The entire Chicago underworld is abuzz: Valerie, wife of Don Perez Moretti, is having an affair with a rival family.

Perez himself is in New Orleans, living it up with his mistress, Sandy.

Everyone is waiting to see me fall.

Then a video leaked. In it, he spoke with casual cruelty.

"Ten years ago, I got distracted by that woman and lost a leg in a shootout. She told me I deserved it."

"Ten years later, I've made her my little toy, trapped her in the gilded cage of a marriage she despises, and turned her life into a living hell."

"I stopped loving her long ago. I don't care whose plaything she becomes."

The footage of his speech was sent to me. In its wake, the major families placed bets totaling thirty million dollars, all gambling that I’d be sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of Lake Michigan within a day.

Instead, I calmly called the hospice doctor.

Perez doesn't know that on the day he proposed to me ten years ago, I chose to disappear because I had been diagnosed with a rare blood disease.

The doctors declared me terminal countless times, but I pulled through again and again, fueled by my love for him.

Now, that love is gone.

And not even a gilded cage can hold a soul that has decided to leave.

————————

1

A month after Perez left for New Orleans with his mistress, I signed the body donation agreement.

I methodically packed my few belongings and called Mr. Abernathy at the funeral home.

"Mr. Abernathy, please purchase that cemetery plot for me."

"That's right. There won't be a body, just some personal effects."

"Please send someone to the Moretti Estate to pick up the items I've packed."

After settling my affairs, I emptied my bank account.

The moment the balance hit zero, I felt no fear, no confusion—only a profound peace, the quiet liberation of a final surrender.

A year ago, I thought my illness had been cured.

My heart pounding with a desperate hope, I returned to Chicago to win Perez back.

But everything had changed.

Perez hated me.

He wished I would drop dead.

He trapped me in the marriage I despised.

He made me relive, over and over, every ounce of pain he had suffered because of me.

For a year, I endured it all in silence, trying to dissolve the hatred between us with love.

But I failed.

The price of my failure was a relapse.

This time, Perez would get his wish.

The words he’d spat at me, hurled like weapons as we lay in bed—*Why don’t you just die?*—were about to come true.

I forced myself to ship the boxes, then swallowed a handful of painkillers.

Just as the ache began to dull, my phone lit up.

Perez's social media had been updated again.

He had posted a cascade of photos from his trip with Sandy.

They danced intimately in a dimly lit jazz club.

They shared a candlelit dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in New Orleans.

On a private yacht, he was bare-chested, Sandy nestled in his arms, kissing his chest…

All the dreams I had once confided to my diary.

All the promises Perez had once made to me.

He was fulfilling them, one by one, with Sandy.

A sharp, needle-like pain lanced through my heart, but the rest of me was numb.

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, it rang.

It was Perez.

"Valerie, bring a box of Montecristo cigars to the Peninsula Hotel for me."

"Sandy can't stand the smell of Cohibas. If you mess this up again, I'll have someone get rid of that precious white wolfdog of yours!"

Perez's voice was heavy and breathless. Beneath it, I could just make out the soft moans of a woman.

I clutched the phone, and it took a long moment before I could find my voice.

"Perez, Ghost is already dead," I managed to say. "You had your men put a bullet through his head in the backyard last month."

A month ago, Perez threw a welcome-home party for Sandy.

That night, he kissed her passionately right in front of me, letting her mark his skin with her teeth in a deliberate act of humiliation.

First, Sandy demanded he prove his love with a French kiss.

Before his lips touched hers, he downed the whiskey I had poured for him. Then he crushed his mouth to hers, passing the liquor from his tongue to hers.

Second, Sandy demanded he take off his shirt so she could leave seven hickeys on his abs, one for each year they were apart.

He stood before me, his voice glacial as he ordered me to unbutton the silk shirt I'd spent all morning ironing for him.

Third, Sandy melted against him, pulling a room key from her purse in a silent invitation.

He tossed a black card at me and ordered me to go buy them cigars.

I came back and slammed a box of Cohibas—his most hated brand—onto the table and walked out.

In the middle of the night, the smoke triggered Sandy's asthma. She went into shock and was hospitalized.

To punish me, he ordered his men to shoot Ghost.

I found out just as my doctor confirmed my relapse. Sandy sent me a video call, a smug smirk twisting her lips.

"Valerie, I'm so sorry. Your dog… I accidentally let him wander onto the shooting range. He was shot dead."

My knuckles whitened around the phone as a fine, sharp pain radiated from my chest.

Ghost was the white wolfdog we had once promised to raise together.

His snow-white fur was the first pure color I saw after waking from one of my many resuscitations.

He had been my constant companion through the ten most painful years of my life, only to be silenced by a single bullet.

Tears streamed down my face. I hung up the phone.

In a daze, I returned to my bedroom and curled up on the bed, trying to draw a sliver of warmth from the cold sheets.

Just then, my phone began to buzz frantically, a flood of text messages pouring in.

*Valerie, do you know who orchestrated your ‘affair’ scandal?*

*It was Perez!*

*He knows you hate betrayal more than anything. He did it anyway, all for one of Sandy's jokes!*

The anonymous messages sent a chill through my entire body.

My eyes were glued to the screen. *Perez orchestrated my affair.*

A wave of nausea rose, and a metallic taste of blood filled my throat.

I once had a happy family, but my father became a mafia informant. My mother was murdered in the ensuing retaliation, dying to protect me.

That night, the smell of my mother's blood was everywhere—in my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

I had laid my deepest vulnerabilities bare to him, trusting him completely.

And Perez had once cherished and protected them.

Now, for one of Sandy's cruel jokes, he was using betrayal to twist the knife where he knew it would hurt most.

My body convulsed in pain. I took no more painkillers, letting the agony consume me until I finally passed out.

When I woke the next day, I signed for a package from my doctor containing a chemical agent.

I had just unsealed the vial and placed it in my bag.

Just then, the estate's main gate was kicked open with a deafening crash.

"Valerie! You sent Cohibas to Sandy! Who the hell gave you that order?"

Perez stood there, radiating a cold fury, his eyes churning with disgust.

I was stunned. Behind him, I saw Sandy, her hand covering her mouth to hide a sly, satisfied smirk.

"Perez, I have never been so humiliated!"

"I have to make her pay for this…"

Before she could finish, Sandy strode forward.

She slapped me across the face, again and again.

The sharp crack of her palm against my skin echoed four times. *Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.*

My cheeks burned, red and swollen.

Bracing myself against the wall, I regained my senses, grabbed a nearby crystal decanter, and smashed it over her head with all my might.

With a sickening crack, the decanter shattered against Sandy's skull.

I stared Perez dead in the eye and finally posed the question I dreaded asking.

"Perez, the 'affair'… was it you?"

"It was."

"I know you hate betrayal more than anything. I did it on purpose."

"Valerie, do you know what my biggest regret is?"

"It's surviving that shootout. I should have been fucking killed right then and there!"

He spat out every word, a deep, abiding hatred etched into his features.

He shot me a look of pure disgust, then stepped back to call for the family doctor to bandage Sandy.

I slid down the wall to the floor.

My heart felt as if it had been split open with an axe.

Amid the searing pain, I finally realized that maybe I had been wrong ten years ago.

My self-righteous attempt to protect him hadn't been a kindness. It had been a slow-acting poison.

Ten years later, that poison had festered. And now, neither of us could escape it.

"Perez, the truth is, ten years ago I…"

Lying on the floor, I forced the words out, swallowing the blood that filled my throat.

The next second, a woman's delicate, frightened voice interrupted me.

"Perez, my head hurts so much!"

"Perez, come look at it!"

Sandy's voice cut through my attempt.

Perez walked over to her. As he passed me, he let out a scornful laugh.

"Valerie, were you about to say you had some secret reason for what you did?"

"You think I'll believe you?"

"Or let me put it this way: can my shattered leg grow back?"

His cold, mocking words struck my soul like a sledgehammer.

I bit my lip hard, my gaze falling to the unnatural gait of his left leg. All the strength drained from my body.

I said nothing more and slowly pushed myself up to return to my bedroom.

But Perez's voice, laced with scorn, stopped me.

"Valerie, you taught me that when you do something wrong, you have to be punished."

"This time, how do you plan to apologize?"

"With my death," I answered, my voice steady as I placed my fingers on the doorknob.

I noticed that my once nimble and strong fingers…

Were now as brittle and dry as kindling.

"Valerie, what did you say?!"

My arm was gripped in a vice, Perez's voice trembling with a mix of rage and something I couldn't name.

"Death?"

"You think you can escape your guilt by dying?"

"Let me tell you, that's impossible!"

"In this world, if I don't let you die, you don't get to die!"

Perez spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with fury.

I didn't say a word, simply enduring the crushing pressure of his grip.

People get sick. People die. Did he really think he could stop that?

"Perez, I remember hearing you were distracted during a shootout, chasing after her, and that's how you wrecked your leg."

"So, how about we make Valerie jump from the third-floor balcony?"

"There's a pool below. It won't be a big deal."

After a few seconds of tense silence, Sandy, her wound now bandaged, walked over with hatred in her eyes.

She tugged gently at Perez's sleeve, cooing.

"Perez, just say yes!"

"Look what she did to my head! She has to give me an apology!"

"Besides, my art exhibition is still missing a centerpiece for my 'Fallen Angel' collection!"

The pressure of Perez's grip on my arm tightened, and the hatred roiling in his eyes intensified.