"I want to sit in the back."

On the way to the hotel, Dante looked at me, confused. "Why? You always sit up front."

Because I couldn't stand to sit in the passenger seat his little whore had occupied countless times. The thought of Jenna sitting there, cooing at him, begging him to pull over so they could fuck, made me want to vomit.

But I just said, "I feel like having more space."

Dante thought nothing of it.

As Dante led me into the hotel, his arm around my waist, other patrons stared with a mixture of envy and awe. In our world, being Mrs. Moretti was a dream for countless women.

If only they knew the price.

Several of the family's Capos came over to greet us.

Dante kept his hand on the small of my back, poured me wine, and whispered in my ear, "This bottle is worth twenty thousand dollars, but even it can't compare to your beauty."

Once, words like that would have made me blush.

Now, they just made me want to laugh. In his mind, my worth was clearly less than that of a twenty-two-year-old bartender.

Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface.

Dante talked about family business, occasionally turning to me for my opinion. I played the part of the perfect wife: elegant, intelligent, involved just enough but never overstepping.

At 8:20, Dante glanced at his watch. "Darling, I need to go downstairs and meet a business associate. Shouldn't be more than half an hour."

"Of course," I said with a smile. "Take your time."

A few minutes later, I excused myself, claiming to feel unwell. Once out of the ballroom, I called Dante.

He answered on the third ring.

"Hey, baby. What's up?" Dante's voice sounded a little rushed.

"I'm feeling a bit dizzy," I said, feigning weakness. "When will you be back?"

"Soon. Just give me... fifteen more minutes." His voice suddenly became muffled, as if he was struggling to control something.

And then I heard it.

A woman's low giggle, soft and seductive. And the distinct, metallic jingle of small bells on some kind of toy. Jingle, jingle.

"Dante? Where are you?" I kept my tone worried.

"In... in the office," he answered, panting. "The associate just arrived."

"Mmm… Dante…" a woman moaned in the background.

My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. The voice was unmistakably Jenna's.

"Baby, you sound strange," I said, deliberately dragging out the call. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Of course... ah..." Dante struggled to keep his voice steady, but I could tell exactly what he was doing. "This associate is just... difficult to handle."

"Oh yes, Dante... right there..." Jenna's voice came through, muffled. She clearly had no idea he was on the phone.

"Come on, kitten," Dante's voice dropped to a growl. "I want you right now..."

Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster.

I quickly hit the record button, calmly documenting it all.

"Dante? Dante?" I called out, pretending to be anxious.

"What? Oh, sorry, baby," he said, breathless, back on the line. "Bad signal. I'll be right up."

"Okay. I love you," I said in my sweetest voice.

"I love you too."

The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, so practiced.

After hanging up, I saved the recording and walked back to our table as if nothing had happened.

Forty minutes later, Dante returned to the restaurant. His hair was a little messy and his tie was crooked, but he had a satisfied smile on his face.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, baby." He sat down beside me. "That associate was a tough nut to crack."

I turned to him and offered a perfect smile. "It's fine. Business is important."

He reached out and took my hand. "You're the best wife in the world."

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Passport and ticket confirmed. Activates in five days. All set.

I quickly locked the screen, but Dante caught a glimpse of the words.

"Passport?" He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Alessia, are you going somewhere?"

I let out a small laugh, as if he'd asked a silly question. "My friend Maria wants to go to Europe, but her passport expired. She was asking me about the renewal process. You know how she is with these things."

My tone was light and natural, with no hint of a lie.

Dante's expression immediately relaxed, and he even looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, baby. For a second there, I thought you were planning on leaving me."

His words made the other wives at nearby tables shoot me looks of pure envy. See how devoted Dante is to her.

I hid a cold smile behind my wine glass.

To the outside world, we were still the perfect, enviable couple.

At ten-thirty, the dinner party was winding down.

When we were the last two left in the restaurant, Dante came to my side, reaching out to hug me. "Tonight was perfect."

As he moved closer, a mix of scents hit me—cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and… that damn cheap jasmine perfume.

Jenna's scent.

The sickeningly sweet fragrance was radiating from my husband's collar and cuffs. He hadn't even tried to hide it. Or maybe he just didn't realize he reeked of her.

The churning in my stomach returned, stronger this time.

I shoved him away, clapped a hand over my mouth, and ran for the restroom.

"Alessia? Baby?" Dante followed, his voice laced with concern.

I knelt before the toilet, dry-heaving violently. My stomach was empty, but the bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept coming.

"What's wrong? Are you allergic to the seafood?" Dante knelt beside me, trying to help me up. "Or did you have too much wine?"

The scent of him, of her, washed over me again, and another wave of nausea hit.

"Don't... don't touch me!" I pushed his hand away, my body trembling.

"Is it the smoke on me?" Dante frowned. "Sorry, I had a few cigars during that meeting."

Hearing that lie, the fire inside me finally exploded.

I slowly stood up, splashing cold water on my face, and met his eyes in the mirror. He stood there, the picture of innocent concern, as if he truly had no idea what he'd done.

"Cigars?" My voice was a low growl. "You know damn well what this is about!"

Dante froze, stunned. He had never seen me lose control like this. "Alessia, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd gone too far and forced myself to calm down. "Nothing. My stomach just hurts."

The next morning, Dante insisted on taking me to the hospital.

The doctor examined me. "Based on your symptoms, it seems to be stress-induced gastritis. It’s often caused by emotional distress or pressure. Has Mrs. Moretti been under any particular stress lately?"

Dante frowned. "No. We had a wonderful time just yesterday."

"Well, perhaps it's seasonal," the doctor said, starting to write a prescription. "I'll give her something to settle her stomach."

Just then, Dante's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his expression tensing. "Sorry, it's an important call."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

Dante stepped into the hallway to take the call, and I could hear his hushed voice. "What? Now? No, I'm with my wife at the doctor's... Alright, I get it."

He came back, an apologetic look on his face. "Baby, I am so sorry. One of my men needs to drop off some important documents. I have to run downstairs to get them. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Go," I said, nodding with fake understanding.

Dr. Ricci continued his diagnosis, but my attention was elsewhere. I walked to the window, pretending to admire the view, but my eyes were locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I saw Dante.

But he wasn't waiting by the entrance for any documents.

Instead, he strode quickly across the street and straight into the building opposite us—a private OB-GYN clinic.

As I watched him disappear inside, the anger I felt was replaced by a cold, numb sense of release.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

A text from an unknown number.

[Sorry, Mrs. Moretti. Looks like he can't be with you today. All it takes is one call from me, and he comes running like a dog.]

Another message followed immediately. It was an ultrasound picture.

A tiny gestational sac was clearly visible on the black-and-white image. In the top right corner, it read: 8 weeks.

[Surprised? You know, when I told Dante the news, he was as wild as an animal.]

[Oh, and by the way, he really is an animal with me. Not so… boring… like he is with you. Is he always so restrained when you two do it? Hahaha, that’s because he doesn’t even want to touch you! But with me… God, I can barely handle his passion!]

I leaned against the window, the world spinning around me.

The child we had hoped for for five years was now growing inside his mistress.

Maybe I should congratulate them.

Another text arrived.

[By the way, he’s taking me to Vegas tomorrow. We’re going to have a romantic little getaway. ~]

I turned off my phone and faced Dr. Ricci. "Doctor, I think I need to leave now."

"But your husband—"

"I'll tell him myself."

I went to my lawyer's office. I needed a divorce agreement.

"Regarding the division of assets, what are your requirements?" Mr. Blackstone asked.

I knew the Moretti family's power. I didn't want a long, drawn-out fight over money. "I only want the legally mandated 50% of our shared assets during the marriage. As soon as the money is in my account, I want you to donate all of it."

All I wanted was my freedom.

A flicker of surprise crossed Blackstone's face before he nodded.

Two hours later, I walked out of the law firm with the divorce papers in my hand. The Chicago sky was overcast, promising a storm.

My phone rang.

Dante.

"Baby, I am so, so sorry. That business took longer than I expected. Where are you now?"

"Home," I lied.

"Okay, I'm on my way. I'll be there soon. But..." His voice turned hesitant. "I might have to go to Vegas tomorrow for some urgent family business. It's complicated, and I might not be back until next week."

His and Jenna's romantic getaway.

"Okay," I replied, my voice so calm it surprised even me.

"You're not mad?" Dante sounded surprised. "I know it's not great timing, but family business... you understand."

"I understand."

"Alessia," his voice suddenly turned tender. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand and asked the question one last time.

"Dante," I asked softly, "could you ever love someone else?"

"What?" He laughed. "Baby, what are you worried about? How could I ever love someone else?"

"But if... hypothetically, I'm just saying, if something ever went wrong between us—"

"It won't," he cut me off, his voice laced with a disturbing possessiveness. "Alessia, listen to me. As long as your name is Alessia Moretti, you can never leave me. You are my wife. My woman. In this city, no one would dare touch you, and there is nowhere you could hide from me."

A quiet voice in my head answered: My name isn't Alessia Moretti anymore.

My name is Ava.

"And what if I wanted to leave?"

He laughed again, a sound full of arrogant confidence. "The most I'd give you is a three-day head start. Then I'd come find you. I told you, as long as you're Mrs. Moretti, I will drag you back from wherever you run. You can't shake me, baby. You can never shake me."

I hung up the phone and stood on the Chicago street, looking at the distant skyscrapers.

I didn't know if he could find me in three days.

All I knew was that in three days, I would be free.