It would take a week for the news of the bride change to make its way through the family's internal channels.

That whole week, all of Chicago's underworld was buzzing.

People said I'd actually given up a wedding that was right within my grasp.

Others said Sofia Colombo must have some serious pull—making Vincent swap brides right before he was set to take over.

I paid no mind to any of it.

On the fourth afternoon before the wedding, Vincent's most trusted man, Paul, showed up at the back door of my private clinic, carrying a brand-new Louis Vuitton suitcase.

"Miss Elena," Paul set the case on the marble reception desk, looking a little uneasy. "Mr. Vincent asked me to deliver this."

A few of the nurses exchanged glances.

Gina walked over from across the room, eyed the suitcase, and said with a smirk, "Well, the compensation came quick. At least he's thinking of you."

I flipped the latches open.

Inside: three top-grade cashmere shawls, a diamond necklace in a blue velvet box, several beautifully wrapped boxes of Belgian chocolates, two miniature pearl-handled pistols, some expensive caviar, and a few educational toys for kids.

Every piece was exquisite. Every piece was clearly meant for Sofia and her seven-year-old son, little Louie.

And at the very bottom, tucked under everything, was an old, worn brown leather notebook with curled edges.

That one—only that one—was for me.

Paul caught a glimpse of it and quickly looked away.

Gina gasped and clenched her fists.

I let out a bitter laugh. In my past life, I was dead set on marrying a man like this.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to pick gifts. He just couldn't be bothered to put any thought into me.

"Elena."

Sofia's voice came from the doorway.

She was wearing a light pink Chanel suit today, holding little Louie by the hand.

Her eyes landed on the open suitcase, lingered on the diamond necklace for a second, then filled with tears.

"Paul said the things were being delivered to you," she stepped inside, her voice soft. "About the wedding... I'm truly sorry. I said no, but Vincent said it was the only way to keep my father's port business intact and keep Louis and me safe. Please don't blame him—blame me if you have to."

She nudged her son. "Louis, say sorry to Aunt Elena."

The boy pouted, hid behind her, and shot me a hostile glare.

I pulled the old notebook from the bottom of the case and set it on the counter.

"Everything's here. Count it, and take it."

Sofia's rehearsed tears paused in her eyes. She glanced at the notebook in my hand and said, with a slight edge of defiance, "Elena, are you... are you really just keeping that? Is that all Vincent gave you?"

"It doesn't matter." I met her gaze calmly. "The wedding is yours anyway. The gifts were meant for you. None of it has anything to do with me anymore."

Sofia's face flushed slightly.

She pressed her lips together, finally muttered a quiet "thank you," motioned for Paul to pick up the suitcase, and hurried out of the clinic with her son.

Late that night, I went back to my penthouse overlooking the lake.

Every piece of it was decorated by my own hands.

In the liquor cabinet sat his favorite—Macallan 25.

I took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured every drop of that dark golden liquid down the stainless steel sink.

I walked into the study, opened the hidden safe, and pulled out a plain titanium card with no markings on it.

Six months ago, at a secret auction in Vienna, the director of the Salk Institute had found me.

"Ms. Costa," he'd said back then, "your hands-on experience with nerve agent metabolism far surpasses any of our theoretical researchers. Chicago's businesses are wasting your talent. Come to Switzerland—we'll give you your own lab, an unlimited budget, and complete freedom."

At the time, all I could think about was the wedding. I turned him down.

Now I turned on the encrypted satellite phone and dialed the only number on the card.

Three rings later, the line connected.

"Tell the director I'm accepting the position. Under the terms he originally offered."

I let out a breath. Everything was in place. Just one last spark, and I was done.

I opened the desk drawer and started writing my formal declaration of severance from the family.

Early the next morning, I walked into Consigliere Luca's office with the signed document.

"Elena, have a seat." Uncle Luca was smoking a cigar. He gestured for me to sit. "The Elders have already signed off on the ceremony changes. The family will give you appropriate compensation—"

"Uncle Luca, I don't want compensation." I placed the parchment on his wide mahogany desk. "I'm here because I need you to stamp this with the family seal."

Uncle Luca put down his cigar, picked up the document, and scanned it.

"Declaration of severance?!" He shot up from his chair, the leather swivel bumping into the bookcase behind him with a dull thud. "Elena, you're leaving the family? You're leaving Vincent?!"

In a world where blood and loyalty were the iron law, voluntarily severing ties with the core family was practically a declaration of war—an act of betrayal.

And the family I was leaving happened to be Vincent Rossi's.

"My signature's already on it." My voice didn't waver. "All I need is your seal of confirmation."

Uncle Luca came around the desk, trying to talk me down. "Kid, you're still upset about the wedding? Vincent—he has his reasons. Sofia's father just died, the situation's complicated. Giving her the title was the quickest way to stabilize things. But that doesn't mean he doesn't value you! You're the one he truly loves—that'll never change!"

"Uncle Luca, please don't bother."

"But if you leave the family, you lose all protection. How many enemies out there would jump at the chance? Have you thought about that?"

"I can take care of myself. I've already accepted a position elsewhere. Once the paperwork's done, I'm leaving Chicago." My tone was steady, leaving no room for debate.

Uncle Luca looked at me for a long moment, then finally let out a heavy sigh and stamped the document.

"Kid," he said, his voice sounding older now, "I hope you don't regret this."

I left his office and went back to my apartment.

At nine that night, I was packing when the apartment door buzzed open with an electronic key card—loud and jarring.

Vincent stood in the doorway, carrying the chill of the night with him. He'd clearly come straight from some important meeting or deal—still in his tailored suit jacket.

"Elena, are you out of your mind?!"

He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed my wrist, his eyes burning with fury.

"You went to Luca and signed a severance over a wedding? Do you have any idea what that means? My fiancée walking out—that's a public announcement that I'm the kind of man who discards women! What happens to my reputation then?"

I didn't try to pull away. I just looked up at his handsome face, twisted with anger.

"So you came rushing back—not because you're worried about me, but because you're worried about your reputation. Is that it?"

Vincent's grip faltered for a split second.

"Don't change the subject!" He let go of my wrist and yanked at his tie in frustration. "Elena, I always thought you were the most reasonable, the most sensible person I knew! Sofia's family is in shambles—she has no way to protect herself! You giving up the wedding to her, letting her have the family's protection—that saves her life! Why can't you have a shred of compassion? Why do you have to be so cold and calculating?!"

"Cold and calculating?"

I looked at this man I'd once given everything for, and all I felt was how ridiculous it was.

"Vincent, if you feel you owe the Colombo family, if you feel you need to protect Sofia—fine. You want to repay a debt? Give her money. Send her protection. Give her anything real and tangible. But what did you actually do?"

My eyes dropped to the tiny family crest pin on his lapel.

"You're marrying her."

Bang!

Vincent's fist slammed into the oak cabinet beside him, sending glass ornaments crashing to the floor.

"Elena! It's just a ceremony! Once this blows over, of course you're where I'll end up!"

The room went dead silent.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I'd seen that look a thousand times before.

In my past life, after Sofia died. Every single time he mentioned her name. That same cold, distant gaze.

So it didn't matter whether Sofia was alive or dead—in his eyes, I would always be that scheming, heartless woman.

The last faint ember in my heart went out—completely.

I looked away, my voice flat.

"You're right. So from now on, we're done."