I saw the triumphant glint in Carina's eyes and felt a wave of absurd calm wash over me.

It was only twenty-four hours anyway. I'd do whatever they asked.

It might even be fitting to see the crypt ahead of time. I'd be taking up permanent residence there soon enough.

"All right. I'll go now."

Marco was clearly surprised by my quick agreement. He frowned, as if about to say something more, but in the end, he just waved a hand. "Then go."

As I turned to leave, I heard Carina's saccharine voice behind me. "Sister is so good, always so considerate."

The last thing I saw was the undisguised triumph in her eyes.

The family crypt was in the deepest part of the estate, a place of perpetual damp and gloom.

The smell of mildew and dust hit me as soon as I opened the heavy iron gate. I coughed violently, a tearing pain in my chest. Every breath tasted of blood.

The inner chambers were pitch-black. I flicked on my flashlight, illuminating rows of ancient tombstones.

I knew all the names.

From the first Don to generations of family members, I had grown up on their stories.

I remembered my father holding me on his lap as a child, telling me stories of our family's legends.

He had once told me he hoped I, too, would become the pride of the Morettis.

And now, I was to kneel before them, cleaning their final resting places like a devout servant.

I smiled wryly.

They probably never imagined that their own Principessa would be the one kneeling here.

I grabbed the cleaning solution and a rag from the toolbox and knelt on the cold stone floor.

The first tombstone was caked in a thick layer of dust, and I carefully wiped down every letter.

It wasn't as if I was a stranger to dirty work since Carina arrived, whether it was clearing weeds from the stables or polishing antique firearms.

I was used to it.

But the chemical fumes from the cleaner soon made my eyes water, and my hands began to sting and turn red. I'd almost forgotten my sensitivity to the harsh cleaning agents.

But I didn't stop.

One stone, then two, then a third...

My breathing grew more labored, each inhalation like swallowing razor blades.

The doctor had warned of possible respiratory failure. It seemed I wasn't going to escape it.

Suddenly, a violent wave of dizziness struck, and I nearly collapsed against a tombstone.

Sweat mingled with dust, streaking my face.

My vision began to blur, and my arms trembled uncontrollably.

Damn it.

By the tenth tombstone, I could barely stand. My hands were swollen and red as if burned, and my knees were bleeding from grinding against the stone.

The pain in my chest came in relentless waves, each heartbeat a tick of a countdown.

But I didn't want to stop. I wanted to fill the last hours of my life, to feel that I was still alive.

I kept wiping until every tombstone was clean enough to reflect my shadow.

As dusk fell, I finally dragged my exhausted body back to the main house.

The living room was brightly lit, echoing with laughter.

I pushed the door open to see my father, Marco, and my fiancé, Vincent, gathered on the sofa.

Champagne and an exquisite cake sat on the table.

Carina, dressed in a white gown, was beaming with pride.

"Papa, thank you so much!" Carina said excitedly. "I never could have closed that deal without your guidance!"

My father nodded in satisfaction. "You did well, my child. A half-million-dollar profit is an excellent start for a beginner."

Vincent raised his glass. "To the brilliant and beautiful Carina!"

No one noticed me standing in the doorway, disheveled and covered in dust.

I was an outsider in my own home. I was so tired I swayed on my feet, knocking over a vase.

The sharp crash drew everyone's attention.

"Alessia?" My father frowned when he saw me. "What happened to you?"

"I just came from the crypt. I cleaned the ancestors' tombs, as Marco asked."

My father's expression softened instantly, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Good. You were spoiled growing up. You needed to learn some hardship and respect for your ancestors. This kind of discipline is good for you."

Marco nodded, satisfied. "It seems you're finally learning some sense."

Before I could step further into the room, the old butler, Antonio, burst in, his face pale.

"Don! Something terrible has happened!"

"What is this, Antonio? Get ahold of yourself." My father's voice was sharp with annoyance. "What is it?"

"I was doing my routine check of the crypt, and I found... I found the tomb of the first Matriarch has been forced open!" Antonio's voice trembled. "The Star of Tears... the diamond she was buried with... it's gone!"

The room fell silent.

The diamond was worth millions, but more importantly, it was the symbol of the family's power, passed down from one generation to the next.

Vincent and Marco shot to their feet. My father's face turned to stone.

"Are you certain?" his voice was as low as the rumbling before a storm.

"Yes, Don. The seal on the tomb was broken. The diamond is gone."

Carina's face suddenly crumpled, tears welling in her eyes.

"No... it can't be..." She looked at me, her voice trembling. "Sister, you only went to clean the tombstones. You didn't touch anything else, did you?"

And just like that, every eye in the room was on me, sharp as daggers.

Everyone knew I was the only one who had been there.

"I didn't touch anything else," I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. I didn't have the strength to speak any louder.

"Of course, I believe you, sister," Carina sobbed, but her eyes were strangely firm. "But the family's sacred relic is missing. To prove your innocence, and to find the diamond..."

"Search her." My father spat the words out.

Carina put on a show of concern. "Papa, maybe we shouldn't... This is humiliating for her."

It was a blatant humiliation.

I stared at my father in shock.

The loving father was gone, replaced by the cold, imposing Don. "Papa, you suspect me?"

"This is no time for sentiment," Marco said, standing up. "That diamond is worth millions, and it's a symbol of this family. Anyone who was near the crypt must be searched."

Vincent nodded. "It's procedure, Alessia. If you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about."

"I refuse," my voice trembled. "I am a daughter of this family, not a criminal."

"And because you're a daughter of this family," my father's voice was like ice, "you will cooperate with this investigation to prove your innocence."

Carina walked over to me, her eyes brimming with tears. "Sister, I know this is humiliating, but the entire family is suspicious... For your reputation, and to calm things down, just let me help you. I'm your sister. I won't make it too awkward."

"This is absurd!" I took a step back. "I am a Moretti! By what right do you treat me this way?"

"By what right?" Marco's voice exploded. "By the right that you were the only one in the crypt! By the right that the diamond vanished right after you came out!"

Vincent sneered. "Alessia, the more you resist, the guiltier you look."

I looked around the room at the cold, suspicious faces.

These people who once claimed to love me were now looking at me like a common thief.

Carina's soft voice cut through the silence. "Sister, if you're truly innocent, why are you afraid to let me look?"

I should have known. She was an expert at quietly pushing me to the edge of a cliff, all under the guise of "doing what's best for me." It was a shame I was already dying by the time I figured it out.

There was no point in arguing. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Fine. Search me."

I opened my arms, allowing Carina's hands to move over my body.

Her touch was light, but every brush was a violation of my dignity.

She checked my jacket pockets, my pants, my boots. I stood there, stripped of my dignity, enduring the scrutiny of everyone in the room.

The shame was worse than any physical pain.

"Nothing..." Carina frowned, then her eyes lit up as if she'd just remembered something. "Wait. Her coat!"

She walked over to the coat draped over the back of a chair and slid her hand into the inner pocket.

Her hand emerged from the pocket, holding the glittering blue diamond. The room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop.

The 'Star of Tears' shimmered under the lights, its blue fire mocking the innocence I had so desperately clung to.

My father's expression turned thunderous. "Alessia!"

His roar seemed to shake the crystal chandelier.

"You... you dare to steal from our ancestors?! This is the greatest blasphemy against this family! Get her out of my sight! Throw her in the cell!"

"I told you, I didn't steal it!"

"Papa, please, believe me!" I chased after him and grabbed his arm, tears finally escaping my eyes. "I swear I never touched that diamond!"

My father violently shook me off. "Enough! The evidence is right there. How long are you going to keep lying?"

"Just confess, Alessia," Marco sneered at me. "Did you think we'd go easy on you just because you're crying?"

Vincent scoffed. "Alessia, perhaps we should reconsider this engagement entirely."

"No! I didn't do it!" I turned to Carina in desperation. "You know I didn't, don't you? You know I didn't steal it!"

A smirk flickered across Carina's lips before being masked by a look of concern.

"Sister, perhaps you were exhausted and confused. Maybe you did something you don't even remember..."

The realization hit me. How could I have been so stupid as to ask her?

She was the one who wanted me to be the thief more than anyone.

"Lock her up!" my father commanded.

Two bodyguards grabbed my arms. I struggled against them. "Let me go! I am a daughter of this family! You have no right!"

"A daughter?" Marco laughed mockingly. "A daughter who steals a sacred family heirloom? Do you even deserve that title?"

Vincent added with a sneer, "Should have locked you up a long time ago. Would have saved the family a lot of embarrassment."

As they dragged me toward the cell at the back of the estate, I saw the undisguised triumph in Carina's eyes.

Leaning close, she whispered, "I suppose I'll be the one representing the family in public from now on."

I suddenly laughed. Yes, I had lost.

Not just that honor. Everything here would be hers now.

The cell door slammed shut behind me, the rattle of the lock sounding like a death knell.

Compared to the ancient gloom of the crypt, this place was a modern prison.

Four smooth metal walls, no windows, only a single, dim incandescent bulb in the ceiling casting a harsh glare.

The floor was ice-cold, and my only comfort was a thin blanket. This cell had held traitors and enemies of the family. Now it held me.

I curled up in a corner, the pain in my chest raging like a tidal wave.

Every breath tore at my lungs. I couldn't even stand.

In my final hours, I still couldn't figure it out.

How did the diamond get into my pocket?

I hadn't touched anything but the tombstones... unless...

A violent coughing fit seized me. A wetness touched my lips.

When I raised my hand to them, my fingers came away stained with blood.

I probably didn't have many hours left.

My mind began to drift back, replaying so many things from the past.

Scene after scene of Carina's carefully laid traps flashed before my eyes.

The time at the family gala when she "accidentally" spilled red wine on my custom gown, making me a laughingstock among the city's elite.

The time she altered a message in my notebook.

And the worst one: the time she'd used the letter opener from my desk to cut her own arm, then blamed it on me.

The weight of the memories crushed the air from my lungs. My heartbeat fluttered, faint and erratic.

But even then, I was surprised to find that beautiful memories still surfaced.

Marco, at seven years old, coming home bruised and bloody after fighting kids who had bullied me. "No one is allowed to bully my sister!" he'd declared.

My father sitting by my bedside all night when I was sick, his calloused hand gently stroking my forehead. "My little principessa, Papa will protect you."

The images were so vivid, as if it were all just yesterday.

Why... why had they changed so much?

My vision started to blur, and my limbs went numb.

The pain in my chest began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of lightness.

Maybe this was what dying felt like.

Years ago, when my father had betrayed his marriage vows, he'd claimed it was just the way of the underworld, that no Don had only one woman.

My mother, whose devotion to their marriage was absolute, couldn't accept it and chose to leave.

She had wanted to take me with her, away from New York, but my father and brother had begged me not to go.

They said they needed me. I was young and couldn't bear to see them plead, so I convinced my mother to let me stay.

If I had gone with her, would things be different? Would I still be their Alessia, wrapped in love?

On the very edge of consciousness, I thought I heard my mother calling to me.

"Alessia, my darling, won't you come with Mama?"

I'm sorry, Mom. I have to go first.

My heartbeat slowed. The final countdown of my life.

Ten... nine... eight... seven...

I closed my eyes and let the darkness swallow me whole.

The world went silent.

At six the next morning, Antonio came to check the cell as was his routine.

Having worked for the Morettis for thirty years, he had seen his share of life and death, but when he peered through the small window in the iron door, the sight inside chilled him to the bone.

"Miss Alessia! Miss Alessia!" he called out, his voice shaking as he banged on the door.

No response.

The figure curled in the corner was motionless, her face ashen, with a trace of dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

Antonio's hand trembled so badly he could barely fit the key in the lock. He finally got the door open and rushed inside.

"Miss Alessia! Wake up!" He knelt beside her and reached out to check for a breath.

Ice-cold. Nothing.

Antonio collapsed onto the floor.

In the main dining room, Don Moretti was enjoying his breakfast with his usual elegance.

Carina sat dutifully beside him, handing him the morning paper.

Marco was there too, reviewing the previous night's earnings reports.

"Don! Mr. Marco! Come quick!" Antonio, forgetting all decorum, burst into the room, his voice filled with a terror the Don had never heard before.

"I told you yesterday about this behavior. What is all this shouting so early in the morning?" Don Moretti frowned, clearly displeased by the interruption.

Antonio stumbled into the dining room. "Don! It's terrible! Miss Alessia, she..."

"What is it now?" Marco asked without looking up from his papers. "Is she feigning illness again?"

"No! Don… Miss Alessia… she's dead! She's dead in the cell!" Antonio's voice cracked with pure, unadulterated horror.