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.

Three days left.

I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection. Long black hair, perfect makeup, the diamond necklace Dante gave me around my neck—all so perfect, all so fake.

My phone buzzed again.

A photo.

Dante and Jenna in a luxury suite in Las Vegas. Champagne, rose petals, and their bodies tangled together.

[He said only a hotel this lavish is good enough for me and my baby. It's even nicer than your honeymoon suite.]

I ignored it and called my private advisor at my Swiss bank.

"Mrs. Moretti, a pleasure."

"I need to convert all the funds in my account into cash and portable assets. Within the day."

Two days left.

I met Maria for a final goodbye. She was my only real friend.

"Alessia, you look... unwell," Maria said, her eyes full of concern.

"I'm leaving Chicago," I said, getting straight to the point.

"For a business trip?"

"For good."

Maria paused for a moment, then simply nodded. "I see. Do you need my help?"

That was why I loved her. She never pried, only offered support.

"No. But..." I handed her a small package. "This is for you."

Maria opened it. Inside was an emerald necklace worth two hundred thousand dollars. "Alessia, this is too much—"

"No, it's a gift for a true friend," I said, hugging her. "Take care of yourself, Maria."

As I walked out of the museum, I got another message.

[He bought me this three-million-dollar bracelet at an auction tonight. Beautiful, isn't it? You'd better enjoy your last few days as Mrs. Moretti.]

I blocked the number.

The last day.

Three a.m. The entire mansion was as silent as a tomb.

I stood in my walk-in closet, looking at the millions of dollars worth of clothes, jewelry, and bags. Hermès Birkins, Chanel suits, Cartier diamonds… each one had once made me feel like a successful woman.

Now they just looked like a gilded cage.

The charity workers arrived promptly at four. I helped them load everything into their truck.

"Mrs. Moretti, are you sure you want to donate all of this?" one of the young volunteers asked, her eyes wide. "These things... they're priceless."

"Exactly. Which is why they should go to people who actually need them."

After they left, I took three large boxes and drove to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. It had an old, decommissioned incinerator.

One by one, I tossed in the "evidence."

Our wedding photos, the love letters Dante had written me, souvenirs from our honeymoon… I threw them all into the furnace.

The flames danced in the darkness, devouring every last trace of Alessia Moretti.

The only thing I kept was my violin. The 1920s Italian instrument that had been with me since childhood was one of the few things that was truly mine.

As I watched the fire die down, I felt a sense of relief I had never known before.

Alessia Moretti was dead.

As dawn broke, I got into the car that would take me to the airport.

Just as we pulled up, I saw a familiar black Maserati pulling away from another terminal. Dante was back.

At that exact moment, my phone rang.

"Baby! I'm back!" Dante's voice was as excited as a child's. "Vegas business wrapped up faster than I thought. I'll be home soon. I can't wait to see that surprise gift you got me."

A surprise.

It was certainly a surprise.

"I'm waiting for you," I said calmly, watching his car disappear into the distance.

"I love you, Alessia. Wait for me."

I hung up, popped out the SIM card, and threw it and the phone into a trash can.

I clutched my new passport. The photo was of me, but the name was Ava Chen. A new identity. A new beginning.

I took one last look at Chicago, then walked resolutely toward the boarding gate.

Goodbye, Alessia Moretti.

Hello, Ava Chen.