Isabella POV:

Giovanni froze, his face a mask of disbelief. "Marry my brother? Bella, this isn't funny. Stop joking."

He reached for me, a forced smile on his lips, as if my words were just a childish tantrum he could soothe away. His touch felt like spiders crawling on my skin. I pulled my arm back as if burned.

"I'm not joking, Giovanni," I said, my voice as cold as the marble floor beneath my feet.

The truth of it finally seemed to penetrate his thick skull. The color drained from his face. "No. I won't allow it."

"You don't get a vote," I said, turning my back on him and shutting the door to Domenico's penthouse suite, the new home I had just moved into. My home. The click of the lock was the most satisfying sound I had ever heard.

His frantic texts started moments later.

`Bella, open the door. We need to talk.`

`This is a mistake. You love me.`

`I'll fix this. I promise. Just give me a little more time with Sofia. Then it will be our turn.`

I deleted each message without replying. Our turn would never come. I was done waiting.

The next morning, I focused on my new reality. I needed to understand the man I was about to marry. I asked Domenico’s head of staff, an older, stern woman named Elena, about his preferences. His favorite coffee, the type of books he read, the music he listened to in the evenings.

I spent the afternoon at a high-end men's boutique and found a set of vintage cufflinks, simple platinum squares with a single, dark sapphire in the center. They were understated, powerful, just like him.

As my driver pulled up to the estate that evening, the headlights illuminated a pathetic scene. Giovanni was standing by the large trash receptacles near the service entrance, his shoulders slumped. He was throwing things away. My things.

A small, hand-painted jewelry box I’d had since I was a child. A collection of worn paperbacks we were supposed to have read together. The matching mugs we’d bought on our first trip upstate. All of it, discarded like garbage.

He hadn't seen me. I watched for a moment, a dull ache in my chest, before telling the driver to continue to the main entrance. The pain was just a ghost, an echo of a love that was already dead.

When he found me in the formal living room a few minutes later, he looked flustered. "Bella. I was just… cleaning out some old stuff. To make more room for… for when we get things back to normal."

It was such a weak, pathetic lie.

"Don't worry about it, Giovanni," I said, my voice light. "It's good to get rid of things you no longer have a use for."

He frowned, not quite understanding the bite in my words, but a flicker of unease crossed his face.

Before he could respond, Sofia appeared, a bright, innocent smile on her face. "Bella! There you are. I was hoping you'd join us for dinner. Gio is taking me for hot pot!" She used a nickname for me, *Bellina*, that felt like sandpaper on my nerves.

She turned to me, her eyes wide. "Dom isn't back yet?"

"He's handling business in Chicago," I replied calmly. "He'll be back tomorrow."

Giovanni shot me a quick, questioning look. How did I know his brother's schedule? He quickly dismissed it, probably assuming one of the staff had told me. He was still so blind.

"Come on, Bella," Sofia insisted, grabbing my arm. "Let's all go together. Like a family."

The irony was so thick I could have choked on it. But I allowed her to pull me along, forced to sit in a car with the man who broke my heart and the woman who was the reason for it.

At the restaurant, Giovanni ordered the spiciest broth for Sofia, the one she loved, even though he had a notoriously weak stomach and couldn't handle anything more than mild.

I watched him as he ate, his face growing progressively paler. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He kept reaching for his glass of water, trying to pretend he was fine.

It used to be my job to watch out for him. I would have ordered a bowl of plain rice for him, made sure he had milk to soothe the burn. I knew him better than he knew himself.

Now, I just watched.

"Isn't this delicious, Gio?" Sofia said happily, completely oblivious to his suffering. "You should have more."

He forced a smile, his lips tight with pain. "It's great."

I saw him wince as he swallowed, his hand moving subtly to his stomach. I kept my own hands in my lap, my expression neutral.

Sofia tried to scoop some vegetables into my bowl. "You're not eating, Bella."

Giovanni’s eyes darted to me, a silent plea in them. He wanted me to help him, to save him from this self-inflicted misery, just like I always did. But he couldn't ask, not in front of Sofia. He had to maintain the illusion that he was the strong, perfect boyfriend.

I realized then that his love was a currency he spent differently on different people. For Sofia, he would swallow fire and smile through the pain. For me, he had only ever offered the convenience of habit. He had never been willing to suffer for me. Not once.

Suddenly, a waiter carrying a large tray of drinks stumbled near our table. The tray tilted precariously.

Everything happened in a flash.

Isabella POV:

The tray tipped. Hot soup and glasses flew through the air.

Without a moment's hesitation, Giovanni threw himself in front of Sofia, shielding her with his own body. He grunted as the scalding liquid splashed across his back, but his only concern was her.

"Sofia! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asked frantically, his hands checking her face, her arms, his voice laced with pure panic.

"I'm fine, Gio," she said, her voice a little shaken. "Just a few drops on my arm. But you…"

He pulled her into his arms, ignoring the mess and the pain. "It's nothing. As long as you're not hurt." He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and rushed toward the exit, shouting for someone to call a doctor.

He never once looked back at me.

He didn't see the large puddle of broth that had splashed onto my lap, soaking through my dress and searing my thigh. A raw, burning pain shot up my leg, so intense it made my eyes water.

He was gone. He had chosen, again, in a moment of pure instinct. And I was not his choice.

I gritted my teeth against the pain, stood up on shaky legs, and walked out of the restaurant alone. I took a cab to the nearest emergency clinic, my thigh throbbing with every bump in the road.

The doctor said it was a second-degree burn. They cleaned it, applied ointment, and wrapped it in layers of white gauze. I did it all by myself.

Later that night, scrolling through my phone in my sterile, lonely room, I saw Sofia’s latest post. A picture of Giovanni gently applying cream to the small red mark on her arm. His expression was one of absolute devotion.

Her caption read: `My hero. So lucky to have a man who would walk through fire for me. `

The pain in my leg was nothing compared to the hollow ache that spread through my chest. He had always been attentive, bringing me flowers, remembering anniversaries. But seeing him with her, I understood. With me, it had been a routine. With her, it was an instinct. It was love.

My phone buzzed. It was Giovanni.

`Just heard what happened. I’m so sorry, Bella. I had to get Sofia checked out. How bad is it?`

I didn't reply.

An hour later, he showed up at my door. He saw the thick bandage on my leg and his face paled with guilt.

"Bella… I'm so sorry," he said, rushing to my side. He had already called a private specialist, who was on their way with the best burn treatments available. It was an over-the-top gesture meant to erase his negligence.

He sat on the edge of my bed and started to unwrap the bandage himself, his touch surprisingly gentle. "I should have checked on you," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "It's just… with Sofia's condition, my first thought was to protect her. From now on, I swear, you will be my priority."

It was a beautiful lie.

"It's alright, Giovanni," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You don't need to make promises you can't keep. After all, I'm Domenico's companion now, not yours."

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. "Don't say that. You're just angry. It's my fault." He took a small, velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a diamond necklace, glittering under the lamplight. "I was going to give this to you on our wedding day. Please, accept it. Let me take care of you."

I looked at the necklace, then back at his pleading face. I calmly pushed the box back into his hands.

"I can't accept this," I said. "It wouldn't be appropriate for your brother's companion to take such a gift from you."

I stood up, the pain in my leg a dull throb, and held the door open for him. He left, looking utterly defeated, the unopened gift still in his hand.

The following weeks were a blur of quiet healing and blatant disrespect. Giovanni was constantly by Sofia's side. To celebrate her "recovery," he threw her a lavish party in the estate gardens.

It was a fairytale scene. Thousands of twinkling lights were strung through the trees, and the air smelled of roses and champagne. Sofia wore a pale pink dress that made her look like a princess.

Giovanni, dressed in a sharp black suit, presented her with a series of extravagant gifts. A vintage sports car, a rare painting, a purebred white stallion. With each gift, the crowd oohed and aahed.

"They look so perfect together," I heard someone whisper behind me. "Like a prince and his princess. I feel sorry for Isabella Rossi. She never stood a chance."

Isabella POV:

The whispers followed me like shadows, clinging to my skin. I kept my face a placid mask, my posture straight. Let them talk. Their words couldn't hurt me anymore.

The party reached its crescendo when a servant brought out a sky lantern. Sofia clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, Gio! It's beautiful. Let's make a wish together."

They held the lantern between them, their heads bent close. "I wish," Sofia said, her voice carrying in the quiet night, "that we can be together like this, forever."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with adoration. "Kiss me, Gio," she whispered. The guests around them started to cheer, a chorus of "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Giovanni's eyes flickered toward me for a fraction of a second, a hint of conflict in their depths. But the pressure of the crowd, the weight of Sofia’s expectant gaze, was too much.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn't a hesitant, polite kiss. It was deep and hungry. A kiss that spoke of years of pent-up longing. I saw his hand tighten in her hair, pulling her closer.

I couldn't watch. I turned away, the image burned into my mind, and started walking toward the darkness at the edge of the garden.

"Going somewhere, Isabella?" a sharp voice cut through the air.

I stopped. A group of Sofia’s friends, women I barely knew, had surrounded me. Their smiles were predatory.

"It's over," the leader, a redhead named Chloe, said with a sneer. "Can't you take a hint? Their love is fate. You were just a placeholder."

"You should leave quietly," another one added. "Don't make a scene. It's pathetic."

I said nothing. I tried to walk past them, but they blocked my path.

"Look at you," Chloe taunted, her voice dripping with venom. "So calm. You think you're better than us? Giovanni used to write Sofia poetry. He flew to Paris for a day just to buy her favorite macarons. He never did anything like that for you."

Her words were meant to be daggers, but my heart was already numb.

"He's done with you," Chloe hissed, her face close to mine. "And so are we."

She shoved me hard. I stumbled back. Another girl grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing tray and dumped it over my head. The cold liquid streamed down my face and soaked the front of my dress. Then, strong hands grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the ornamental lake at the edge of the property.

They threw me in.

The icy water shocked the air from my lungs. It was deeper than I expected. My heavy dress pulled me down, tangling around my legs like a shroud. I kicked and struggled, my head breaking the surface for a moment.

Through the splashing water, I saw Giovanni. He had seen the commotion. His eyes were wide with alarm. He started running toward me. For a second, a tiny, stupid flicker of hope ignited in my chest.

Then Sofia screamed. "Gio! Help! I slipped! My ankle!"

She was on the ground by the lake's edge, clutching her leg, her face a mask of pain. It was a lie. A blatant, manipulative lie.

Giovanni stopped dead. He looked from me, drowning in the lake, to Sofia, crying on the shore.

He hesitated for only a heartbeat.

Then he turned his back on me and ran to her.

The last thing I saw before the dark water closed over my head was the sight of Giovanni lifting Sofia into his arms and carrying her away from the lake, away from me.

I woke up in a hospital bed. The harsh smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. A nurse told me one of the estate guards had pulled me out. I had almost drowned. My heart had stopped for nearly a minute.

Giovanni visited once, for five minutes. He stood by the door, looking uncomfortable. He said he was glad I was okay and that he had to get back to Sofia, who was deeply traumatized by the "accident."

The next day, Sofia herself came to see me. She brought a bouquet of cheap carnations.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," she said, her expression a perfect blend of innocence and concern. "Chloe and the others told me it was just a silly prank that went too far. They didn't mean for you to get hurt."

A prank. They called nearly killing me a prank.

"Don't worry about it," I said, my voice flat.

She perched on the edge of my bed, chattering away. "So, tell me more about your new fiancé, Dom. He seems so serious all the time."

"He is," I said.

She sighed dramatically. "It's so different with Gio. He's so passionate. I remember one time, he got into a fistfight with another guy just for looking at me for too long. He loves so fiercely." She smiled, lost in a happy memory, a memory that was a lie.

Her words were a confirmation of what I already knew. Giovanni was capable of a deep, all-consuming love. He just hadn't felt it for me.

"It's a shame I can't remember the accident," she said, her expression turning thoughtful. "Gio refuses to talk about it. Says it's too traumatic for me." She leaned closer. "What really happened that day, Bella?"

The question hung in the air between us. This was my chance to tell her everything. To shatter her perfect fantasy.

Before I could answer, the door swung open. Giovanni stood there, his face tight with alarm.

"Sofia, the doctor is here to see you," he said, striding into the room. He shot me a look, a clear, silent warning. Don't you dare.