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.

Alessia's POV:

Back at the estate, I didn't even bother going upstairs.

I stood in the cold marble foyer, pulling out my phone, my fingers moving with a steadiness that felt entirely alien.

A hotel room downtown.

That's all I needed.

I refused to spend another night under his roof.

I hauled my single suitcase downstairs.

The house was eerily quiet.

Marco was out, probably still comforting his weeping mistress.

But Bianca, it seemed, was very much present.

I saw her heading for the garage, a triumphant smirk twisting her lips.

Maria, the head maid, scrambled after her.

"Miss Sugden, please, you mustn't! You don't have a license.

Mr. Bellini would not want you driving his cars."

Bianca casually shoved the older woman aside.

"I'll have whatever I want soon enough," she purred.

She slid into the driver's seat of Marco's silver Aston Martin, the engine roaring to life.

Just as I stepped out of the front door, her eyes met mine through the windshield.

The smirk vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, unadulterated hate.

She floored the accelerator.

There was no time to think, only to react.

I hurled myself to the side, the motion clumsy and desperate.

The car's fender clipped my leg, sending me tumbling into a bed of thorny rose bushes.

A sharp, searing pain blazed from my knee to my hip.

My hands and knees were scraped raw.

"Are you crazy?" I screamed, pulling myself out of the dirt, thorns clinging to my dress.

Bianca leaned out the window, her hair wild.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice giddy, a manic light in her eyes.

"And I regret not hitting you harder."

The words stole my breath.

She put the car in reverse, the tires screeching against the pavement.

Suddenly, a black sedan screeched to a halt behind her.

Marco.

He was here.

Bianca slammed on the brakes.

Her expression shifted in a blink, the madness replaced by panicked concern as she scrambled out of the car and rushed to my side.

"Lia! Oh my god, are you okay?"

I got to my feet, my body shaking with adrenaline and rage.

Without a word, I swung my hand and slapped her hard across the face.

The sharp sound cracked through the quiet courtyard.

She burst into tears, her hand flying to her cheek, a perfect picture of victimhood.

I pointed a trembling finger at the car.

"She tried to run me over."

Bianca immediately spun her story, her voice a pathetic wail as she turned to Marco.

"She came at the car! She tried to attack me! I got scared!"

Marco's eyes, which had been wide with shock, narrowed into slits on me.

He believed her.

Without a flicker of doubt.

Instantly.

"What the hell have you done now?" he bellowed, striding purposefully toward me.

"Are you trying to terrorize a pregnant woman?"

Maria tried to intervene, stepping forward cautiously.

"Sir, I saw it.

Miss Sugden-"

"Silence!" he roared, and the maid flinched back as if struck, her face paling.

He turned his furious gaze back to me, his eyes raking over my scraped knees and torn dress with utter disgust.

"You're not dead, are you?" he snarled, his voice laced with contempt.

The words hit me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

A laugh, high and chilling, bubbled up from my chest, unbidden and brittle.

"I was blind," I whispered, looking at the monster he'd become.

"Utterly blind to ever love you."

I slapped him, too.

The sting on my palm was deliciously satisfying.

His face contorted with rage.

He shoved me backward, hard.

"You're unhinged," he spat.

He turned his back on me, scooping the weeping Bianca into his arms and carrying her inside, cooing promises of comfort and safety.

He didn't give me a second glance, not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

Maria rushed to my side, her face pale with concern.

"Mrs. Bellini, your leg..."

I looked down.

A thin trickle of blood was making its way down my shin, staining the pristine white of my sock a stark crimson.

"We're divorced," I told her, my voice final and steady.

"I'm not coming back."

I picked up my suitcase, turned my back on the ruins of my marriage, and walked away, never looking back.