Katarina De Luca POV:

Donato's question was a gift. The answer was already on my tongue, prepared and polished.

I let my gaze drift over Aria’s ashen face, holding it for just a moment before turning back to the patriarch.

"Father, I'm sure Alessandro was simply... distracted," I said, my tone conveying a perfect blend of respect and concern. "But the family's protocols must be respected. To prevent any further oversights, I suggest that until a full, formal audit can be completed, we temporarily freeze all supplementary credit cards and trust fund accounts held by non-core members of the De Luca family."

The proposal was a stiletto, thin and sharp, aimed directly at Aria's heart. I hadn't used her name, but I had just surgically severed her financial lifeline.

Aria stared at me, her mouth slightly agape, shock and hatred warring in her eyes.

Alessandro started to protest, but he had no grounds. My suggestion was rooted in fiscal responsibility and family rules—his father’s two great religions. He was silenced.

Donato studied me, his old eyes sharp, seeing right through my pretense of propriety. He knew this was punishment. He simply didn't care.

He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Do it. Mark!" he called to the family's financial officer, who stood sentinel by the door. "Execute this immediately."

Mark bowed. "Yes, Don." He stepped out of the room, already pulling out his phone.

Aria swayed in her chair, all the color draining from her face.

The next afternoon, on Fifth Avenue, the trap was sprung.

Aria was in her natural habitat, a ridiculously expensive boutique, surrounded by a coterie of fawning "friends." She was trying to spend her way out of the fear from the night before.

She selected a new season platinum Birkin, a bag with a six-figure price tag, and slid a black Amex card across the counter with practiced nonchalance.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Diaz," the sales clerk said after the first swipe. "The machine might be having an issue."

Aria's brow furrowed with impatience. "Then try it again."

The clerk swiped it a second time. A single, damning word flashed in red on the small screen: *Declined*.

The clerk's professional smile faltered. The other women in Aria's group stopped their chatter and looked over.

Aria's face flushed a deep, blotchy red. "That's impossible! Use this one!" She shoved another card, a Visa, into the clerk's hand.

Declined.

And another. A Mastercard. Declined.

Her friends began to whisper, their eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

The clerk’s smile was now a stiff, pitying mask. "Ms. Diaz, are you certain... these cards are active?"

The polite question was a slap in the face. The wealth she wore like a second skin had just been publicly stripped from her. She finally understood what I had done. I wasn't just punishing her; I was erasing her.

Humiliation and rage boiled over. "Do you know who I am?" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "I am Alessandro De Luca's woman!"

The clerk took a small step back. "I'm very sorry, miss. But we only recognize the card."

Aria stood there, exposed and powerless, a clown in couture. She threw the handbag back on the counter and fled the store, a storm of angry tears and choked sobs.

She scrambled into her convertible, her hands shaking as she fumbled for her phone. She stabbed at the screen, her wails echoing in the confines of the car as she called Alessandro.

"Alessandro! That bitch Katarina! She canceled all my cards! You have to do something!"

Katarina De Luca POV:

I was in my private glasshouse, trimming the thorns from a stem of Black Baccara roses. The rare, velvet-dark blooms were one of the few things in this estate that brought me a quiet sense of peace.

The silence was shattered as the glass door was thrown open, slamming against its frame. Alessandro stormed in, bringing a storm of fury into my sanctuary.

I didn't turn around. I snipped another thorn with a precise, metallic click. "The custom is to knock, Alessandro."

He ignored the jibe, striding until he stood beside me. "What did you do to Aria? Why did you freeze her accounts?"

I placed the clippers down on the workbench and finally faced him. My expression was placid. "I did nothing. I simply followed your father's directive. Or would you prefer to explain to him why an outsider requires access to three million dollars of family funds?"

I used Donato's name like a shield, and it worked. His anger had nowhere to go. He couldn't argue with his father's law.

He took a deep, steadying breath, his strategy shifting. The anger was replaced by a false, placating softness. "Katarina, we don't have to be like this. I know you're upset about what you saw in the study."

He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a familiar blue velvet box. He opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, was a necklace—a stunning, deep blue sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds. The 'Heart of the Sea.'

"I bought this for you at the auction. I know how much you wanted it." He was trying to buy my forgiveness, to settle the account. It was his way. He believed every wound had a price tag.

I looked at the necklace. I had wanted it, once. Now, the sight of it made me feel sick.

"So this is the price of my humiliation?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

His jaw tightened. The impatience was back. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult? Aria is a distraction. A toy. You are Mrs. De Luca. Don't lose your dignity over something so trivial."

*Trivial.* He had just defined his infidelity, her corruption, and my public degradation as a trivial matter.

In that moment, any lingering, microscopic piece of my heart that still belonged to him turned to dust. I finally understood. In his eyes, Aria and I were the same. We were just different types of property. One for show, one for play.

I held out my hand, a serene smile gracing my lips. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Relief washed over his face. He thought he had won. He thought I had a price. He placed the box in my hand.

I let it rest in my palm, feeling its weight. "So," I said, my eyes meeting his. "What do I have to do in return?"

"It's simple," he said, falling right into my trap. "Call Mark. Tell him to reactivate Aria's accounts. Say you've reviewed the books and it was all a misunderstanding."

He didn't just want me to forgive. He wanted me to personally undo my victory and exonerate his mistress.

My smile deepened, but it didn't touch my eyes.

I opened the box, lifted the heavy, cold necklace, and walked to the antique mirror hanging on the wall. I fastened the clasp behind my neck. The sapphire rested in the hollow of my throat, its icy facets glittering against my skin.

In the reflection, my face was pale, beautiful, and utterly cold.

"It does suit me," I said, more to myself than to him.

Alessandro smiled, a satisfied, arrogant expression. The matter, in his mind, was closed.

I turned back to him, my face a mask of wifely obedience. I touched the cold gem at my throat.

"Alright, Alessandro. I'll take care of it."

Katarina De Luca POV:

A few days later, I hosted a small afternoon tea in the garden for the wives of neighboring families. It was one of my duties, a tedious but necessary part of maintaining the De Luca facade.

I moved among the guests, a gracious and serene hostess, the picture of domestic tranquility.

Aria was there. Her accounts had been restored, her confidence with them. She wore a new diamond bracelet that glittered obnoxiously in the sun. She believed I had surrendered, and she was eager to press her advantage, to humiliate me in front of my peers.

She approached as I was speaking with the elderly Matriarch of the Falcone family, a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Mrs. De Luca is such an inspiration," Aria said to Mrs. Falcone, her voice dripping with false admiration. "She manages the family's business and the household accounts. So much work. I'm lucky, all I have to do is keep Alessandro happy."

The implication was clear: I was the help, she was the pleasure. The other women exchanged subtle, knowing glances.

I offered a placid smile. "We all have our roles. Some of us are here to create value, and others... are here to consume it."

Aria's face tightened, a flash of anger in her eyes.

Just then, Alessandro appeared, walking across the lawn toward our group.

Seeing her champion, Aria’s eyes lit up with a new, malicious idea. As she moved to pass me, her ankle "twisted" unnaturally. The champagne in her hand flew through the air, drenching the front of my dress.

Simultaneously, she let out a theatrical cry and threw herself sideways, collapsing into a bed of prize-winning roses.

Alessandro didn't see the prelude. He only saw the result: Aria, screaming in a thorn bush, and me, standing over her, looking cold and unmoved.

He rushed forward, his face a mask of concern. "Aria! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

The tears came instantly, a masterful performance. "My ankle," she sobbed, clutching it. "I think... I think she tripped me."

The accusation, so blatant and absurd, hung in the suddenly silent air.

The guests watched, their faces rapt with the unfolding drama.

Alessandro bought every word. His head snapped toward me, his eyes blazing with fury. My dress was still dripping with champagne.

"Katarina! What the hell did you do?" he snarled.

I said nothing. I just watched the pathetic little play unfold. Any denial would be pointless. His verdict was already rendered.

Aria, nestled in his arms, dialed up the pathos. "It's not her fault, Alessandro, I was probably just clumsy... Oh, but my ankle really hurts."

Her feigned magnanimity only fueled his protective rage.

He scooped her up into his arms, a ridiculous, dramatic gesture, like a hero in a cheap romance novel.

He started to carry her toward the house, but then he stopped. He turned. And in front of everyone, in front of the most powerful women in our circle, he delivered his final, devastating command.

His voice was like a whip crack.

"Katarina. Apologize to Aria."