Villainous Cecilia

I've been in a three-year relationship with Antonio Bianco, the successor of the Bianco family. Everyone knows very well how much he loves me. But everything has changed the moment Antonio's older brother passes away, leaving behind his newly-widowed wife, Rosetta Serra, who's also pregnant. Antonio heeds Augusto Bianco's last wish by taking great care of Rosetta. He even ditches me at the altar numerous times for her sake. On our 51st wedding, Antonio still ends up leaving with Rosetta, who keeps crying her heart out. I just gaze at the way Antonio scrambles to come up with a new excuse. I notice how skillfully the wedding planning company is cleaning up the wedding venue in advance. I also spot the flash of a provocative smile Rosetta has shown to me behind Antonio's back as she links arms with him. Suddenly, I feel like a total joke for being with such a man over the past three years. When the hotel manager gives me the bill, he asks casually, "When will the 52nd wedding be held, Ms. Marino? We can make the preparations in advance." "There's no need for a wedding anymore," I respond with a smile. "Even if a wedding is to be held, the groom won't be the same person anyway." After leaving the hotel, I dial the number of the person in charge of the International Medical Organization. "Hello, I'm Cecilia Marino. I'd like to accept your invitation to join your organization, and I can leave anytime soon."

In the stillness of my penthouse evenings, where my world ignited by Adrian’s touch, I was, for all purposes, the luckiest woman in the world. And I am, or was, Cecilia Lancaster, a dreamer who fell for Adrian Blackwood’s dark and brooding good looks, every moment, every laugh, every tear, all with my ride or die best friend, Isabel Chen. We formed a group of unbreakable relationships or so I believed—only until one afternoon shattered all my world. The pregnancy test shone brightly, a mini spark of joy amidst all our glitz and mayhem. However, barging into our bedroom like a maniac, I destroyed the image: Adrian and Isabel, locked in an embrace made for lovers, sheepishly gazing at me. The twist hit like thunder. "Love? Never," Adrian growled, his slap echoing my breaking heart. "Your father's reckless deal killed mine in that boardroom betrayal. I married you for vengeance to strip away your happiness like he did ours." Isabel's revelation stabbed deeper"I'm pregnant with his heir, Cecilia. The family you could never build." I fled into the raging storm, devastated, and whispered to my unborn child, "We'll make our own light, baby," before a screech of tires and oblivion claimed me. They mourned me as dead. 5 yrs later, Adrian's empire was flourishing, built on an unfulfilling revenge—until Isabel's web unraveled: her "pregnancy" a cruel fabrication in an attempt to trap him. As Adrian wrestles with the second opportunity to succeed, to win back the family he never knew, hidden truths abound: allegations of company treachery, Isabel's vendetta comeback, and my wavering recollections on the cusp of igniting fresh hurts. Can love truly be reborn from the flames, or shall the central conflict: forgive or fury?consume us all?

Ich heiratete Don Matteo im Geheimen. Jedes Mal, wenn er seine Jugendliebe fickte, versprach er mir eine richtige Hochzeit – vor den Fünf Familien. Fünf Jahre lang gab Matteo mir neunundneunzig Versprechen. Und neunundneunzig Mal ließ er mich vor dem Altar stehen. Beim ersten Mal starb Cecilias preisgekrönte Ausstellungskatze. Um sie zu trösten, verschob er die Hochzeit um drei Monate. Ich stand allein am Altar, die Augen gerötet, und versuchte, die Familienältesten zu beruhigen. Beim zweiten Mal bekam Cecilia in einem Casino einen Wutanfall und zerschlug eine antike Vase im Wert von hundert Millionen Dollar. Er leitete den Privatjet, der für unsere Hochzeit vorgesehen war, um und flog noch in derselben Nacht los, um ihr Chaos zu beseitigen. Und jedes Mal, kurz vor unserer Hochzeit, hatte seine Jugendliebe irgendeinen Notfall. Ich weinte. Ich schrie. Ich hielt ihm sogar eine Waffe an den Kopf. Aber Matteo drückte mich einfach gegen die Wand und brachte mich mit einem kalten, harten Kuss zum Schweigen. „Sie ist nur zum Ficken da. Du bist Frau Falcone. Benimm dich gefälligst.“ Nach dem neunundneunzigsten Mal hatte ich endgültig genug. Ich schob die Papiere über den Tisch. Die Tinte war noch feucht, das Siegel der Familie Falcone prangte am unteren Rand. „Unsere Ehe, unser Bündnis – es ist vorbei.“