I went to the recovery room one last time.

Alex was awake, but he looked terrible.

His skin was gray, and dark circles bruised the hollows beneath his eyes. He was weak, diminished.

I sat in the chair beside his bed, my hands folded in my lap.

I was perfectly calm.

My stillness unnerved him. He expected tears. He expected screaming.

"Catarina," he croaked.

"I'm here, Alex."

He tried to sit up but fell back against the pillows, exhausted.

"I have to go," he said, his voice straining. "I have business. On the West Coast. I have to leave tonight."

It was a lie. I knew it was a lie.

He wasn't going to the West Coast. He was going to take Aria to the villa in Lake Como. To "recover."

"I know," I said softly.

He looked at me, surprised. "You do?"

"Yes. Business is important."

He relaxed, sinking deeper into the mattress. He thought he had won. He thought I was the obedient little wife again.

"Aria... she is just a tool, Cat," he rasped.

"Once the baby is born, she is gone. I promise. Just a few more months. Then it's just us. Just us."

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Capo Giovanni rushed in, breathless. "Boss," he panted. "She's awake. She's asking for... for Daddy."

Alex's eyes lit up. The fatigue vanished instantly.

He ripped the IV out of his arm. Blood splattered onto the white sheets, but he didn't care.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, swaying dangerously.

"I have to go," he said to me.

He didn't look at me. He looked only at the door.

He walked out.

He left me sitting there. He left me for the third time in three chapters.

But this time was different. This time, I didn't feel pain.

I felt the chains snap-a sharp, distinct ping echoing in the silence of my mind.

I stood up.

I walked out of the hospital and took a cab straight to the penthouse.

When I got there, the apartment was empty. Don Donato's cleaners had already been there.

My clothes were gone. My jewelry was gone. My passport was gone. There was nothing left of Catarina DeLuca.

I went to the computer in the study and logged into our private server.

I initiated the wipe.

Social media. Bank accounts. Medical records.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

I watched the progress bar crawl across the screen. 10%... 50%... 100%.

Done.

I was a ghost.

The front door opened.

Alex walked in, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He was on the phone.

"Yes, baby," he was cooing into the receiver. "Como is beautiful this time of year. The villa is ready. Just you and me."

He hung up, turned, and saw me standing by the computer.

"I'm packing for the West Coast," he said.

Another lie. He didn't even blink.

I nodded. "I understand, Alex."

It was the first honest thing I had said in years. I understood him perfectly. He was a man who wanted everything and deserved nothing.

He looked at me, confused by my calm. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I smiled. It was a small, sad smile.

"I'm fine, Alex. Go. Don't miss your flight."

He nodded, relieved. "I'll call you when I land."

He grabbed his bag and walked out the door.

He didn't kiss me goodbye. He didn't look back.

I waited until the elevator doors closed, then I walked to the kitchen.

I picked up my purse. Inside was a new passport.

I opened it to the ID page. Name: Kate Jensen. Citizenship: French.

I looked around the penthouse one last time.

It was a cage. A gilded, beautiful cage.

And the door was finally open.

I walked out, leaving the key on the counter.

I felt the rust falling off my soul.

I was free.

Catarina DeLuca POV

The annual family dinner was not merely a meal; it was a theater of war masquerading as a gathering.

Crystal chandeliers dripped cold light onto the long mahogany table, illuminating the battlefield where silverware clinked against fine china like striking swords.

I sat at Alex's right hand.

I was the shield.

I served as the barrier between his arrogance and the world's judgment.

For five years, I had smoothed over his rough edges with a practiced smile and a well-placed compliment, acting the part of the dutiful wife.

Tonight, however, I was just a ghost haunting my own chair.

The heavy oak doors creaked open.

Silence swept through the room like a sudden, biting wind.

Aria walked in.

She was wearing red.

Not a subtle burgundy, but a screaming, violent crimson that clashed offensively with the understated elegance of the room.

She was escorted by a soldier, yet she moved with a stride that suggested she owned the very floorboards beneath her feet.

My breath caught in my throat.

This was a violation of protocol so profound it should have been a death sentence.

Mistresses did not attend the Family Dinner.

I looked at Alex.

His jaw was tight, his eyes darting around the room as he frantically gauged reactions.

Panic flickered in his gaze.

He leaned toward me.

"Just politics, Cat," he whispered.

His breath reeked of scotch and lies.

"Keep smiling."

I didn't smile.

I looked at the head of the table.

Don Donato stood up.

The old lion fixed his gaze on the girl in the red dress.

"Welcome," he said.

His voice was a mixture of gravel and absolute authority.

"Please, join us. The future of the family is always welcome."

A collective gasp rippled around the table.

The Don had just endorsed the affair.

He had just legitimized the insult.

Aria beamed.

She strutted to an empty chair directly opposite me.

She sat down and winked at Alex.

I watched the tension drain from Alex's shoulders.

He thought he had gotten away with it.

He believed he could have his cake and eat it too.

Dinner was served.

Veal scaloppini.

I cut my meat into tiny, precise squares, focusing on the geometry to keep my hands from shaking.

I didn't eat.

I just watched.

I watched Aria drink too much wine.

I watched her laugh too loudly at jokes she clearly didn't understand.

I watched Alex look at her with a sickening mixture of lust and pride.

Then, Aria stood up.

She tapped her glass with a fork.

Ting. Ting. Ting.

"I have an announcement," she said.

Her voice was slurred, but dripping with triumph.

She placed a hand on her stomach.

"We are expecting twins."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, chaos.

Chairs scraped against the floor.

Capos began to murmur.

Twins.

An heir and a spare.

The succession was secure.

I looked at Alex.

Shock washed over his face, followed instantly by a primal, arrogant joy.

He looked at me.

His eyes were shining.

"Did you hear?" he mouthed.

"Twins."

He actually expected me to be happy for him.

He expected me to congratulate him on replacing me.

The sheer absurdity of it finally broke the dam holding back my restraint.

I stood up.

My chair didn't make a sound.

I smoothed the front of my white dress, grounding myself in the fabric's texture.

I picked up my wine glass.

I raised it in a mock toast.

"Alexander and I are formally separating," I said.

My voice was not loud.

But it cut through the room like a razor blade.

Alex froze.

The joy fell off his face like a shattered mask.

"What?" he asked.

He started to stand up.

"Catarina, sit down. You are hysterical."

"I am not hysterical, Alex."

"I am done."

I turned to leave.

Alex lunged toward me.

He reached for my arm.

But then, a thud.

Aria collapsed.

She slid out of her chair, dissolving into a puddle of red silk on the floor.

"Oh god!" she cried out, clutching her stomach.

"The babies!"

Alex stopped.

He looked at me.

He looked at her.

It was the final test.

He didn't even hesitate.

He turned his back on me.

He fell to his knees beside her.

"Call the doctor!" he screamed.

I stood there for one second.

Just one.

I watched him stroke her hair.

I watched him panic over a woman who was clearly faking a faint to keep his attention.

My heart became a hollow cave.

The wind whistled through it, finding nothing left to break.

I turned around and walked out of the banquet hall.

I didn't make it to the front door.

"Catarina."

Don Donato's voice stopped me cold in the foyer.

He was standing by the door to his study, a sentinel in the shadows.

"Inside."

I obeyed, walking into the room that smelled of parchment, stale tobacco, and old secrets. The Don moved behind his desk, his movements heavy.

He didn't look like a monster tonight. He looked like a tired old man, methodically cleaning up a mess.

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a thick stack of papers and slid them across the mahogany surface.

"Sign here," he commanded.

I looked down at the documents. The bold headings stared back at me: Separation Agreement. Asset Transfer. New Identity Protocol.

"You knew," I whispered.

"I knew my son is a fool," Donato replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He sat down heavily, the leather chair creaking under his weight.

"He is distracted. A leader cannot be distracted by a mistress. It is a fatal flaw."

He looked at me with cold, pragmatic eyes, assessing me one last time.

"You were a good wife, Catarina. You played your part. But the play is over."

He pushed a fountain pen toward me.

"Sign. Take the money. Take the new name. Disappear. If you come back, I cannot protect you."

I picked up the pen. To my surprise, my hand didn't shake.

I signed my name.

Catarina DeLuca.

The ink was black and permanent, glistening on the page. It was the last time I would ever write those letters.

Suddenly, the door burst open behind me.

Alex stormed in, bringing a chaotic energy into the quiet room. His hair was disheveled, his tie crooked-a portrait of a man unraveling.

"Is she okay?" Donato asked immediately.

"Just heat exhaustion," Alex said, breathless. He turned his wild eyes toward me, his expression hardening.

"What was that stunt in there, Catarina? Separating? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Just sign the papers, Alex," Donato cut in, his voice calm and authoritative. "We need to secure the assets before the twins are born. It is just territory management."

Alex didn't read them.

He was too arrogant. He was too used to being the center of the universe to suspect he was being maneuvered.

He thought I was just acting out. He assumed his father was handling the boring business details.

He grabbed the pen from my hand.

With an impatient huff, he scrawled his signature next to mine.

"There," he snapped, tossing the pen down. "Are you happy? Now stop this nonsense and go check on Aria. She needs water."

I stared at the wet ink of his signature.

He had just signed our divorce.

He had just signed away his marriage for a glass of water.

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor.

"I have a headache, Alex," I said softly. "I'm going home."

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Fine. I'll drive you."

"Daddy?"

Aria appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked frail and pathetic, clutching her stomach.

"I feel sick again."

Alex looked at me. Then he looked at her.

"Take the driver, Cat," he said, turning his back on me.

He walked over to Aria, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist.

"I have to stay. For the heirs."

He waved his hand at me over his shoulder, dismissing me.

Like I was a servant.

I turned and walked out of the study.

I walked out of the mansion, leaving the suffocating weight of the DeLuca name behind me.

The night air hit my face.

It was cold. It was crisp.

It tasted like oxygen.

It tasted like freedom.