The ink on the divorce papers was barely dry when I stepped into the foyer of the mansion.

The air smelled of lemon polish and old money-sharp, sterile, and suffocating. My hip was a throbbing canvas of purple and black bruises, carefully concealed beneath the heavy wool of my sweater.

Dante was in the living room, commanding a small army of movers who were hauling boxes stamped with Hermès and Chanel logos into the guest wing.

Mia was perched on the sofa, nursing a bowl of strawberries. She offered me a saccharine smile the moment I appeared.

"Oh, Serena," she said, her mouth stained red. "Dante insisted. He said the stairs in my apartment were simply too dangerous for the heir."

Dante turned to face me.

Exhaustion had etched deep grooves around his eyes. Being a Don meant running an empire built on blood and coin, but lately, he seemed to expend all his reserves managing the volatile moods of his mistress.

His gaze dropped to the envelope in my hand.

"What is that?" he asked.

I tossed it onto the coffee table. It slid across the polished mahogany surface and came to a rest directly in front of Mia.

"My resignation," I stated flatly.

Dante's brow furrowed, a storm gathering in his eyes.

"Don't start this again, Serena. We talked about this. Once the child is born, she leaves. It is a business arrangement."

"Business." I let the word hang in the air, tasting its bitterness.

"Was standing in the rain for three days outside my father's gate ten years ago just business? Was swearing on your life that I was your only weakness... was that business too?"

"Sign it," I demanded.

Mia picked up the documents, scanning them with a gleam of triumph in her eyes. She pulled a pen from her purse and held it out to him.

"Here," she urged softly. "Maybe it's for the best, Dante. She's clearly unstable. The stress isn't good for the baby."

Dante slapped the pen out of her hand.

"Enough!" he roared.

The movers froze in place. Dante stalked toward me, his looming shadow swallowing me whole.

"You are my wife," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to quit. You belong to me. That is the vow."

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the exact spot he had bruised yesterday. I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I simply stared up at him, seeing a stranger wearing my husband's face.

"I need to go out," I said.

"Where?" he demanded.

"Away from here."

I wrenched my arm free and turned toward the door. He followed me, just as he always did when he felt his control slipping.

"I'll drive you," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're not going anywhere alone."

We climbed into his armored SUV. The silence inside was suffocating, heavy with unsaid words. He drove aggressively, weaving through the New York traffic, his knuckles white against the leather steering wheel.

He was angry that I wasn't bending. He was used to me breaking.

His phone rang. A specific, priority ringtone.

He answered on the first ring.

"Mia?"

His voice softened instantly, a tenderness I hadn't heard in years.

I watched the rain streak against the bulletproof glass, blurring the city lights.

"What? Pain? Where?"

He slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle screeched to a halt.

We were in a desolate neighborhood, blocks away from safety, surrounded by graffiti-tagged walls and boarded-up windows.

"I have to go back," he said, turning to me with wild eyes. "She's having cramps."

I looked at him, incredulous.

"You're kicking me out?"

"Serena, it's an emergency. The heir..."

"Get out," he snapped.

It wasn't a request.

I opened the door. The rain hit me like a physical slap, cold and unforgiving. I stepped onto the curb, icy water soaking through my shoes instantly.

"Call a car," he shouted, already shifting the gear into reverse.

He didn't wait to see if I had my phone. He didn't wait to see if I was safe.

He spun the massive car around and sped off, his taillights fading into the storm.

I didn't call a car. I had no phone. I had no wallet.

So I walked.

I walked for hours. I walked until my bones shook and my teeth chattered so hard they ached.

I trudged all the way to City Hall, only to find the heavy doors locked for the night. With nowhere else to go, I walked back.

When I finally stumbled into the mansion, I was burning up. My head swam in a dizzying haze, and my throat felt as though it were filled with shards of glass.

I dragged myself up the stairs to the master suite.

The door to the panic room-now converted into Mia's suite-was slightly ajar.

I heard a voice. Dante's voice.

Soft. Loving.

He was reading Goodnight Moon.

I leaned against the wall, sliding down as my legs finally gave out.

I listened to my husband read a bedtime story to another woman's belly while I lay on the floor, shivering in my wet clothes, burning with a fever he had caused.

I closed my eyes.

And I let the darkness take me.

I woke up to the sharp sting of antiseptic layered over the heavy scent of expensive cologne.

Dante was sitting by the bed.

His brows were drawn together, a mask of worry etched onto his handsome features.

He played the role of the devoted husband so well, I almost believed him.

"You had a fever of 104," he said, reaching for my hand. "Why didn't you call me?"

I pulled my hand away before his warmth could trick me again.

"You were busy reading," I rasped.

He flinched.

"I was calming her down. It was a false alarm."

Of course it was.

It was always a false alarm.

"I need fresh air," I said, my voice brittle.

I tried to sit up, but the room tilted dangerously.

"I'll take you riding," he said suddenly. "You love the horses. It'll be just us. We can talk. Fix this."

Fix this.

As if our marriage was a leaking faucet and not a demolished building.

But looking at the determination in his eyes, I didn't have the energy to argue.

We went to the stables.

The air was crisp, biting against my fever-tender skin.

I saddled Luna, my gentle mare, my movements slow and deliberate.

Dante was preparing his stallion, a massive black beast that matched his soul.

Then I heard the crunch of gravel.

Mia walked into the stable, wearing a riding outfit that looked brand new, the leather still stiff.

"The doctor said light exercise is good," she chirped, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Can I come?"

Dante hesitated.

For a second, I saw the conflict in his eyes.

He had promised me us.

But then Mia placed a hand on her stomach and sighed, a calculated display of fragility.

"Please, Dante? I don't want to be alone in that big house."

"Fine," he said, his resolve crumbling. "But stay close to me."

He lifted her onto a horse.

He checked her stirrups.

He checked her reins.

He checked her helmet.

I mounted Luna by myself, gritting my teeth against the sharp flare of pain in my hip.

We rode out toward the trails.

Dante rode next to Mia, his hand resting on her horse's neck to steady it.

I rode behind them.

The third wheel in my own marriage.

Dante's phone rang.

He answered it, distracted, talking business with his Underboss.

Mia slowed down until she was beside me.

She smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile; it was a predator's grin.

"He's never going to let me go, you know," she whispered. "He loves the idea of the baby more than he loves you."

I stared straight ahead, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Watch this," she said.

She kicked her horse hard in the ribs.

The horse bolted.

It slammed sideways into Luna.

Luna panicked.

She reared up, her hooves flailing at the sky.

I lost my grip.

"Dante!" I screamed.

He turned.

He saw everything.

He saw Luna bucking.

He saw Mia's horse dancing nervously, though Mia was perfectly safe in the saddle, faking a scream.

He had a choice.

A split second.

Me or her.

He lunged.

Toward her.

He grabbed Mia's reins, steadying her horse, pulling her into his arms to shield her from a danger that didn't exist.

I hit the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of me with a brutal force.

A sharp crack echoed in my chest.

A rib.

Maybe two.

Luna's hoof came down inches from my head, kicking dirt into my eyes.

I lay there, gasping for air, unable to move.

I watched through the dust as Dante checked Mia for scratches.

"Is the baby okay?" he asked frantically.

"I think so," she sobbed, burying her face in his coat. "Serena... she spooked my horse."

He looked at me then.

Lying in the dirt.

Broken.

He didn't run to me.

He glared at me.

"Stay there," he ordered, his voice devoid of warmth. "I have to get her back to the house. I'll send someone for you."

He turned his horse and galloped away, cradling his mistress against his chest.

I lay in the dirt, staring at the gray sky.

And I finally stopped crying.

The lights in the trauma unit were blinding.

White, sterile, and unforgiving.

The glare stung my retinas, forcing a headache behind my eyes.

A doctor was busy binding my torso, his movements efficient but firm.

"Broken rib, bruised lung," he muttered, checking the tightness of the bandages. "You're lucky to be alive, Mrs. Vitiello."

Lucky.

The word tasted like bile.

Suddenly, the door banged open, slamming against the wall.

Dante strode in.

He looked frantic, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes wild. I scanned his shirt for injuries, but it was stained with... nothing.

Mia wasn't bleeding.

"She needs blood," he barked.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was focused entirely on the doctor.

"The blood bank is critically low on O-negative. She has a clotting disorder. We need a direct transfusion. Now."

The doctor frowned, glancing down at my chart.

"Mrs. Vitiello is O-negative, yes, but she's in no condition-"

"She'll do it," Dante cut in.

Finally, he looked at me.

His eyes were hard, cold stones, devoid of any warmth.

"Do it, Serena."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest.

It was a wet, wheezing sound that scraped against my bruised lung.

"No," I said.

Dante stalked to the side of my bed.

He leaned down, his large hands gripping the metal rails, effectively trapping me.

"This isn't a request," he whispered, his voice a lethal drop of poison. "That is my child. You will save him."

"You left me in the dirt," I whispered back, the memory sharp as glass.

"I came back for you."

"An hour later. With a gardener."

"Does that matter right now? She is dying."

"She's lying, Dante."

"She is bleeding!" he shouted, the veins in his neck straining.

He signaled sharply to the nurse.

"Hook her up."

I tried to pull my arm away, a weak attempt at rebellion.

Dante grabbed my wrist.

The same wrist he had bruised at the auction.

He held it out for the nurse, exposing the vein.

"Don't fight me on this, Serena. Or I will make you regret it."

The needle slid in with a sharp pinch.

I watched the dark red liquid flow through the tube.

My life force.

Leaving me.

Going to her.

It drained me, pulling the energy right out of my marrow.

My vision blurred at the edges.

The sharp pain in my rib became a dull throb, nothing compared to the agony shredding my heart.

"Four hundred milliliters," the nurse announced.

"That's enough," the doctor said firmly. "Her blood pressure is dropping too fast."

Dante didn't wait.

He grabbed the bag of warm blood like it was holy water and sprinted out of the room.

He didn't say thank you.

He didn't check my vitals.

He didn't even look back.

I lay there for an hour, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Then, I forced myself up.

I dragged my IV pole with me, the wheels squeaking against the linoleum.

I walked down the hall to the VIP suite.

The door was ajar.

Mia was sitting up in bed, eating a cup of red gelatin.

She looked fine.

She looked glowing, her cheeks flushed with color.

Dante was sitting in the chair next to her, his head buried in his hands, praying.

Then I saw it.

Wrapped around Mia's slender wrist.

Black onyx beads.

A silver crucifix catching the light.

Dante's Rosary.

He had sworn on his mother's grave that he would never take it off.

He said it was his connection to God.

His ultimate protection.

And now it was on the wrist of the woman who had just drained my veins dry.

Mia saw me hovering in the doorway.

She lifted her wrist, deliberately letting the beads catch the fluorescent light.

She smirked.

Dante looked up.

He saw me standing there, pale as a ghost, clutching my side to hold myself together.

"Serena, go back to bed," he said wearily.

I looked at the Rosary.

Then I looked at him.

A nurse walked by with a clipboard, pausing when she saw me.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I need to update your emergency contact info. Are you married?"

I looked Dante Vitiello dead in the eyes.

"No," I said, my voice hollow.

His eyes widened.

"I'm single."