the early hours of the morning.

[Too much pain to sleep. Damian stayed and held my hand the whole time. He said I’m the person he wants to protect most in this life.]

The attached photo showed two hands clasped together. The ring on Damian’s finger—the signet that represented his status as the Don—was piercingly bright under the lights.

Damian was suddenly speechless. He opened his mouth to explain, "That was just to keep her calm..."

But seeing my cold face, his brow furrowed, and his tone hardened again.

"She’s in this condition, and you’re still nitpicking these details? Once she’s gone, I’m all yours. What the hell are you throwing a fit for?"

I nodded. "Fine."

Then I started fixing a simple breakfast.

As he looked at my lonely silhouette, the man’s heart seemed to soften for a moment. He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Haven't you always wanted to vacation in Sicily? Once Sophia stabilizes, I’ll take you there for six months. Just the two of us, nobody else. How’s that sound?"

He thought this was the ultimate peace offering, not knowing I had already booked a flight in the complete opposite direction.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Sophia came staggering out, leaning against the wall for support.

She grabbed Damian’s hand, acting spoiled, saying she wanted a signature pizza from that shop on the south side of town.

That shop was in the middle of the chaotic Old District. It’s a two-hour drive one way, and for safety reasons, Damian never went there lightly.

I had mentioned it once before, and Damian had just frowned and said, "Too dangerous. If you want it, I’ll have the men go buy it."

But now, looking at Sophia’s pale face, Damian hesitated for only a second before nodding.

"Alright. I’ll take you there myself. It’ll be good for you to get some air."

He led Sophia out the door, completely forgetting about me once again.

I was used to it. I cooked some noodles for myself, then calmly picked up my phone and canceled next month wedding dress fitting.

Right as I finished, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my lower abdomen.

I curled up on the cold floor, shaking, and instinctively dialed Damian’s number.

The phone rang for a long time before Damian’s strained voice came through.

"Elena, Sophia fainted in the car. I’m rushing her to the ER right now. Be a good girl. If it's something important, text me. I’ll make it up to you later!"

"Damian, I’m bleeding..."

Before I could finish, there was nothing but disconnect tone.

I collapsed into total darkness.