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.