I Faked My Death to Destroy My Husband のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 191 - チャプター 200

Isabella’s POVI stared at her. Just stared.The delusion of hers was almost magnificent in its madness. I only felt disgusted. She wasn't just jealous; she was entirely away from reality.But I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing it. I forced myself to stay calm. "Is that right?" I asked. And it worked. The calmness seemed to unsettle her more than if I had screamed. "What exactly made you think like that, Chiara? Did Dante give you some secret, passionate signal while he was actively stepping out of the way so you could face-plant into the mud?"Chiara flinched, balling her hands into fists at her sides. "He was protecting his suit! You heard him! He has to maintain an image because you make him look weak!"I slowly tilted my head, studying her like a puzzle with missing pieces. "You really like my husband, don't you, Chiara?"The directness of the question stripped away the last of her pretenses. The fake sisterly concern vanished. "Yes." Chiara spat. "I do. And I liked

Isabella’s POVI closed the distance until I was standing inches from her. "You don't know the first thing about his world, Chiara." I whispered. "You think being a Queen is about wearing expensive jewelry and looking imposing at parties? It is about survival. It is about waking up to severed hands delivered to your doorstep and washing blood off your husband's skin. It is about memorizing blueprints and shooting to kill."Chiara trembled, pressing her spine painfully against the desk, entirely trapped by my cold fury."You are weak.” I stated flatly, throwing her own insult right back into her face. "You are crying on the floor in a muddy dress because a man who doesn't even care if you are breathing stepped out of your way. Dante wouldn't have made you his Queen. He would have broken you in a week."The twisted, desperate fight slowly drained out of her. She looked small. She looked broken.But looking at her, I didn't feel a single drop of pity. The fierce, protective instincts of

Two years later… Isabella’s POV The Eiffel Tower was shing with million glittering, diamond-like lights, cutting through the beautiful night sky. I was standing on the balcony of our penthouse suite, resting my forearms against the railing. A gentle autumn breeze swept off my face, carrying the distant, romantic hum of the city. Dante insisted we come to the city of love and relax for a few days after a hectic month in office. It had been two years. Two entire years since the chaos. Two years since we destroyed the poison from our lives, leaving our past far behind us in the Tuscan countryside. And it had been ten years since I escaped the curse of New York. Ten years since I stumbled into Dante Galante. Ten years of blessing. Life hadn't just settled… it had blossomed into something so incredibly beautiful that there were still mornings I woke up terrified it was all a dream. Dante was still the Loscuro, still the most feared and powerful man in the Italian Tech

Dante’s POV She lifted her eyes to meet mine. "But I hate this ring." She whispered honestly.I frowned as I glanced down at the band. "My wedding ring?""The ring itself is fine.” She clarified, her voice dropping lower, meant only for me. "But... it is the ring you were wearing the day that box arrived at the estate. The day we opened it and found..." She stopped, swallowing hard. She didn't need to finish the sentence.The severed hand. The message from the cartel that had nearly torn our world apart. After that incident, I took the ring from the severed hand and I had been wearing it."Every time I look at it.” Isabella confessed. "I don't just see the day we got married. I see the blood. I see the danger. It anchors me to a version of our life where I was terrified I was going to lose you.”A sharp ache seized my chest. It made me more guilty because I understood her.Without a second of hesitation, I gripped the band and pulled it off my finger."Then it is gone.” I stated firm

Isabella’s POVThe golden Italian sun was beginning its slow descent. The breeze drifting in from the terrace of penthouse carried the scent of blooming jasmine.Everything about this life felt deliberate. It felt earned.For years, my body had been hardwired for survival. My ears used to tune to the betrayal. But today, the only sound in the penthouse was the sound of peace. There were no more shadows lurking in the corners of our home. There was just us.I leaned against the glass railing of the interior balcony, watching Irene. She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wearing soft, cream cashmere sweater. She looked entirely different. In her hands, she held a glossy bridal magazine."Are you really sure about this, Irene?" I asked her softly.Irene didn't turn around immediately. She watched the city below. "If you had told me five years ago that I would be debating the structural integrity of tulle versus chiffon." Irene murmured with humour. "I would have shot you on