Alessia's POV:

I didn't leave the estate that night. My call to Dante had set the wheels in motion, but I needed to sever the final ties in person.

I walked away from Marco's disgusting demand and went back to the master bedroom, the one place that was still supposed to be mine.

He didn't come back to our room. I felt nothing but a cold, hollowing relief.

At dawn, I called the head maid, Maria, into the room.

"Pack everything," I instructed, my voice flat. "All the clothes, the shoes, the bags."

I gestured to the velvet-lined boxes on my dresser. "The jewelry, too. The gifts from him. Donate it all."

They were symbols of a dead love, and I wanted them gone.

Maria's eyes widened, but she nodded silently. She knew better than to question me.

As the staff quietly began to empty the closets, my fingers brushed against a diamond bracelet. Marco had it engraved with our initials inside the clasp.

I'd worn it on our wedding day. For a single, stupid moment, I hesitated. A memory of his smile, of a promise whispered in the dark, flickered through my mind.

"Oh, that's pretty."

Bianca's voice shattered the memory. She snatched the bracelet from my hand before I could react.

Marco appeared in the doorway behind her, his eyes shadowed with annoyance. He took the bracelet from Bianca's fingers and fastened it around her delicate wrist.

"It's just a bracelet, Lia," he said dismissively, his gaze flicking over me. "I'll buy you a new one."

"Why are you packing?" he asked, finally noticing the flurry of activity.

"Donations," I lied coldly, my heart a stone in my chest.

My hand went to my neck, to the cool, smooth jade pendant that always rested there. It was my mother's.

She had placed it around my neck on her deathbed, a Romano heirloom passed down through generations of women. A symbol of our strength.

Bianca's eyes fixed on it, her expression greedy.

"That's beautiful. They say jade protects the unborn." She smiled sweetly at Marco. "Can I have it, Marco? For the baby."

"No," I said, my voice low and final.

Impatient, Marco lunged forward. He didn't ask again. He simply ripped the pendant from my neck. The delicate gold chain snapped.

The jade hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, shattering into a dozen green shards.

The sound of it breaking was the sound of my heart breaking for the very last time.

I sank to my knees, the world narrowing to the broken pieces of my mother's legacy.

I didn't feel the sharp edges bite into my fingertips as I tried to gather the fragments. A sob tore from my throat, a raw, wounded sound.

"Oh, Lia, I'm so sorry," Bianca cooed, reaching for me in a theatrical display of sympathy.

"Don't touch me!" I shoved her hand away.

She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her stomach as if in pain. "Aah!"

"Lia!" Enraged, Marco grabbed my arm and shoved me hard against the wall.

The back of my head hit the plaster with a dull thud. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to hurt her? She's pregnant!"

He scoffed, his face a mask of contempt. "It's a worthless trinket. I can buy a hundred of them to replace the one your dead mother gave you."

Something inside me snapped. The quiet, dutiful wife was gone, burned away by the cold fury of a Romano daughter.

I seized the heavy crystal vase from the nightstand and hurled it at him.

"Get out!" I screamed, my voice raw with a pain so deep it felt like it was ripping me apart. "Both of you, get out of my sight!"

Bianca, ever the actress, threw herself in front of Marco. The vase struck her shoulder, and she cried out, collapsing against him.

Marco scooped her into his arms, his face murderous as he looked at me. He rushed her from the room, his threat echoing in the sudden silence.

"If anything happens to my son, I'll kill you."

I slid down the wall to the floor, the shards of jade digging into my palm. I sobbed, not for my broken marriage, but for the girl I used to be.

My only regret was the day I ever agreed to become a Bellini.

Alessia's POV:

I sat on the floor for what felt like hours, my fingers tracing the cold, shattered jade.

It was impossible; the breaks were too clean, the fragments too small. It was as broken as Marco's oath to my dying mother-an oath to protect me, to cherish me, always.

The memory mocked me, a bitter echo in the vast, silent room.

I remembered giving up my acceptance to a prestigious design school in Milan, all to be his wife. I remembered my brother Dante's warning.

"He's from a lesser house, Lia. His ambition will be a hungry beast.

Be careful it doesn't devour you."

I hadn't listened. I'd been blinded by the man he was then-or rather, the man I thought he was.

The one who brought me sunflowers because he knew they were my favorite, the one who held me all night after my mother passed. That man was gone, corrupted by power and the desperate need for an heir.

After the last remnants of my old life had been packed and sent away, I packed a single suitcase for myself.

That evening, Marco returned.

He wasn't alone. Two of his armed guards flanked him, their presence a stark reminder of his new status, and he carried several large, velvet-wrapped boxes from the city's most expensive jeweler.

A young maid, seeing the boxes, smiled at me.

"Mr. Bellini, you've brought such lovely gifts for the missus."

Marco didn't spare me a glance.

"They're for Bianca," he corrected her, his voice cold.

A laugh, devoid of any warmth, escaped my lips.

"You're so good to her."

"It's to make up for the harm you caused," he shot back, his jaw tight with barely suppressed fury.

"And for your information, the baby is fine. No thanks to you."

He set the boxes down, then crossed his arms, his posture radiating accusation.

"Why are you targeting her, Lia? What do you hope to achieve?"

I looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw only a fool.

"And you?" I challenged, my voice dangerously soft. "Do you truly believe a woman like that will just hand over your son for a paycheck and walk away?"

"I'll set her up in a house," he promised, as if that simple declaration solved everything.

"I'll provide for her. She won't want for anything."

He made it clear, without needing to say the words, that he had no intention of cutting ties.

The realization suffocated me: he wanted it all. A wife at his side for appearances, and a mistress with a bastard son on the side.

The perfect Bellini dynasty.

"Do as you wish," I said, my voice hollow, utterly devoid of emotion.

There was nothing left to fight for.

He seemed to interpret my surrender as a victory.

"Good. I'm going to pick Bianca up from her friend's house.

I've arranged a driver to take you to the Coashire Hotel charity auction tonight. They have a jade piece I think you'll like.

I'll buy it for you as a replacement."

He truly believed he could replace my mother's legacy with a mere price tag.

I turned to the maid, my gaze steady.

"Please have all these new boxes delivered to Miss Sugden's room."

Then, I met my own eyes in the ornate mirror, a stranger looking back at me.

"And Maria," I said, my voice now a shard of ice, cutting through the silence.

"Find me a gown. I'm going to the auction."

My heart was no longer breaking; it had hardened into a stone.

Alessia's POV:

The Coashire Hotel's grand ballroom was dripping with crystal and the scent of old money. I arrived alone, a ghost in a midnight blue gown, and immediately saw them.

Marco was doting on Bianca, a glass of champagne already in her hand, his own possessively at the small of her back. Their intimacy was a public spectacle.

Whispers followed me as I moved through the room.

"That's her, Alessia Romano."

"I heard he's divorcing her. The other one-the blonde-is pregnant."

"She's just a tool, a pretty face to get an heir. He'll toss her aside once the baby is born."

The words were meant to be discreet, but in the tight-knit world of the Famiglias, secrets were currency.

Bianca heard them, too. Her face crumpled, and she staged a tearful display for Marco, clutching his arm.

To soothe her, he did the unthinkable.

He cleared his throat, his voice ringing out with an authority that instantly silenced the room.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming," he began, his eyes finding mine across the crowd. "And to put some rumors to rest. It's true that Alessia and I are divorcing. I will be marrying Bianca, and we will welcome our child as a legitimate Bellini heir."

The room erupted in hushed gasps.

Marco's face was ashen as he rushed to my side.

"It was a lie," he whispered frantically, his hand gripping my arm. "Just to placate her. She's hormonal. You know how it is. I have no intention of divorcing you."

I looked at him-this man who could build and break empires, yet was so easily played by a conniving girl.

"Liar," I said, the word soft, not meant for him, but for the room-and for myself.

Then I raised my voice, my tone cool and clear, carrying across the stunned silence. "My husband is telling the truth," I announced.

The authority in my voice was not a Bellini's; it was a Romano's.

"We are divorcing. Bianca is the future Mrs. Bellini."

I turned my gaze to the other wives, the women who had been whispering. "So please," I said, my voice dropping into an icy command, "do not treat her as a mere surrogate. You really wouldn't want to upset her."

The room fell completely silent.

Marco's face was a thundercloud.

"Are you angry?" he hissed, his grip tightening on my arm, his eyes wide with a desperate plea.

I gave him a serene, empty smile. "No. I'm helping her."

He slid into the seat beside me, visibly relieved. "Thank you for smoothing that over," he murmured, his voice low and placating. "I'll win that pendant for you. As compensation."

I offered him nothing. My gaze was already fixed on the stage, the unfolding drama of the auction a welcome distraction from the one playing out in our lives.

I watched as he bid extravagantly on a diamond necklace, a vintage watch, a pair of earrings-all for Bianca. The murmurs started again, this time about his lavish generosity to his new woman.

Finally, the pendant came up. A beautiful piece of imperial jade, almost identical to the one my mother had given me-the last tangible link to her memory.

The bidding was fierce.

Marco was relentless.

"Five million dollars!" the auctioneer cried. "Sold, to Mr. Marco Bellini!"

A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. I could finally take what was mine, this tangible piece of my mother's memory, and leave this life behind for good.