The next morning.

I had the maid send that haute couture gown to Fiora's room.

Fiora made sure to leave her door wide open.

As I walked down the hall, I saw her twirling in front of the mirror. The gown was entirely wrong for her. It swallowed her whole.

She held a pair of sharp silver scissors. Without a second thought, she cut right into the skirt, slicing off the intricate diamond eagle—the ultimate symbol of the Falcone power.

"This gold embroidery is too heavy and old-fashioned," Fiora complained to the maid. "It needs to be shorter. Sexier."

The maid was shaking. She shot a terrified glance at me in the doorway and didn't dare say a word.

I didn't stop. I walked straight to the kitchen.

Santino drank hard last night. He suffers from severe stomach problems. Every time after a hangover, he needs a bowl of specially made herbal tea to soothe his stomach.

For seven years, I’ve personally brewed his herbal tea for him.

I stood by the stove, watching the dark liquid boil in the pot.

It would be the last time I ever made it for him.

I poured the tea into a bone-china cup and carried the tray to Santino's study.

The door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I heard Santino talking to his Consigliere, Marco.

"Boss, didn't you push it too far this time?" Marco asked. "You took back the Donna ring. The bangle is destroyed. You even gave haute couture gown to Fiora. Arabella has been with you for seven years. She’d take a bullet for you. Are you really trying to drive her away?"

I froze in my tracks.

Santino's cold voice followed immediately.

"Where could she possibly go? She's an orphan who can't even remember her own past. She has nowhere to go but by my side."

"I've spoiled her far too much these past seven years, and her temper's only gotten worse. Fiora is emotionally unstable, and she must learn to back down."

"Once she's thoroughly learned her lesson and behaves herself, I'll naturally reserve a room for her and make sure she wants for nothing."

Marco sighed."By humiliating her like this, aren't you afraid she'll truly lose all hope?"

Santino let out a scornful sneer."Lose hope? Arabella's greatest skill in life is clinging to me like a vine. She can't leave me."

The tray tilted in my hands.

A few drops of scalding tea spilled onto the back of my hand.

The skin instantly blistered red.

But I didn't feel a thing.

I stared at the heavy wooden door for a second, then set the tray down on the console table in the hall.

I picked up the cup I’d spent two hours brewing and walked to the end of the corridor.

A pot of Santino's favorite black tulips sat by the window.

I flicked my wrist and poured the tea straight into the dark soil.

Right then, Fiora walked up to me. She was wearing the butchered dress.

She watched me empty the cup, a smug smirk twisting her lips.

"Arabella, Santino was just telling me that the master bedroom has better light and a nicer view. It would be good for my recovery."

She paused for effect. "He wants me to move in tonight. Shouldn't you be packing up your things to make room?"

The master bedroom of the Falcone estate. I had lived there for five years.

It was filled with traces of my life with Santino. Every inch of it breathed him.

I looked at Fiora's smug face and nodded.

"Fine. I'll pack now."

My calm acceptance seemed to bore her. The triumphant smirk on her face faltered. She opened her mouth to say more, but I was already walking away.

Back in the master bedroom, I looked around the space that had been mine for five years.

My paintings hung on the walls. Our photo sat on the desk. The closet was full of gowns he'd had made for me.

Everything here was a witness to the love we once shared.

And now, it would all belong to Fiora.

I took out a simple canvas bag. I packed a few paintbrushes, a passport, and my most precious pigments.

Nothing else. I didn't want any of it.

My phone vibrated.

A message from my brother, Matteo.

"All social traces of the 'Arabella' identity are being erased. Bank accounts, social security, all official records."

I carried the canvas bag out of the master bedroom and went straight to the storage room.

It was cold and damp, filled with the smell of mildew, but it was quiet.

Quiet enough to block out any sound I didn't want to hear.

I spread a thin blanket in a corner and sat down.

As evening fell, it started to snow in Chicago.

The flakes grew bigger, quickly turning into a blizzard.

Santino finished the family business meeting and returned to the villa, cold and weary.

Santino walked into the hall, swept his gaze across the crowd, and immediately frowned.

"Where is she?"

"Boss, the Miss... she moved into the most secluded storage room.”

the butler,Leo, answered, his voice trembling.

"The most secluded storage room?"

Santino's face darkened instantly.

He strode over and kicked open the door of the storage room.BAM!

The door was kicked open, slamming against the wall.

Santino strode up to me, his gaze sweeping over the shabby room, finally resting on the withered canvas bag I had placed by the bedside.

"What game are you playing now?"

"Fiora merely said she wanted the master bedroom. Who told you to move to a place like this? Are you deliberately giving me the cold shoulder?"

I stood up and looked him straight in the eye.

"All the other guest rooms are filled with Fiora's belongings，only this place is empty. It makes no difference where I stay."

Santino was infuriated by my utterly calm demeanor.

He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.

My sleeve was pulled up by him, revealing the ugly scar on my forearm.

The mark left by the bullet I took for him at Trinity Church three years ago.

I nearly died in the operating room from excessive blood loss.

Santino stared at the scar, his eyes flashing with a complex emotion.

But just as quickly, his expression turned even uglier.

"You keep showing this scar off all the time—are you trying to remind me of the debt I owe you?"

"Fiora will be scared if she sees this. It'll trigger her anxiety." Santino let me go and took a step back. "From now on, you will wear long sleeves. Cover this shameful thing up."

He called it shameful. The scar I earned saving his life, he called it a shameful thing.

"If you can't do that, you can go live in the cellar." Santino said, his eyes merciless. "No one will have to look at you there."

He’s trying to sting me, trying to see me pleading desperately for myself, heartbroken like I used to be.He’s waiting for me to break down, waiting for me to bow my head and apologize to him.

I looked at his face, twisted with anger, and felt utterly calm inside.I didn’t argue, nor did I shed a single tear.I wrenched my hand free from his, turned around, and picked up the withered canvas bag.

"Fine.I'll move now."

Santino stared, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

"What did you say?"

"The cellar, right?" I said, carrying my bag toward the stairs. "I'll go now."

My compliance finally broke him. It sent him into a rage.

"Enough! What do you want?" He strode after me, snatched the canvas bag from my hand, and flung open the manor gate.

The snowstorm howled in from outside.

Santino threw my bag out into the storm.

The canvas bag tumbled through the snow and landed in the yard, its contents spilling everywhere.

"Since you're so desperate to leave, then get out!"

"Get out of the Falcone house!"

His eyes were wild. "I'd like to see just how many days an orphan like you, with no parents, can survive in this city without me!"

I was wearing nothing but a thin cashmere sweater, but I didn't hesitate.

I stepped over the threshold and into the storm.

I found my canvas bag in the snow and began picking up my scattered things, one by one.

The snow hit my face, biting and cold, but my heart was colder than the storm.

Santino watched my back, then slammed the massive door shut.

The heavy thud echoed through the snowy night.

I brushed the snow off my bag.

My phone lit up.

A voice call from my brother, Matteo.

"Arabella. The Moretti motorcade has just crossed into Chicago. I'll be there in thirty minutes. I'm taking you home."

The snow was coming down harder, a full-blown blizzard.

The wind whipped the ice and snow against my face. My thin sweater was useless against the bone-deep chill.

My legs quickly went numb. Every step was a stiff, dull pain.

But I didn't stop. I didn't look back at the closed black gates of the Falcone estate.

When I reached the crossroads outside the estate, a convoy of twelve black Cadillac Escalades cut through the storm and stopped in front of me.

The door of the lead Escalade was thrown open from within.

My brother, Matteo, strode towards me, his black custom coat flapping in the wind.

When he saw my thin clothes and my face, purple from the cold, a fire ignited in his eyes.

He ripped off his coat, still warm from his body, and wrapped it tightly around me, pulling me into his arms.

"He let you stand in this blizzard, dressed in rags?" Matteo's jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it would break. His voice was thick with pain and suppressed rage. "Arabella, I'm sorry I'm late."

I leaned against my brother's strong, safe shoulder, feeling a warmth and love I hadn't felt in years.

I shook my head, my voice perfectly calm.

"You're not late. You're right on time. Brother, let's go home."

Matteo lifted me into his arms and gently placed me in the back seat of the car.

"I will make that bastard pay," he said in a low voice. "He's about to find out what happens when you cross a princess of the Moretti family."

The heat in the car was on full blast. Feeling slowly returned to my frozen limbs.

The motorcade turned around in the blizzard and sped toward Chicago's private airport.