After my rebirth, I no longer stop my husband, Don Dante Moretti, from taking care of his dead older brother's widow and daughter, Sofia Bianchi and Lucia Moretti.

I spent my entire life hoping that he would spare me a glance, after all. Only when I was hugging my son, Leone Moretti's icy corpse while dying in the snow, did I realize just how wrong I'd been.

Once I'm reborn, I visit the law firm decisively and turn in my appeal for divorce.

"I request to file a divorce with Dante Moretti. I'd like to terminate Leone's and my original identities."

A few days later, Leone and I will disappear from Dante's life. Since he wants to stay with Sofia and Lucia, I'll grant his wish.

Elena's Point-of-View

I walked out of the law firm into a biting early spring wind that made me shudder. I squeezed my fist, my nails biting into my palm, until the pain forced the truth home—I wasn't dreaming.

I had been reborn five years into the past—back to when the world was still whole, and the worst of it hadn't yet been written in stone.

I had just arrived back at the fortified estate on the outskirts of the city when the butler approached, holding out a letter. "I have another letter for you, Donna Moretti—it's from Don Moretti. He's currently in Chicalum settling a territory dispute, yet he still finds time to write to you every single day.

"You're the envy of the whole famiglia, since Don Moretti treasures you so much, Donna Moretti."

I looked at the letter, which read, "To my one and only love," and noticed the sharp and authoritative penmanship, a perfect reflection of Dante Moretti's commanding nature.

In my past life, these love letters had once made my heart overflow with joy; now, they felt like nothing but a cruel irony.

I was just about to step into the main building when a voice called out from the nearby terrace of the adjacent wing. "You're finally back, Elena!"

It was Sofia Bianchi, my sister-in-law by marriage, who sat on the terrace with her daughter, Lucia Moretti, feasting on a lavish seafood spread that had been imported by air.

I noticed that Lucia was wearing a costly, custom-tailored outfit and was beaming like a Principessa, while my five-year-old son, Leone Moretti, was crouched on the steps, gazing at them longingly.

Sofia lowered her wineglass and deliberately raised her voice, asking, "Isn't Dante returning to Novayork today? He truly is indulgent. You, the Donna, spend your days reading his love letters, while I'm stuck here managing the famiglia's most difficult and vital overseas accounts. I'll certainly have to complain to him about it when he gets back."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I thought about how absurd everything was.

In my past life, it had played out the same way—Dante showered me with all the "romance" in the world, while he funneled the lifeblood of the Moretti empire to Sofia, the widow of his older brother, Damiano Moretti.

I still remembered the day Dante asked for my hand, when he went down on one knee in the famiglia's private chapel, surrounded by all the high-ranking members. He stated solemnly, "I swear the Moretti famiglia will be your backing as long as I live and that I will never betray you, Elena."

In those days, I was the woman every socialite in Novayork envied. Dante was the youngest, most cold-blooded head the Moretti famiglia had ever seen. He had shielded me since childhood, even going as far as to charge single-handedly into an enemy encirclement for my sake.

In the first year after our marriage, the love letters he wrote while on assignments could fill an entire safe; each one concluded with a heart, drawn with a charming clumsiness.

It all fell apart when Damiano died in that turf war. Dante stood before the coffin at the funeral and swore an oath to Sofia as she held her daughter. "Your life and Lucia's life will be my responsibility from this day onward, Sofia. I swear I'll be responsible for you until the very end."

I had initially believed that it was all for the sake of preserving the famiglia bloodline back then, until reality hit home.

Sofia was dining on the finest delicacies, yet Leone and I were stuck with the lowest-grade rations under the guise of "budgetary constraints." Lucia flaunted custom leather shoes set with diamonds, but Leone's shoes were worn to the ground, his toes freezing in the Novayork cold. Dante's entire personal stipend was funneled into Sofia's pocket, leaving us with nothing.

Dante eventually became the Don and was set to move into a palatial penthouse overlooking Benhatten. He ruffled Leone's hair and said, "I'll bring you home once I've cleared out the opposition over there, Leone."

In the end, it was Sofia and Lucia who moved into the penthouse with him and mingled at high-society events. Leone and I were left behind at the dilapidated manor in the countryside, living like a pair of forgotten shadows.

He kept sending letters just like before, and while every line was saturated with love, he failed to provide even a penny for our basic needs. He remained a ghost to us, never once making the trip back to see how we were faring.

It was a snowy night when Leone suddenly fell gravely ill, nearly at death's door. I sold my wedding ring and carried him, begging from street to street all the way to Benhatten.

I was blinded by the brilliant light emitting from the penthouse. I caught sight of Dante as he emerged from a bulletproof Lincoln from afar, accompanied by Sofia, who was wrapped in a luxurious fur coat.

I was just about to run toward him when one of his bodyguards kicked me squarely in the chest and bellowed, "Get lost! You're soiling the Donna's path!"

I spat out a mouthful of blood from that single savage blow and watched through blurred vision as Dante's back disappeared into the revolving doors. I knew he heard my screams, but he didn't so much as spare a glance back.

I held Leone's lifeless, icy frame as he took his last breath on that snowy night. I then surrendered to the hopelessness and closed my eyes forever.

"Mamma?" Leone's soft, hesitant voice dragged me back to the present.

He then lifted his head, his eyes brimming with worry while asking, "Why are you crying, Mamma?"

It was only then that I noticed my tears had drenched my clothes. I kneeled before him and pulled his thin frame into a tight embrace. "I'm going to leave Papa and plan to take you with me. Do you want to come with me, Leone?"

Leone's expression froze, his eyes welling up with tears in an instant. "Why? Please don't leave Papa, Mamma. He really loves us—he's just too busy for us right now…"

I felt a sharp stabbing pain after hearing that. It was heartbreaking that a five-year-old had already learned to justify his father's neglect. Dante surely "loved" us—but that love couldn't buy medicine, it couldn't provide warmth, and it was utterly useless when it came to saving a life in a moment of crisis.

I brushed the tears from his cheeks and said, "I'll make a wager with you, Leone—let's see whose door Papa goes to first when he returns. If he goes to Zia Sofia, then that means they're more important to Papa compared to us.

"In that case, you'll leave with me, and I'll find you an even better Papa. If he comes to us first, I'll stay, and I won't divorce Papa."

Leone bit his lip and nodded, his hand gripping the hem of my clothes tightly.

In the evening, a convoy of black cars drove into the estate. Dante stepped out wearing a meticulously tailored black suit. He stood tall with striking features, possessing exactly the kind of allure that could drive women crazy.

"Papa has returned!" Lucia's delighted voice echoed from the next door.

Dante's footsteps faltered for a mere heartbeat, and then, with almost no hesitation, he pivoted and walked directly toward Sofia's side of the estate.

I felt my heart sinking, but I still counted every step Dante took, clinging to a shred of hope, until he reached Sofia's side. I could hear Dante's voice from afar, saying, "I've bought Lucia a dress from Paraxia since she has grown so much. I've also bought you the newest jewelry of the season, Sofia."

Sofia feigned reluctance, saying, "Lucia has more dresses than she knows what to do with, and my vanity is already buried in jewels. You really ought to keep some of these gifts for Elena and Leone instead, Dante."

"It's not necessary since I've already made arrangements for Elena's side," Dante said, his refusal firm and unyielding.

"Papa!" Lucia exclaimed, throwing herself into Dante's embrace.

"You're not allowed to call him that, Lucia!" Sofia advised, her voice tinged with amusement.

"I want to call him Papa! Zio Dante is my Papa!"

"You can call me Papa in private from now on," Dante said with a chuckle; his laughter felt like a jagged blade, tearing through my ears and leaving my heart in shreds.

I lowered my gaze to Leone, noticing that tears were spilling from his eyes, but he remained stubbornly silent, biting his lip until it turned pale. I loathed my past self with a burning passion at that moment. I dropped to my knees and pulled him into a fierce embrace, saying, "I swear I'll find you a better Papa, Leone."

Leone buried his face in the crook of my neck, his tiny frame shaking with suppressed sobs. "I'll leave with you; I don't want this Papa anymore, Mamma."

It was then that the heavy door swung open. Dante's imposing figure filled the entrance, still carrying the chill of the night on his coat. He cocked his brow and asked, clearly only catching the end of Leone's sentence, "What don't you want anymore, Leone?"

I turned away to brush the tears from my eyes, while Leone kept his head down in silence.

Dante marched toward us and hoisted Leone into the air with one arm, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Did you miss me, Leone?"

Leone turned as stiff as a statue in Dante's arms.

Dante nuzzled Leone's face with his stubble, teasing, "Have you gotten upset with me, Leone? You know, I've brought you a gift. Do you want it, Leone?"

I looked on, disgusted by the familiar routine. In my past life, Dante always managed to use a few cheap, affectionate gestures to manipulate Leone into forgetting every bit of mistreatment he had suffered.

In this life, Leone was no longer the same. He asked softly, "Did you bring the limited-edition model you promised me, Papa?"

Dante froze for a split second before reaching out to pat Leone's head. "I could only get Lucia's dresses since that thing got stuck at customs. I'll definitely get it for you next time, Leone."

Leone asked tentatively, "W-What about the chocolate, Papa?"

Dante fished a flattened candy out of his pocket and said, "Lucia has such a sweet tooth, so I let her have the chocolate. I kept this one aside especially for you, though, Leone."

I noticed that Leone's gaze was fixed on that crushed sweet, his lips pursed tightly together. I knew that look all too well—it was born from a disappointment so deep there were no words left to say.

Dante turned his attention to me, his eyes resting briefly on my home clothes, which had turned pale from too many washes. "I'll arrange for a collection of next season's dresses to be delivered next month—deep blue suits you."

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, the gesture devoid of any real joy. I had heard that line far too often to believe it. In my past life, those promised dresses invariably ended up hanging in Sofia's dressing room instead of mine.

It was time for dinner, and we had nothing but a humble plate of pasta, served without so much as a spoonful of sauce.

Dante furrowed his brow and asked, "Why are you guys only having these? Where's the chef?"

"Sofia sent for the chef to run a rehearsal for Lucia's birthday dinner," I replied calmly as I served the pasta to Leone.

"Didn't I just—" Dante stopped mid-sentence, his expression turning slightly awkward. "I'll make sure the accountants allocate more funds to your account tomorrow."

I remained silent, offering no reply. I knew exactly how this story ended—by tomorrow, that "allocated fund" would somehow transform into a brand-new sports car for Sofia.

Sofia's voice came through the door, punctuated by a knock. "Lucia thinks she heard something scary in her room, so she's absolutely terrified right now. Do you think you can go keep her company, Dante? You know how vulnerable she's been ever since Damiano passed away…"

Dante got to his feet without hesitation.

I grabbed his sleeve and said, "Leone is running a slight fever tonight."

Dante didn't stop, his feet already carrying him out of the room. "Leone's a boy; a fever will only toughen up his resistance. Lucia, on the other hand, is a girl; she's fragile and easily frightened."

Leone asked softly once the door closed, "Can I sleep with you tonight, Mamma?"

I held Leone's small, cold feet close to my body, listening to the rain pounding outside. I couldn't sleep all night, and as dawn broke, I noticed that Leone's temperature had spiked to a terrifying degree.

"Leone's burning up, Dante!" I cried out again and again, but the only response was a haunting silence. I threw the door open, only to find the room empty—Dante was gone.

It was then that the bodyguard stated flatly, "Don Moretti has escorted Ms. Sofia to the private hospital before dawn, Donna Moretti. Ms. Lucia felt unwell in the middle of the night, and Don Moretti was frantic with worry."

I suddenly felt my surroundings going dark for a second. "Get the car ready—I'm heading to the hospital now!"

"I'm sorry, Donna Moretti, but Don Moretti has left with all the doctors and armored cars."

I couldn't wait any longer. I had spent an entire lifetime waiting before, and it ended with Leone's cold body in my arms. I bundled Leone into a raincoat and threw myself into the Novayork storm. I ran toward the main road, stumbling as I tried to flag down a cab.

It was then that a car suddenly pulled up in front of me, and the driver, a young man wearing glasses and appearing like an ordinary office worker, asked, "Do you need help, ma'am?"

"I beg you… I need you to take me to the hospital—my son is burning up."

I arrived at the hospital and walked through the hallway that felt like a freezer before the nurse took the unconscious Leone and asked with a furrowed brow, "Do you have a medical insurance card? You can pay a five-thousand-dollar deposit first if you don't have one."

I was about to say something when I overheard other nurses walking by, talking.

"Did you hear what happened? It was said that the Don of the Moretti famiglia took over the whole VIP floor upstairs. He's got the place on total lockdown and summoned a bunch of world-class specialists—all of that just because his daughter is sick!"

"I heard it's just a minor stomach bug, but he's still pouring a fortune into her care. I'm honestly so envious of her."

I felt a sudden, heavy dread settling in my chest after hearing that. I scrambled through my pockets, coming up with nothing but a handful of small bills; after all, Dante had cut me off, freezing my accounts for my own "protection" while he poured our wealth into Sofia's endless demands.

I gritted my teeth, took off the wedding ring that symbolized my status as the Donna, and threw it onto the counter. "Is this enough to cover it?"

I heard the crisp, metallic ring echoing as the diamond hit the tray. I used to treasure that piece of jewelry above all else, but at that moment, I felt nothing for the ring—and even less for Dante. I was only focused on Leone, thinking that I would take him and leave this place for good once he had recovered.