When I drink the amber-colored poisonous wine, I can hear the joyful melody of a toast song coming from the manor.

The wedding between Emanuela Romano and my ex-fiance, Benedetto Martini, is being held there right now.

The elderly butler, Vincenzo Romano, puts away the wine glass with a blank expression. The way he speaks is as somber as one sounds when they give a speech at a funeral.

"You know the Don's will very well, Ms. Andreotti. Five years are officially up, yet neither Mr. Andreotti, Mr. Martini, nor Dr. Foscari is willing to pledge their loyalty to you via the blood vow. According to the rules, you must take your own life within seven days.

"The Don had left the Ashwine to you as a means of protecting… what little pride you have."

Scorching pain begins spreading from my throat. I just smile at Vincenzo in return.

Pride?

Does a bastard spawn of a loose Iernian woman deserve to retain pride of any sort in the cruel Andreotti family?

I begin making my way toward the banquet hall, which is brightly lit. As I walk past the shimmering waters of the pond in the family garden, I can tell that the waters are insanely cold.

Then again, nothing is as cold as my icy heart right now.

After taking a deep breath, I fall face-first into the pond… only to feel an iron-clad grip wrenching me backward. As such, I collapse onto the lawn heavily.

My older brother, Alessandro Andreotti, has bits of grass covering his expensive suit. Disgust is written all over his handsome face.

"Eva!" he grits out through his teeth, his voice lowered. "Must you spoil the mood on Emanuela's big day?"

He then scoots closer to me, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over my face. "You want to die, huh? Go ahead and do that, but can you die somewhere further? Don't stain the Andreotti land!"

Alessandro turns to walk in the direction of the radiant lights, leaving me on the lawn, completely covered in mud. I can feel the countdown of my lifespan burning my insides.

Seven days… I only have seven days to live.

Meanwhile, my very own brother wants me to die somewhere further away.

Five years ago, when my dad finally found me in a foster home in the slums of Novastone, I was nothing but skin and bones. Cigarette burns from my former foster parents still scarred my arms.

"Let's go home, Eva," he'd said.

I thought I finally had a home.

That was, until the day of his funeral.

As I stood by my dad's coffin while the lawyer read the will, I learned the truth. The daughter he had finally found would inherit poison and an impossible task. Within five years, I was supposed to win the sworn loyalty of one of the three family power holders.

My half-brother, Alessandro Andreotti, was now the family's Underboss.

Benedetto Martini was the heir of the Martino family and my fiance in a political marriage.

Lastly, there was Roberto Foscari. He was the chief medical advisor and intelligence officer—Dad's most trusted fixer.

For five years, I tried desperately to please them all.

Alessandro sneered, "Don't call me your brother. You don't deserve it."

"The marriage will happen, but don't expect me ever to touch you," Benedetto declared.

Roberto was the only one who at least smiled at me once. The first time I collapsed from low blood sugar at a family gathering, he carried me into the lounge and handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

"You're too thin, Eva," he said. "You need to eat more."

The sweetness of that cocoa lingered in my memory for three years.

It was far sweeter than the poison in my mouth now.

"Ms. Andreotti?"

Vincenzo's voice dragged me back to the present. "You have seven days left."

…

The banquet was at its peak. Emanuela was in a custom lace wedding gown. Real pearls were sewn into her veil. Benedetto had one arm around her waist as they spun in the center of the dance floor. Alessandro stood beside the champagne tower, raising his glass to toast the newlyweds.

No one saw me.

Or rather, everyone chose not to.

I slipped through the crowd and headed for the back garden. The Andreotti Estate sat along the Blackthorn River, with its private dock and wooden platform stretching out over the water. At night, the river was as black as ink. It reflected Novastone's lights.

The water had to be freezing. But was it colder than what was spreading through my body?

I slipped off my heels. Emanuela Romano gave them to me last year. They were half a size too small and always cut the skin at my heels. I stepped barefoot onto the wooden boards. The rough texture reminded me of the leaking basement in the slums.

Maybe that was where I belonged.

I leaned forward, but a hand clamped around my wrist like a steel vise.

A brutal force yanked me back and slammed me onto the deck. Pain shot through my back, and I started coughing violently.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Alessandro's face loomed above me. Then, a sharp slap cracked across my cheek. His features, so like my own, twisted in fury and disgust.

"I asked you, what are you doing?" he snarled, hauling me up from the ground with a crushing grip.

"Let go…"

"Let go?" he laughed, dragging me from the edge. "So you can jump and die at Emanuela's wedding? Eva, it's been five years, yet you're still as selfish as ever. You're always ruining other people's moments."

I tried to break free, but his grip was solid.

"I wasn't trying to ruin anything," I replied with a shaky voice. I didn't know if it was from the cold or the poison in my veins. "I just—"

"Just what? Looking for attention again?"

He flung me onto a nearby bench. "Let me be clear. The wedding will go on even if you die here. Benedetto wouldn't spare you a glance. Father isn't coming back. And the Andreotti family wouldn't stop functioning just because an illegitimate daughter died."

He was right.

I've always known that.

"Go back to your room," Alessandro said, straightening his tie. "If you want to die, do it somewhere far away. Don't stain Andreotti land."

With that, he turned and walked toward the lights. His figure was tall and unshaken.

That was my brother.

The same brother who told me to die elsewhere.

I curled up on the bench and hugged my knees.

The burning poison had spread through my limbs, but what hurt more was my chest. It was hollow, and the cold wind kept pouring in.

…

By the time I reached home, the banquet was over.

The housekeepers were cleaning the hall. None of them looked at me. I walked barefoot across the marble floor. The cold shot straight up my spine. My room was plain and small. It was the same room I had lived in ever since returning to the family.

The only valuable thing here was the gun sitting on the nightstand.

It was a Colt M1911. The Andreotti family crest was engraved on the grip. It was a viper coiled around a rose. My dad gave it to me the day he took me back home.

"A daughter of the Andreotti family must know how to protect herself," he said.

I picked it up. The cold metal made me shiver. As the poison inside me churned, nausea surged. I rushed to the bathroom and retched, but nothing came up.

The mirror showed a pale face with dark circles under her eyes. I was only 23, but I looked 43.

"Dad," I whispered to the mirror. "Was this what you wanted? Was this how you treated me because Mom didn't love you and you forced her to have me?"

No one answered.

I went back to the bed and racked the slide. The mechanical click echoed sharply in the silent room. I pressed the barrel to my temple. The cold snapped me into brief clarity.

It was faster this way.

Faster than drowning. Faster than the poison.

My finger rested on the trigger.

The door swung open.

"Stop!"

Roberto rushed in and snatched the gun from my hand. He was so fast that I didn't even see how he'd managed to do it.

He hurled the gun into the corner, and it hit the carpet with a dull thud.

"Are you out of your mind?" he screamed. His grip on my shoulders was so tight it hurt. "Eva, look at me! Look at me!"

I lifted my head. Roberto's face showed an expression I had never seen before. There was panic, fury, and something more complicated beneath—pain.

"Why?"

His voice shook. "Why would you do this?"

I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him about the poisoned wine and how I only had six days left. But only broken sobs came out.

The tears finally spilled over. "I… I didn't do anything… Emanuela said I stole her jewelry and tried to seduce Benedetto. She even said that I drugged Alessandro's drink. I didn't do any of it. Why won't any of you believe me?"

Roberto pulled me into his arms.

It was the first time in five years anyone had held me.

His embrace was warm. He smelled like antiseptic with a hint of woody cologne. I froze, then clung to his lab coat as if I were a drowning woman grabbing onto driftwood.

"I believe you," he whispered into my ear. "Eva, I believe you."

"Really?"

"Really." He let me go, cupped my face in both hands, and brushed away my tears with his thumbs. "Listen to me. You can't die. You have to live until the truth comes out."

His eyes were soft in the low light. For one brief moment, I believed him.

"But…" I began, reminded of the poisoned wine. "There isn't much time left…"

"What do you mean?"

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him. What was there to explain? That I had fought for five years, only to lose to Emanuela and end up drinking poison?

I lowered my gaze. "It's nothing. I'm just… tired."

Roberto sighed and guided me to the bed. He opened a medical kit and prepared a sedative with practiced ease. "You need rest. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

The needle barely hurt. The medication worked fast. My consciousness started to slip away.

Through the haze, I heard Roberto on the phone.

"Yes. She's extremely unstable. She needs to be isolated and observed. I'll handle it."

I wanted to ask who he was talking to, but my eyelids were too heavy.

Just before I slipped away, I felt his hand gently brush through my hair.

"Sleep well, Eva," his voice echoed faintly. "I'll protect you."

…

When I woke up, I wasn't in my usual room.

The ceiling was an unfamiliar off-white. The walls matched. The space held only a bed, a nightstand, and a chair. There were no windows. Just a heavy iron door.

I sat up abruptly. Dizziness crashed over me.

"You're awake."

Roberto's voice came from the corner. He sat in the chair and had a medical file in his hands.

"Where is this?" I asked in a hoarse voice.

"The family sanatorium," he said, closing the file. "It's a… quieter floor. You need peace, Eva."

My heart started racing as I looked around. "The sanatorium? Why did you bring me here?"

"Did you forget what happened last night?"

Roberto moved to the bed and sat on the edge. "You tried to kill yourself. Twice. Once at the river, and another time with a gun. According to family protocol, anyone with severe self-destructive tendencies must be placed under protective custody."

"Protective custody…" I repeated, the words clicking into place. "This was Emanuela's idea, wasn't it?"

Roberto's expression froze.

"She's worried about you," he said, averting his gaze.

"Worried?" I snorted. "She wants me gone, Roberto. You know that. You know exactly how she is!"

"Eva, you're still saying that? Emanuela postponed her honeymoon because of you. She was so worried that she hadn't slept all night." Roberto's voice had gone cold.

I threw off the blanket and tried to get up, but Roberto pressed me back down. "Worried I hadn't finished the job?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out of here!" I said, struggling. "I want to see Alessandro and Benedetto…"

Roberto's tone was terrifyingly calm. "They won't see you. Alessandro's handling business on the West Shore. Benedetto and Emanuela are preparing for their honeymoon. What you need right now is treatment, not theatrics."

Treatment?

I stared at him. He felt like a stranger to me. The man who once handed me hot cocoa and smiled at me like I mattered now looked at me with eyes as cold as ice.

"You think I'm insane, too, don't you?"

"You need help, Eva."

He stood and walked to the door. "It's safe here. No one will hurt you here. Get some rest. I'll check on you later."

"Roberto!"

He stopped at the doorway but didn't turn around.

"Would you..." I hesitated. "Would you believe me if I told you that if I don't die soon, I'll face an even worse death later?"

Silence. A long, suffocating silence.

Then, he said, "Don't say that, Eva. Take your medication. You'll get better."

The door opened, then closed. The lock clicked sharply.

I collapsed on the bed and wrapped my arms around myself.

The poison was still working. I could feel it moving through my veins like tiny needles that left numbness wherever it passed. A dull ache began in my stomach. The first stage of organ damage had begun.

Tomorrow, I would only have five days left.

…

Two days later, the iron door opened again.

Benedetto and Emanuela entered the room.

Emanuela was in a wheelchair. Her leg was in a cast, and her face was pale. Benedetto followed behind her. He looked worn out, with shadows under his eyes. His jaw was covered in stubble.

"Eva," Emanuela weakly began. "Are you alright?"

I didn't answer and just stared at her.

She was beautiful. She looked like a painting even while she was "injured" and in a wheelchair. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes shimmered with tears, showcasing how fragile she was.

"We heard you…" Benedetto began, then faltered. "Roberto said your emotions are unstable."

"I'm fine. Better than the one in the wheelchair."

Emanuela's eyes filled instantly.

"Eva! Emanuela got into a car accident while bringing you clean clothes! How could you say something like that?" he snapped.

Clean clothes. I glanced at the small travel bag by Emanuela's feet. So, that was what the staged accident was for. To showcase her generosity.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "Thank you, Emanuela."

She forced a smile. "We're family, Eva. Even if we've had some… misunderstandings before, I truly want you to recover."

Misunderstandings.

Locking me in the family vault overnight was a misunderstanding to her.

Drugging my drink so I humiliated myself in front of clients was a misunderstanding.

Forging evidence that I colluded with rival families was a misunderstanding.

"Emanuela needs another surgery. She's Rh-negative. The blood bank is short," Benedetto said suddenly.

I connected the dots. That was why they were here.

"I'm Rh-negative, too."

Benedetto looked at me, conflicted. "Yes. Roberto checked the records. Only you and Emanuela share that blood type in the family."

"So you want some of my blood."

"You'll help, won't you?"

Emanuela reached for my hand. I pulled away. "Eva, please. The doctors say I need at least 800 cc of blood or my life could be in danger…"

I looked at her pleading face and almost laughed.

"Fine. If you're not afraid of death, go ahead and take my blood," I said, each word deliberate.