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.

Alessia's POV:

Bianca approached me as the crowd began to disperse, the five-million-dollar pendant clutched like a trophy in her hand. The moment Marco was out of earshot, her tearful, fragile mask instantly dissolved.

"We don't have to pretend when he's not looking," she sneered, her eyes glittering with triumph.

"Give it back," I ground out, my voice low and dangerous. "I've given you everything else. I want my mother's pendant."

She let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "You didn't give me anything, Alessia. I took it."

She saw Marco approaching, and her entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Her face crumpled, her shoulders slumped, and the carefully orchestrated tears welled in her eyes.

She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "I just wanted to look at it," she wailed, her voice thick with manufactured sobs. "And she started yelling at me! She said I wasn't worthy!"

I tried to pull my hand away, but she clung to it, using the momentum to artfully stumble backward, right into Marco's chest, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Marco's face darkened. Bianca held the pendant out to him, her hand trembling.

"Lia loves it so much," she cried, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I can't take it. It wouldn't be right."

I held out my hand, my heart pounding with a desperate, foolish hope. I expected him to give it to me. He had promised.

Instead, he took the pendant from Bianca, his expression hardening as he looked at me. He unclasped the chain and fastened it around Bianca's neck.

A tremor ran through me, a cold dread washing over me. "What are you doing?"

"This is an apology gift," he declared, his voice a frigid declaration. "To Bianca. For your appalling behavior tonight."

My control shattered. The poise, the calm, the carefully constructed walls-they all crumbled into dust. A raw, guttural sound tore from my throat, and I lunged for Bianca, my fingers already clawing for the heirloom at her throat.

"Are you insane?" Marco snarled, shoving me away with brutal force. He shielded Bianca with his body as if I were a rabid animal. "She would never lie to me."

I crashed into an empty chair, pain shooting up my back as I hit the ground. The last flickering ember of hope inside me died, leaving nothing but cold, black ash.

I got to my feet, my body aching, my very soul numb.

"Keep it," I said, my voice broken.

I turned and walked away.

I heard him call my name, a note of confusion in his voice. "Lia!"

He started to follow, but Bianca clung to him, her sobs escalating. "Marco, I don't feel well. The baby..."

He chose her. He always chose her. He dismissed me with a curt command to "cool off."

Outside the hotel, the cold night air hit my face. I stood on the curb, waiting, a pathetic part of me still clung to the hope of his car pulling up, of him offering one last, hollow placation.

He never came.

He wasn't even going to pretend anymore. It was over. Truly, finally over.