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.

(Dante's POV)

Dante had planned to go straight home.

Jenna wrapped her arms around his waist, whispering in his ear, "Don't go yet… I'm not done playing."

Her fingers traced patterns on his chest, her voice seductive. "Besides, you said it yourself, she's just a boring porcelain doll. What's one more night? You can go back tomorrow."

Dante hesitated for a second. It was true. Alessia would never be this forward, would never beg him to stay. In five years of marriage, she had always waited patiently, never complaining about his late nights or business trips.

"Fine," he said, setting down his luggage. "But just for a few hours. I have to be back in Chicago tonight."

Hours later, when Dante surfaced from the haze of sex and champagne, it was already the next morning.

"Dammit." He glanced at his watch and shot out of bed.

He frantically dialed Alessia's number to explain, but was met with a mechanical voice: "The number you have dialed is not in service…"

Not in service?

Alessia never turned her phone off. As Mrs. Moretti, her phone was on 24/7. It was a rule of the family.

A strange sense of unease began to creep into his gut.

"What's wrong, darling?" Jenna strolled over, lazily wrapped in a silk robe. "You look awful."

"Alessia's phone is off." Dante frowned, dialing again and again with the same result.

"Maybe she's sleeping?" Jenna said, unconcerned. "Or practicing that violin? You're always saying how much she loves her boring little hobbies."

But the unease in Dante's chest was growing stronger. He immediately started dressing.

"You're just going to leave me?" Jenna's voice sharpened. "Dante, after what we just did, you're running back to her?"

"She's my wife," Dante said, not even looking back as he packed. "I have to go."

"Wife?" Jenna sneered. "That's not what you were saying in bed. You said she was cold, boring, nothing but a suitable piece of decoration—"

"Enough!" Dante whirled around, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Just then, his phone rang. It was his consigliere.

"Boss, you have the capos meeting at eight. East Side territory. They're waiting on your decision."

"Postpone it," Dante said without hesitation.

"But Boss, it's urgent—"

"I said postpone it!" Dante's tone was absolute. "Ten a.m. tomorrow. Reschedule."

He hung up and continued packing, completely ignoring Jenna's souring expression.

"Dante!" Jenna, not daring to truly anger him, resorted to her best weapon: playing the victim. "Have you forgotten what you said these last three days? You said you loved me, that you regretted marrying her, you said—"

"It was pillow talk," Dante cut her off, his voice like ice. He turned to face her, his gaze arctic. "In the real world, Jenna, you need to remember your place."

He walked toward her, the sheer force of his presence making her instinctively back away.

"Alessia is my wife. She will always be Mrs. Moretti. And you..." He stopped, his voice low and menacing. "You are just a distraction. Something that can be replaced at any time. Do you understand?"

The color drained from Jenna's face, and tears welled in her eyes. "You... how can you say that? A minute ago you were—"

"That was then. This is now." Dante grabbed his coat and headed for the door without a backward glance. "Don't call me for the next few days. I'm going to be with Alessia."

Bang!

The suite door slammed shut, leaving Jenna to collapse onto the luxurious sofa, tears streaming down her face.

Dante returned to the villa he shared with Alessia.

From the outside, the house was dark.

"Dammit." The unease in his heart intensified.

"Alessia? I'm home!"

Only a hollow echo answered him.

The living room was empty. The master bedroom was empty. The entire house was as silent as a tomb.