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.

Isabella POV:

Giovanni’s eyes were frantic, pleading with me to maintain the charade. I met his gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod. I would play his game, for now.

He visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over his face.

Sofia, oblivious, turned to me. "When are you and Dom getting married, Bella? I hope it's soon! We'll be sisters-in-law!"

"Very soon," I said, a small, genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in weeks. The thought of it was my only comfort.

Giovanni’s jaw tightened. Even though he believed my marriage to his brother was a lie, he hated hearing it spoken aloud.

"Sofia, let's go," he said brusquely, taking her arm. "You need to rest." He practically dragged her from the room.

As they left, I saw him take her hand, his thumb stroking the back of it gently.

The hospital room was finally quiet. I stared out the window, at the grey city sky, and for the first time, the ache in my chest felt a little less sharp.

I didn't see Giovanni again for the rest of my hospital stay. But I saw him every day on Sofia’s social media feed. Pictures of them at the park, at fancy restaurants, at the opera. He looked happier than I had ever seen him.

`He even remembers I’m allergic to peanuts!` one of her captions read. `It’s like no time has passed at all.`

Every post was a new twist of the knife. He commented on every single one with heart emojis and loving words, a public performance of a love I now knew was all too real for him.

She would tag me in every post, and send me messages. `Isn’t he the sweetest? You have to ‘like’ this one!`

I never replied. I just hit the like button, a silent, obedient ghost in their love story.

The day I was discharged, Giovanni was waiting for me by his car. He opened the passenger door for me with a familiar, easy smile.

"Where's Sofia?" I asked, surprised to find us alone.

"I told her I had some family business to attend to," he said smoothly, getting into the driver's seat. He reached into the back and pulled out a giant stuffed teddy bear. "I thought you might like some company."

He started driving, not towards the estate, but in the opposite direction. "I'm taking you on a date," he announced, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We're going hiking to our spot. The one with the meteor shower."

He didn't ask. He just decided.

When we arrived at the base of the trail, he knelt down and gently replaced my hospital-issued slippers with a pair of sturdy hiking boots he had brought for me.

As he tied the laces, his dark hair fell across his forehead. I watched him, my heart a silent, hollow drum.

The hike was slow. He carried all our gear, his arm steadying me over the rough patches. He pointed out a rare bird, fetched me water before I even felt thirsty. He was performing the role of the perfect, attentive boyfriend. For a moment, watching his handsome profile against the setting sun, I almost felt a flicker of the old warmth.

Then I stumbled. My ankle twisted on a loose rock, and I cried out as I lost my balance.

In an instant, he reacted. He threw himself backwards, pulling me with him, his body cushioning my fall as we tumbled into a soft patch of grass.