At the birthday banquet of the old Godfather, Salvatore Moretti, the estate was bustling with high-profile guests. Don Marco Moretti arrived late, bringing along his new secretary, Sophie.

"Elena, move to the opposite side. It's Sophie's first time at an event like this, and she’s used to sitting next to me."

I didn't hesitate for a single second. Picking up my wine glass, I walked straight over and sat down beside Salvatore, whose face was completely grim. Marco raised an eyebrow, seemingly caught off guard by how compliant I was. He then guided a visibly nervous Sophie into the seat that had just been mine.

Soon after, my phone buzzed in my hand.

【Are you making a scene again? How many times do I have to tell you? I just brought the girl out to show her the world. Stop throwing these pathetic, jealous tantrums.】

【I’ll fly you to Paris next week to pick out your wedding dress. Stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?】

I let out a soft laugh. Seeing the smile on my face from across the table, Marco smiled back, thinking he had smoothed things over.

What he didn't know—What I was actually laughing at was the fact that we wouldn't be going to Paris at all. Exactly ten minutes before he walked through the door, I had already finalized the dissolution of our engagement with Salvatore.

A notification from the airline popped up on my screen: Flight departing in three hours.

Marco, after tonight, you and I are completely finished.

"Dad, happy birthday. To a long and prosperous life." Marco raised his glass of whiskey toward Salvatore with a smooth smile. "By the way, this is my new assistant, Sophie. She’s incredibly sharp, so I brought her along tonight to celebrate your birthday."

Sophie stood up somewhat timidly, raising her glass. "Wishing you good health, Mr. Moretti."

Salvatore’s expression remained utterly stone-faced. "You absolute fool. Are you trying to infuriate me to death? Who gave you permission to bring an outsider into our family home? You show zero care for your own fiancée, yet you pour all your attention into a mere assistant."

Sophie’s eyes instantly welled with tears, and she turned to Marco with a helpless, pleading look.

The hand Marco was using to swirl his whiskey paused. His sharp gaze shot directly toward me. "Did Elena complain to you about me again?"

"Hmph! She wouldn't even waste her breath on you," Salvatore snapped. "I’m neither blind nor deaf. Do you honestly think I don't know about the pathetic stunts you’ve been pulling?" Salvatore was already seething because I had just called off the engagement, so his tone was exceptionally harsh.

Meanwhile, I sat there completely unfazed, nonchalantly enjoying my food and drink.

Seeing my detached attitude, Marco lost his temper too. "I merely took Sophie with me on a business trip and spent a few days exploring the area afterward! How does that constitute throwing a tantrum?!"

Hearing this, I couldn't help but chuckle out loud.

His so-called business trip only happened because Sophie had whined about wanting to visit Monte Carlo. He had ruthlessly canceled a long-standing partnership with the Russo family just to pivot to a supplier based in Monaco. Pampering her was the primary objective; the business trip was just a convenient excuse.

It was precisely because of this reckless stunt that my parents finally realized Marco's feelings for me had withered. They readily agreed to let me break off the engagement.

"What are you laughing at?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a cold whisper.

"Why you absolutely had to go to Monaco for business—you and I both know the real reason."

Having his true motives laid bare, Marco's composure shattered. "Elena, you haven't even married into the Moretti family yet, and you're already trying to micromanage my commercial decisions? Changing suppliers was a calculated corporate strategy. What's wrong with traveling with my assistant? Stop using your petty jealousy to make baseless accusations!"

The air in the room grew suffocatingly silent. Sophie’s timid eyes met mine. Looking at her, I was instantly reminded of the posts she had shared on Instagram.

【What kind of absolute angel boss does this?~ I just mentioned that I wanted to go to Monte Carlo, and he literally canceled a project with his fiancée's family, switched to a Monaco supplier, and used a business trip as an excuse to take me on a company-funded vacation!】

Her pinned story featured a picture of the luxurious Hotel Hermitage.

【I only booked one suite, and he didn't even care. What do you guys think this means? 😉】

The comment section was filled with people analyzing the situation, insisting that the boss was clearly into her. They urged her to shoot her shot and secure this billionaire bachelor.

When someone commented: 【But doesn't he have a fiancée? Isn't this a bit wrong?】 It was followed by a flood of users encouraging her anyway, and she had liked every single one of those comments.

Over the course of five days, she posted thirty times. She meticulously documented every little detail of her time with Marco in Monte Carlo. Those photos—seemingly ordinary but undeniably intimate—had deeply pierced my eyes, shattering the heart that had beaten for him for over a decade.

And during that entire time, not a single message I sent him received a reply. He did pick up the phone once. But it was Sophie who answered.

"Are you looking for Marco? He's in the shower right now."

From that exact moment, my decision to call off the wedding was set in stone.

Perhaps realizing his reaction had been far too aggressive, Marco walked over to my side and rested his hands heavily on my shoulders. He leaned down, whispering softly against my ear: "It's Dad's birthday today. Can we please stop making a scene? Come upstairs with me. Let me show you the gift I brought back for you from Monaco."

I stood up, cleanly stepping away from his touch. "No one is making a scene. Whatever you do has absolutely nothing to do with me anymore."

Turning to Salvatore, I gave him a respectful, gentle nod. "Salvatore, I'll be leaving now."

He looked at me with deep reluctance and sorrow. "Alright, child. If you ever need anything, you can always come find me."

My eyes stung with unshed tears, and I nodded.

Watching this interaction, Marco frowned in confusion. But soon, he seemed to convince himself of a different narrative and laughed. "Dad, you really spoil her too much. With you constantly backing her up, she's going to watch me like a hawk every single day. I won't have a shred of freedom left."

Salvatore was in no mood to play along with his jokes. He bluntly announced the end of the banquet and turned to head back upstairs.

Sophie, shedding her previous timidity, suddenly found her voice. "Elena, I don't know how I offended you, but whatever it is, I want to apologize first. The Don works incredibly hard. Please don't run to his father to complain and get him scolded. I..."

I raised my hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "You haven't offended me, and I have nothing to complain about. If your heart aches for him that much, why don't you just marry into the Moretti family? Then you can take care of him formally and intimately, without needing to play all these games and cook up convoluted excuses."

Sophie's face instantly flushed with humiliation, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I didn't..."

"That's enough. She's just a young girl who recently graduated. She doesn't have that many hidden motives." Marco pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Sophie. "As for you, Elena—don't use your family background as an excuse to insult people. You're showing absolutely zero grace."

I stared at the handsome face I knew so well, a wave of profound bitterness washing over my heart. Knowing each other for twenty years, and loving each other for ten. And this was how he truly viewed me.

Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.

While Marco was still comforting a quietly sobbing Sophie, I walked straight out of the room. As I reached the courtyard, my steps involuntarily halted in front of the rose garden. Up in the ancient oak tree stood a small treehouse.

That was built by a sixteen-year-old Marco, entirely by hand, for me. He had spent his whole summer break climbing up those creaking wooden steps, hammering together the walls and roof. Finally, using a Swiss Army knife, he carved "M + E" into the wooden beam inside, underlining it with a single, firm word: Always.

“From today on, Elena, this treehouse is our secret base. My heart will be exactly like this place—forever open only to you.”

“Really? Then you have to promise there will never be anyone else.”

“I promise.”

Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder from behind. I turned my head. Marco was looking down at me, his eyes carrying that familiar warmth. For a split second, I felt a wave of disorientation.

"Why did you just walk off by yourself? We agreed to go to Paris next week. You've lost quite a bit of weight recently; your measurements will definitely need to be retaken."

Just as I opened my mouth to reply—

"Wow! This tree is so beautiful! There’s even a treehouse! Marco, can I climb up and take a look?" Sophie had already run over to the base of the oak tree, her hand resting on the very first wooden rung of the ladder.

Marco looked as if he wanted to say something. He glanced at me, then smiled weakly. "Go ahead. No one uses it anyway."

He walked over to the bottom of the ladder, looking up as she climbed. "Be careful, the second plank is a bit loose."

The exact same words triggered an echo in my mind, spoken in a much younger, sweeter voice.

“Elena, you go first. I’ll hold you from below.”

“Who needs you to hold me? I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Oh really? Then who was the one crying when they got stuck halfway up the tree last time?”

“That was three years ago! I'm completely immune now!”

...

Sophie’s giggles drifted down from the doorway of the treehouse. "Marco, it’s so pretty in here! Take a picture of me! I want to stand right by the door."

He let out a sigh. "I really don't understand you young girls. Even a treehouse needs a photoshoot." His tone carried that deeply ingrained, indulgent fondness I knew best. He took a few steps back, raising his phone to find the right angle. "Can't you smile a bit more naturally? Ten photos and you have the exact same expression."

"You demand too much!"

Leaving them behind, I walked alone toward the estate's main gates. The laughter behind me grew fainter and fainter, as the wooden ladder swayed gently in the wind.

After returning home, I grabbed my packed suitcase and headed straight for the airport. My phone vibrated.

【Elena, let's push back the wedding dress fitting by a few days. Ricky and the guys put together a gathering, and they want me over there.】

【Be a good girl and stop throwing tantrums. Once things quiet down, we'll go to Amalfi for our wedding photos.】

I switched off the screen and leaned my head against the car window, watching the city lights blur past.

Amalfi... That trip was supposed to happen two months ago. I had spent two whole weeks meticulously planning the itinerary. Checking the weather, the destinations, the lighting, matching different photography styles to specific photographers...

But Sophie's arrival had shattered all of it. Everywhere Marco went, he dragged her along. He claimed it was to give her professional experience. Yet, the frequency of his replies to my texts dropped drastically. During the blocks of time he claimed to be swamped with work, Sophie's social media revealed a completely different story. He was accompanying her to check out the new dessert shops near the office, introducing her to the thrill of playing hooky, and taking her to see newly released movies.

Whenever I confronted him afterward, he always had an excuse ready.

"I was just testing out the quality. If it's good, it gives the company another option for afternoon catering, doesn't it?"

"We wrapped up with the client early and caught a movie on the way back. The girl rarely gets excited about anything, I didn't have the heart to ruin her mood."

He even failed to show up for my birthday banquet and our anniversary. Disappointment piled up, piece by piece, until it became a mountain.

When I first mentioned calling off the engagement to my parents back in Italy, they vehemently opposed it. But last week, when Marco chose to sever a multi-year collaborative project between our families just for Sophie's sake, they finally realized the severity of the situation and consented.

Salvatore had always cherished me like his own daughter. Seeing my absolute resolve, he had no choice but to yield. "Ultimately, that boy failed you. Don't be afraid, sweetheart. Even if you can't be my daughter-in-law, I will always love you just the same."

Another text from Marco popped up.

【You forgot to take the gift I brought you. I'll bring it over tomorrow.】

【Still mad? If you don't reply, I'll assume you don't want it and give it to someone else.】

【Your temper is getting out of hand. Who else but me would tolerate you like this!】

While waiting in the airport lounge, Marco’s name flashed across my screen. A call. I figured it was best to tell him clearly myself, saving Salvatore the trouble of explaining.

The moment I pressed answer, heavy background noise spilled through the speaker.

"Marco, if you bring your little assistant along like this, isn't Elena going to claw your face off?"

Marco let out a dismissive scoff. "She wouldn't dare. I'm the Don of the Moretti family now. I'm not going to let her boss me around like she used to; it ruins my reputation."

Another male voice sighed. "Honestly, Elena is great for flirting and romance, but actually marrying her and bringing her home sounds exhausting."

A third voice chimed in: "She’s a high-born princess. When has she ever had to suffer a day in her life? You’ve basically spent the last month torturing her, though I'm genuinely shocked she's put up with it for this long."

Marco sounded heavily intoxicated, his words laced with a drunken slur. "What's there not to put up with? Can she stay on her high horse forever? If she wants to be my Donna, she has to play by my rules. She needs to learn to keep her nose out of my business."

Then came Sophie's sweet, delicate voice. "Don, please stop drinking. If you have any more, you'll be completely wasted."

Ricky teased, "Sophie, sweetheart, why are you still calling him 'Don' so formally? Shouldn't it be 'Brother Marco' by now?"

"Ricky, stop talking nonsense, I wouldn't dare overstep my boundaries," Sophie replied quickly.

"Oh, you wouldn't dare? Then why don't you come call me brother? I don't have a fiercely jealous fiancée breathing down my neck."

There was a muffled thud, as if Marco had kicked Ricky. "You playboy. Your list of bed partners could wrap around Manhattan twice, and you still dare to hit on my person."

The room erupted into roaring laughter. "Right, right, your person. You certainly guard her fiercely."

"But seriously, when you guys went to Monte Carlo last time, did you two actually..."

Marco’s cold voice cut him off sharply. "Nothing happened. We’re entirely clean. Stop making mindless speculations."

Ricky's sly laugh echoed. "Is that so? Because I distinctly heard Sophie say that you only booked one suite~"

The call was abruptly disconnected. I could easily guess who had hung up the phone. But her little act of defiance was entirely redundant.

After blocking his number completely, I grabbed my suitcase and walked toward the boarding gate.