Seraphina POV:

Amused by the drama she had created, Isabella clapped. "Enough serious talk! Let's go to the game room!"

As she passed me, she leaned in and whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "The connection I have with him is something you'll never understand. You're just a pretty ornament, Sera."

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. I followed the group into a plush, dimly lit game room and found a quiet corner, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

Then, Dante rose from his seat across the room and settled beside me. He didn't say a word; his presence was a silent, possessive claim, a heavy weight that made my skin crawl.

Isabella saw it. A flash of jealous hatred flickered in her eyes before she quickly masked it, gliding over to sit on Dante's other side, effectively sandwiching me between them. I didn't have to look to know his attention had shifted entirely to her; the subtle turn of his body, the energy in the space between them-it all screamed her name.

I reached for a glass of scotch on the table. Before my fingers could touch it, Dante's hand covered mine.

"You're not drinking that," he said, his voice a low command. "You know you have a weak stomach."

It was a small, almost tender gesture, a flicker of the husband he pretended to be. But the moment was shattered when Isabella drew out a small, ornate bottle.

"Look what I found, Dante," she cooed, holding up a rare fruit juice he used to love as a teenager. "The production line was defunct, but I had them restart it. Just for you."

Dante's eyes, which had been cold and distant, suddenly lit up with a warmth I had never seen. Love and nostalgia warred in his gaze, softening the hard lines of his face in a way I never could.

"Thank you, Bella," he said, his voice quiet.

Guests around us whispered, "She's so devoted," and, "She really knows him." Each word painted me as the interloper, the unwanted third wheel. Dante ignored them, his attention locked on Isabella.

"Let's play a game!" Isabella announced, her eyes glittering with a predatory light. "A game of chance."

The rules were simple. The person who drew the highest card from a deck would choose someone to join them for a private conversation.

The crowd roared, their eyes darting between Dante and Isabella. They all knew this game was for them.

The deck was passed around. Dante drew a card. The King of Spades. The highest card. The room erupted in cheers and whistles.

I knew who he would choose. I prepared to stand, to leave, to escape this final humiliation.

But before I could move, Dante's hand shot out and grabbed mine, his grip painfully tight. "Don't move," he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for me, a command that masqueraded as reassurance.

Then he stood, turned to Isabella, and offered her his arm. The crowd went wild as he led her toward the heavy oak doors of the adjoining library, a clear and public statement.

*

Seraphina POV:

The library door clicked shut.

The sound was quiet, but in the suddenly hushed room, it felt like a final verdict. Then the room erupted. Cheers, whistles, the clinking of glasses. They were toasting the reunion of the Don and his long-lost love.

I sat there, a statue in a navy silk dress, and felt a chilling finality lodge itself deep in my marrow. It was over. Not just the party, not just the night. Everything.

I had been the only one who ever took our vows seriously. He'd said them to save face. I'd said them because a secret, stupid part of me had hoped.

"You'd think she'd have some dignity," a woman whispered from a nearby table.

"I almost feel sorry for her," her friend agreed, her tone suggesting the opposite. "Almost. She needs to let him move on."

The words were meant for me to hear. Every head was turned in my direction, their eyes a sickening cocktail of pity and scorn. I couldn't breathe. The air was too thick with their judgment.

Unable to bear it another second, I stood up. My legs felt like water, but I willed them to lock. I was leaving.

Just as I turned, the library door opened.

A few minutes. It felt like a lifetime.

Dante and Isabella emerged, blinking in the sudden light. My eyes immediately found the evidence. Isabella's expression was one of pure triumph, a possessive light shining in her eyes that marked him as hers.

My heart, which I thought had been ground to dust, somehow found a way to fracture anew.

I managed to find my voice, though it sounded thin and distant, like it was coming from someone else. "I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."

No one heard me. Or if they did, they didn't care. Dante's eyes were only for Isabella, a soft, possessive look on his face that I had craved for seven years and never once received.

I walked out of the villa, a ghost leaving her own haunting. I called a car and sank into the back seat, the leather cold against my skin.

My phone buzzed. A video file from Isabella.

My fingers trembled as I pressed play. The screen was dark, lit only by the faint light from under the library door. I could hear their breathing.

"You left me at the altar nine times, Bella," Dante's voice was low, a rumble of old anger. "You ran off with another man."

Isabella's voice was a seductive purr. "And you married her. Are you happy, Dante? Is she a good wife?" A pause. "Will you divorce her for me?"

The silence that followed was the most painful sound I had ever heard. It stretched on, each second a new kind of torture. I waited for him to say my name, to defend our marriage, to say no.

His voice, when it finally came, was thick with an emotion I couldn't place. Regret? Longing?

"You know I can never say no to you."

The video ended.

My seven-year marriage, my entire adult life, turned to ash.

I ignored the follow-up texts from Isabella, little digital daggers of triumph I didn't need to see. I arrived back at the cold, empty De Luca mansion and walked straight to our master bathroom.

I twisted my wedding ring. The platinum was heavy, the diamond cold. A seven-year contract. A gilded cage.

I dropped it into the toilet bowl. It hit the porcelain with a small, insignificant clink.

I pressed the handle and watched it swirl, the diamond catching the light one last time before it was sucked away into the darkness.

A sense of liberation, sharp and clean, washed over me. I was free.

I finished packing the last of my things. My design portfolio, the worn photograph of my mother, the few clothes that weren't bought by him.

The front door of the mansion burst open, slamming against the wall.

Dante stood in the entryway, his face a mask of cold fury. Behind him, clinging to his arm and sobbing into his chest, was Isabella.

He stalked toward me, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. "You took her necklace," he stated, not asked. His voice was a blade of deadly calm. "Give it back now, and we can forget this happened. Or we handle this with the full weight of the De Luca name."

It was a setup. Of course it was. "I didn't take anything, Dante."

"Don't lie to me."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "In seven years, have I ever once asked you for a single thing? Have I ever coveted anything in this entire empire you're so proud of?"

He faltered. For half a second, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Isabella seized the moment. "It was a gift from you, Dante!" she wailed, clutching at him. "It's priceless to me!" She reached a hand toward me, as if to plead.

My patience snapped. I flinched away from her touch. "Don't you dare touch me."

Isabella stumbled back dramatically, collapsing against Dante's chest. "See?" she cried. "She's a thief! She has always been jealous of what I have!"

My blood ran cold. The air left my lungs. "What did you say?"

Isabella looked up at Dante, her eyes shining with fake tears and real venom. "She has always been jealous of me. People like her are never satisfied."

My control, the iron-clad restraint I had practiced for seven miserable years, shattered into a million pieces.

Before my mind could protest, my hand flew.

The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek-a sharp, satisfying crack that split the suffocating silence-echoed through the grand foyer.

*

Seraphina POV:

Isabella's head snapped to the side. A flicker of triumph-quick as a snake's tongue-flashed through her eyes before the tears welled up again. She had gotten exactly what she wanted.

"Dante!" she shrieked.

A low growl ripped from Dante's throat. He took a menacing step forward, his presence a physical force that backed me against a heavy console table. The air crackled with his fury, and I braced myself, the sharp edge of the wood a stark reminder of my precarious position.

He didn't even look at me. He rushed to Isabella, cradling her face in his hands, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Are you okay, Bella? Did she hurt you?"

I watched him murmur reassurances to the woman who had just destroyed my life, and the last bit of warmth in my heart froze over.

He turned to me, his eyes black with a hatred so pure it was terrifying.

"You are a disappointment," he spat, the words hitting me harder than any physical blow. "You are not worthy of her presence."

Tears finally streamed down my face, hot and silent. "So this is what you really think of me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "After all this time."

I looked him straight in the eye. "You should never have married me."

His expression hardened into a mask of indifference. He gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod over my shoulder.

Two of his men-men I'd seen guarding the estate for years-stepped into the room.

He gestured toward my bags. Isabella, with a show of great reluctance, pointed to my open portfolio. "Dante, look."

Tucked into an outer pocket, glittering against the dark leather, was the diamond necklace. The one she had worn to the party.

"Here it is, Dante."

A wave of cold shock washed over me. It wasn't possible. I hadn't touched it. "That's not mine. I don't know how that got there."

"She has always been jealous of me," Isabella whimpered against Dante's chest.

"It's a setup!" I screamed, desperation clawing at my throat. "She planted it! Can't you see that?"

My gaze flew to Dante, a silent, desperate plea for him to see the truth-to see me.

He met my gaze, and his next words shattered what little was left of me.

"I know. But you crossed a line."

And just like that, I understood. In his world, Isabella and I were different species. He, who had been born into unimaginable power and wealth, despised the poor. He despised me. He always had.

My tears stopped. I straightened my spine, my pride the only armor I had left. My eyes burned, but I held his gaze, defiant.

For a split second, Dante froze. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-a memory. It was the same look I'd given him in the high school auditorium all those years ago. Unbreakable.

His men moved to flank me, their presence a silent, unyielding instruction. They escorted me to the front door, not with force, but with the cold finality of an expulsion. Dante didn't move. He didn't say a word.

Isabella wrapped her arms around his waist. "Let's go to dinner, Dante. I'm starving."

"Okay," he agreed, his voice soft again.

They escorted me from the estate and left me on the curb, a final, public expulsion. My marriage wasn't just a mistake. It was a sentence. And I had just been released.

The next day, my mother was waiting for me outside my temporary hotel. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with a pain that mirrored my own. She rushed to me, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce, protective hug.

She pulled back and her hands began to move, her sign language swift and sure. *Don't be afraid. I'll take you away from here.*

I collapsed into her arms, my strength gone.

On the way to the airport, a text message came through on my phone. It was from Dante.

Our separation is final. Do not contact me or my family again.

I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just a vast, hollow emptiness.

I pulled the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces on the floor of the taxi.

I stared out the window as we drove toward the airport, leaving my old life behind without a second glance.

But a new vow took root in the frozen landscape of my heart. A silent one.

I would have my revenge.

*