That night, Adrian insisted on staying, claiming he couldn't leave me alone in such a state. His words were smooth, his tone carefully measured, but they rang hollow—like lines recited from a poorly rehearsed play. I stood there in the dim hallway of my apartment, studying him. The overhead light caught the edge of his jaw as it shifted, just slightly, to the side—that tell I had seen a thousand times and only now was learning to read for what it was. After a long silence, I finally muttered, "Do whatever suits you."

Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked toward my bedroom. His footsteps followed closely behind, but as he tried to step inside, I shut the door firmly in his face and turned the lock. The bolt slid home with a sound that felt louder than it should have, final in a way that settled into my bones.

"Bianca," his voice came through the door, soft yet insistent. "I'll be right outside. When you're ready to talk, just come and find me, okay?"

There was no anger in his words, no trace of the frustration I expected. That only made it worse. Kindness from someone who was breaking you in half was its own kind of cruelty.

I ignored him and hot tears rolled down my cheeks, dripping onto the backs of my cold hands. The sharp contrast burned, like an unrelenting reminder of the turmoil inside me. Through the bedroom wall, I could hear the muffled sound of him settling onto the sofa, the creak of leather, then nothing. Just the two of us breathing in separate rooms of the same small apartment, a silence thick enough to choke on.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as if to hold the pieces of me together. My thumb found the edge of my wedding band—no, not yet. There was no ring. There was nothing binding me to anyone, and still I felt trapped. Adrian, I don't want to love you anymore. The thought whispered through my mind like a quiet plea, both freeing and suffocating at the same time.

The next morning, I woke up groggy and disoriented, the weight of the previous night still pressing down on me like a hand against my chest. Pale light filtered through the curtains, indifferent to everything that had changed. I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the dull ache spreading across my skull, before dragging myself out of bed.

As I stepped into the living room, I caught sight of Adrian hurriedly pulling on his jacket. The same jacket he'd worn the night before—charcoal wool, tailored, the kind of coat a Falcone heir wore to look legitimate. He was already moving toward the door with the restless energy of a man being summoned.

"Bianca, I have something urgent to deal with," he said, his tone brisk. "I'll come back tonight to pick you up. Let's go out for dinner, okay?"

Before I could respond, he was already halfway out the door. By the time I blinked, he was gone, and the apartment held only the fading trace of his cologne and the quiet tick of the hallway clock.

I let out a slow breath, my eyes drifting to the sofa where he had spent the night. The cushion was still creased with the shape of him. Something glinted on the leather—his phone. He must have left in such a rush that he forgot it.

Picking it up, I hesitated. The weight of it felt wrong in my hand, too heavy for plastic and glass, as if it carried something I wasn't meant to see. I thought about calling him later to return it, but before I could decide, the screen lit up with a notification.

Adrian hadn't set a password on his phone and the message popped up clearly on the screen. What I saw made my stomach churn. My hands tightened around the phone as I stared at the message, my heart pounding in my chest—each beat a dull, sick thud that I felt all the way to the base of my throat.

The message had come from a contact saved in Adrian's phone as "Little Fool Pig." The photograph showed Serafina sitting in a hospital emergency room, hair falling loose from its pins, mascara faintly smudged beneath one eye, yet still smiling wide at the camera and flashing a peace sign. Her caption read: Take your time on the way here, drive safely. I'll be waiting for you.

That was when I realized. I let out a self-deprecating smile. So, that was the reason Adrian had left in such a haste. The urgency in his movements, the way he hadn't even bothered to check his pockets before the door slammed behind him. All of it had been for her. I called a local courier service to have his phone sent to his office at the Falcone family's shipping front on the waterfront. Afterward, I went straight to work.

Since graduating, I had been working at the Moretti family's legitimate side of operations. My father, Rowan Moretti, wanted to toughen me up, so he made me start at the very bottom as an entry-level employee at one of the family's restaurant fronts, learning the books, the suppliers, the quiet choreography of a business that had to withstand scrutiny from both accountants and federal auditors. Years of hard work and proving myself paid off. I was now the trusted keeper of the family's flagship front, a position I had earned through my own abilities, not my surname. Every capo who walked through the door knew the distinction. As soon as I arrived at the office that morning, my assistant walked up to me and handed me a file. "Good morning, ma'am. Here's a document that needs your approval. All the processes are complete; we just need your signature to finalize it."

I took the file and scanned its contents. It was a joint operation with the Falcone Group, a supply-chain arrangement routed through one of their import companies. Yet, for some reason, I couldn't recall ever hearing about this particular deal.

"Is everything all right, ma'am? Should we go ahead?" my assistant asked, noticing my hesitation.

"No!" My response was sharp and immediate, causing her to look startled. But she quickly recovered her composure and hesitated before adding, "Didn't you say that unless it's a very important arrangement, the first choice should always be the Falcone Group?"

I had indeed given such instructions, back when I was still naively optimistic about my future with Adrian. At the time, I thought our families would eventually unite, and whether his operation earned more or mine did hardly seemed to matter. I trusted him so completely that I didn't bother scrutinizing projects that involved the Falcone name. My thumb found the edge of my wedding band, pressing once against the cool metal before I stilled my hand and set it flat against the desk. "Let's pass on this one. But from now on, we'll make sure to choose the best option. The family's interests come first," I said, and signed the document with a line so clean it could have been drawn with a blade.

The workday flew by, and when I finally finished, I was starving. I had planned to try the new restaurant that had just opened across town, a place with no family ties, no territorial strings, just good food in neutral territory. But when I arrived, I found it packed with people, the line spilling past the entrance and onto the sidewalk. Just as I was about to leave, I heard a familiar voice calling me.

"Ms. Moretti, over here!"

I turned around to find Serafina and Adrian sitting at a table near the far wall, beneath pendant lights that cast a warm amber glow across white tablecloths. Serafina was beaming up at me. "It's so nice to see you. Here for their specials too?" She leaned forward, her excitement unmasked, as though running into me were the most delightful coincidence in the world.

Adrian froze for a moment when he saw me, but quickly recovered, his expression rearranging itself into something easy and welcoming. "I was just about to call you and invite you to join us for dinner. What a coincidence that you also came here. This place is packed, come sit with us," he said, gesturing for the waiter to bring an extra set of utensils. His jaw shifted once to the side before the smile settled, a faint tell I had learned to recognize over eight years and had only now begun to understand. I hadn't eaten much at lunch and now, my stomach was rumbling. I figured I might as well stay and join them.

"Ms. Moretti, I remember you like spicy food," Serafina chimed in. "Let me order some for you."

I glanced at the table. Everything was light and mild, totally not what Adrian and I usually went for. We both loved spicy food. He had once told me that dishes without chili were like lifeless meals. Without spice, it was as if the food had no soul. Of course Adrian didn't bat an eye, as the fresh meal spread in front of him told a different story now, one rewritten entirely for the woman sitting at his side.

"Hold on, now. I think we both know who's gonna eat the spicy dish," Adrian said with a teasing grin. He shot Serafina a displeased look. "Serafina... didn't you hear the doctor? You need to lay off the spice and stick to lighter food."

Serafina rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, alright, Mr. Nagging. I won't order it, jeez. Happy now?"

Watching them bicker, my heart, already battered, didn't even twitch. It was numb to it all now. The warmth in his voice, the gentle scolding, the easy rhythm of two people who had built their own private language. None of it reached me anymore. I sat in a restaurant full of strangers with a man I had loved for eight years and felt nothing but the quiet, hollow hum of absence.

He sighed and shook his head. "You guys go ahead, I need to make a quick call."

As soon as Adrian walked away, pushing through the crowd toward the quieter corridor near the restrooms, Serafina's smile faded. The transformation was immediate, like a lamp being switched off. She shot me a look filled with challenge, her posture straightening, one manicured nail tapping a single brittle beat against the rim of her water glass before going still.

"So, Bianca, right? I have to admit, I'm impressed," she said, her voice laced with scorn. "You know Adrian just proposed to me, yet here you are, still clinging to him. You sure have some nerve."

I heard the contempt in her words, but I didn't flinch. The restaurant noise pressed in around us, silverware clinking, laughter from a nearby table, someone uncorking a bottle of wine. None of it mattered. Looking up at her, I replied, "Is stealing someone's man something to be proud of? Do you think it's worth flaunting in front of everyone?"

"You—" She started, her mouth opening in surprise, but before she could finish, a thick cloud of smoke suddenly wafted from the kitchen.