To get a divorce from Dante Conti, I volunteered to walk away with nothing—even our three-year-old son.

Seeing that I had deliberately changed back into the old clothes I wore before marriage, Dante froze for a moment, then sneered, "So? You don't even want Nico, the heir you fought so hard to give birth to?"

"Careful. Play your part too long, and you won't be able to recover the scene," he warned.

I pushed the signed agreement toward him.

"Don't worry. This isn't acting."

Dante shot me a puzzled look before signing his name. "So obedient? Fine. I'll be magnanimous and let you see Nico from time to time."

He set down the pen, his gaze appraising me. "And if you regret it… come to me now, and maybe—just maybe—we could remarry—"

I cut him off, standing and walking away without a word.

He had thought I married him for the Mafia's power, that's why I had given him an heir to inherit his family.

But once he knows I'm dead, there will be no more misunderstandings.

I walked out of the Conti estate into the biting cold, but to my surprise, Dante Conti followed me.

"You're going out dressed like that? Don't catch a cold, then blame it on me."

He shrugged off his coat, reaching out to drape it over my shoulders. I stepped aside.

"That's no longer your concern, Don Conti."

His hand froze in midair. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by mockery.

"Still playing games with me? I didn't finish what I was saying earlier—here."

He pressed a token engraved with the character "Conti" into my hand. Its surface was icy cold.

"Take this. It's your privilege token. If you ever regret leaving, you can come back to me."

Dante looked down at me, the gaze of a man bestowing charity upon a stray cat.

I clenched the token, once treasured above all else, feeling the sharp edge press painfully into my palm.

When we first married, I struggled with the Mafia's rules and was often harassed by his subordinates. Back then, he wanted to give me the world. Every little flutter of my heart was etched in his mind. He had the token specially made, saying that it represented the Don's authority, and that any request I made with it, he would grant.

But as I devoted myself to him—meticulously managing the Conti family's holdings, keeping everything in perfect order—his affection for me gradually waned.

Over the past two years, I tried everything to win him back, to rekindle what we had, but it was all in vain. Desperate, I even used the token to ask him for something simple: to come home and have a meal with me on our anniversary. He hadn't spent a single anniversary with me for two consecutive years.

Yet even that small request, he refused. One phone call was enough for him to leave me alone at home. When I confronted him in anger, he didn't explain—he just took the token back. I became the biggest joke of the Conti family.

And now, divorced, he gave it back.

It was laughable.

The car engine had barely started when my phone exploded with messages from the family's internal chat.

[Madre, there's a problem with this quarter's whitewashed accounts. When will you review them?]

[Madre, the young master needs a personal bodyguard. Who should we assign?]

[Madre, there's a clash with the rival family tonight. How should we allocate resources?]

…

I closed my tired eyes, my fingers flying over the screen. Once I finished, I sent the final message: [I'm divorced from Dante. From now on, Conti family matters are no longer my concern.]

Then I left the group. Finally, peace.

Almost immediately, a message from Enzo Romano, the family steward who had been the only source of warmth in the Conti household, came through.

[Madre, even if you're upset with the boss, you can't divorce so casually! It'll hurt the young master. Don Conti still cares about you. Just apologize like before and smooth things over—he'll take you back.]

He thought I was throwing another tantrum—that if I bent like I used to, Dante and I could reconcile.

But he didn't know. This time was different. My heart was frozen solid; it could never be warmed again.

[We really are divorced, Enzo. From now on, I leave Nico in your care.]

There was a long pause before he finally wrote: [Madre, I've watched you two all along. You and Don Conti were once so in love… how did it come to this?]

I smiled bitterly.

That's right. How did it come to this?

Five years ago, right after Dante became the Don, he was ambushed.

At the time, I had just turned eighteen and left the orphanage. I stumbled upon him, covered in blood. Recognizing him as a benefactor of the orphanage, I don't know where I found the courage, but I dragged him into an abandoned warehouse to hide.

Before the Conti family arrived, we were caught. I took a bullet for him, nearly shattering my spine.

We were eventually returned to the Conti estate. Dante was gravely injured, but the moment he woke—fever burning through him—he ran to my bedside.

"I owe you your life. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

I looked at his face and, almost on impulse, said, "In return for saving you… you'll give yourself to me."

I meant it as a joke. He nodded and agreed.

Those days while he recovered were the happiest we ever had.

When he healed, he defied everyone and married me, an orphan girl. He said I was the only light in that dark period of his life and that I deserved the highest honor in the Conti family: to be their Madre.

But no one in the Conti family respected me.

His cousin mocked my lowly origins at the wedding. Dante not only crippled him but publicly declared that my status would be equal to his. From that day on, no one dared to look down on me.

Soon, we had Nico. But giving birth was nearly fatal—I risked losing half my life due to old injuries. Dante, with tears in his eyes, said I had terrified him and from then on would rush home daily just to be near me.

Yet when Nico turned one, Dante's clinginess vanished. Instead, he spent nights away, attending to family business. The intimacy we once shared disappeared, leaving me anxious, fearing he was secretly doing something dangerous.

Out of worry, I placed a tracker on him.

That's when I discovered the truth: those nights away weren't for work—they were spent caring for a sick childhood friend, coaxing her to take medicine.

Alessia Bellini was the Principessa of the Bellini family, freshly graduated and returned home. The Conti and Bellini families had always been close—if not for a past mishap, they would have been married already.

I had met Alessia before.

On our anniversary, I had prepared a candlelit dinner, waiting for Dante to come home. Instead, he returned with Alessia and introduced her.

"This is my childhood friend, just back from abroad. Thought she should meet you."

I trusted him completely and cared for her sincerely. I believed in us.

But reality hit me like a slap in the face.

Our first explosive fight erupted on my birthday. For five years, Dante had always returned home to personally prepare my birthday dinner without fail. That year, he didn't come. Phone calls went unanswered; messages ignored. I waited until deep into the night. Even after Nico had fallen sleep, Dante had yet to return.

At dawn, he sent a rushed voice message. "Bianca, I have urgent matters tonight. You and Nico go to sleep. Don't wait for me."

But the faint, intimate moan of Alessia in the background made his lie painfully obvious.

I checked the tracker.

Seeing them entangled, my eyes burned with rage. I was about to storm in and confront them.

Dante blocked me. He gripped my wrist tightly, voice icy, as he said, "Bianca, she's the Bellini family Principessa. You can't touch her. If anything happens to her, forget about curing your orphanage director."

I froze, blood running cold.

The woman who raised me, my most important person, depended on the medicine in Dante's hands for her life.

I could do nothing but leave, humiliated, tears streaming under Alessia's scornful gaze.

From then on, he grew bolder, hardly returning home at all.

I asked for a divorce.

He refused to sign, even threatening me with our son's custody and my orphanage director's life-saving medicine.

I couldn't understand… why.

After that incident, I collapsed completely. My old injuries flared up, and I fainted at home.

When Dante got the call, his face drained of color. He grabbed my hand, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Bianca… it's my fault. Please, don't leave me! As long as you're safe, I don't want anything else!"

For a while, after I recovered, he seemed like his old self. He stopped seeing Alessia. I thought our lives had returned to normal—that our little family of three could be happy again.

Until a few days ago.

I went to the sanatorium to visit Mama, the orphanage director. Passing a small amusement park on the way, I saw them.

Alessia was holding Nico, laughing as they rode the carousel. Dante filmed them, eyes full of tenderness.

Nico planted a chubby kiss on Alessia's cheek and babbled, "Mommy's so nice! I love Mommy the most!"

At that moment, they looked like a happy family.

I stood behind a tree, frozen as if plunged into an ice cave.

The son I had risked everything to bring into the world was calling that interloper "Mommy."

I returned home in a daze, numb, barely able to function. That evening, when the driver brought Nico back, I reached for him. He recoiled in disgust.

"Mommy, you smell like medicine—it's gross! Mama Alessia smells nice. I wish she were my mommy!"

I had blamed myself before, thinking I was a bad mother for not taking him out like other moms. But now I understood—it wasn't my fault. He was comparing me to Alessia. In his heart, I didn't measure up.

Realizing this, my chest felt as if it had been ripped apart. I crouched down, staring at him.

"Nico… I'm your real mother! I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!"

He looked at me with disgust.

"I don't like you! Daddy said you only boss me around. Mama Alessia is the one who really loves me! I want Mama Alessia to be my new mommy!"

Even seeing Dante's affair with my own eyes had never crushed me like this.

This was the child I had given my life for.

I studied his small face, so much like Dante's, and forced a bitter smile.

"Fine. If you don't want me as your mommy, then I won't be your mommy anymore."

I turned and walked into the bathroom, letting cold water wash my tears away.

That night, I ran a high fever. In a haze, I heard Enzo's frantic voice calling Dante, "Don Conti, Madre's fever is severe! Please come back quickly!"

But on the other end was Alessia's coquettish voice, "Dante, hurry! I can't wait any longer…"

Then came Dante's impatient roar, "Bianca is acting again? She got a taste last time and got addicted? Fine, let her act! When she actually dies, then you can call me!"

He hung up and shut off his phone.

That night, the family doctor rushed me to the emergency room—I almost didn't make it.

At dawn, Dante returned to change clothes, fresh lipstick marks still on his neck. Noticing my gaze, he pressed his lips tight, fuming as he scolded me, "Bianca, do you think I'm a fool for repeatedly faking illness to make me come back? Playing these games only makes me despise you more! As punishment, your orphanage director's medicine… stops, for now."

Then he picked up his phone and called the sanatorium.