The day I found out I was carrying an heir, I thought my life was finally about to change for the better. But on that very same day, my husband Dante's personal courier, Viviana, posted a photo of her baby bump on Instagram.

The caption read: [As long as you're loved, you can still be a beautiful girl—even when you're pregnant!] The words were sweet, almost poetic, but they felt like a deliberate provocation.

In the photo, she wore nothing but delicate lace lingerie, her body pressed intimately against Dante's chest as they took a selfie together. His hand rested casually on her bare, rounded belly, as if it belonged there.

What caught my eye the most was his hand. On his finger was a wedding ring identical to mine, gleaming under the light as if mocking me.

I stared at the image for a long moment before typing a single comment: [Congrats.]

Just seconds after I posted it, my phone rang. Viviana's name flashed on the screen.

Her voice came through hurried and panicked. She apologized over and over, saying she had posted the picture out of anger after a fight with her boyfriend. She claimed it was all a misunderstanding.

Before I could respond, Dante's voice cut in sharply. He had taken the phone from her.

"You can't have a baby, so now you're losing your mind because someone else is pregnant?" he snapped. "No wonder you can't conceive with that kind of jealousy."

His words were cold and cruel, leaving no room for explanation.

Five minutes later, Viviana posted again. This time, her caption read: [Soon, I'll have two strong men protecting me!]

And almost instantly, Dante liked the post.

My fingers went to the fine chain at my throat, pressing the warm metal into my skin until it hurt. Then I took off my wedding ring quietly. Without hesitation, I tossed it over the wrought-iron railing of the estate terrace, watching it disappear into the darkness of the hedgerow below. Then I turned and walked back toward the clinic to schedule an abortion.

That night, for once, Dante came home before nine. I heard the front gate buzz, heard the soldiers' low voices acknowledge him, heard his shoes cross the marble foyer the way they always did, each step carrying the weight of a man who owned every room he entered.

He noticed the fertility medications I had thrown into the trash. His brows furrowed as he glanced at them, then at me. "Throwing a tantrum over something so small?"

I kept my voice calm and steady. "I'm not angry."

He let out a mocking laugh, clearly unconvinced. "You threw away your fertility meds, and you're telling me you're not mad?"

"Do whatever you want," he added carelessly. "But don't forget, you're the desperate one here, not me."

I was just about to take out my pregnancy report, to show him the truth he refused to see, when he handed me a dark shoebox.

"This is from Viv," he said casually. "She's young, she doesn't know better. She got scared when she saw you upset and said something stupid about abortion."

"She wanted to send you something as an apology."

He opened the box for me. Inside was a pair of YSL heels.

But it only took one glance for me to realize the truth. These were clearly Viviana's old shoes. The soles were worn down, and the paint on the heels was chipped in several places.

"Take them," Dante said. "They weren't cheap, and she barely wore them."

"She's only been around a short time, she doesn't have much money. Giving these to you really hurt her."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

Just thirty minutes before he got home, Viviana had posted another update. She was showing off a brand-new pair of Chanel sandals, smiling brightly.

The caption read: "To the best boss in the world! Thanks for your obvious favoritism—it gives me the confidence to show off!"

When I didn't reach out to take the shoes, Dante's expression darkened immediately. The room seemed to lose a degree of warmth. Even the distant sound of the soldiers murmuring outside the study went quiet, as if the house itself had learned to read his moods.

"Serena, what's your problem?" he snapped. "You're almost thirty, and you're still making things difficult for a young girl? Is this really necessary?"

Without warning, he threw the box at me.

It struck my forehead hard, sending a sharp pain through my head. I groaned softly, instinctively raising my hand to cover the spot as tears welled up in my eyes.

Dante seemed startled for a moment. "I didn't mean to do that," he said quickly. "Let me see."

I pulled away from him, avoiding his touch. "I'm fine," I muttered.

Ignoring my words, he reached out again, prying my hand away to inspect the injury. When he saw the swelling forming, his face darkened.

"This doesn't look fine," he said. "Stay here. I'll get some ice."

Before he could move, his phone rang.

The screen lit up with a contact name that felt like a slap in itself: "Little Trouble." The name was filled with affection, intimate and unmistakable. The kind of name a man only gives a woman he lets close enough to be careless with him. In this world, that kind of closeness was its own currency.

"Dante!" Viviana's voice came through immediately.

The moment he heard her voice, especially the faint sound of her whimpering, his entire demeanor changed. He tensed, concern evident in his expression. The Don of the Moretti Family, a man who made rooms go quiet when he entered them, shifted his weight toward a phone like a soldier answering a summons.

"Viv, don't cry," he said quickly. "What's wrong?"

"I have a stomachache," she sniffled softly. "I want to go to the clinic, but I got turned around near the waterfront. I don't even know where I am…"

Dante frowned deeply. "Why didn't you call me when you decided to go? We agreed I'd have a car sent for you."

Her voice became even softer, more fragile. "I messed up again today and made Serena upset. I didn't want to bother you both…"

His tone immediately turned serious. "Viv, you're carrying a child. Nothing is more important than that."

"Send me your location. I'm coming to get you."

"No, Dante," she protested weakly. "I can get there on my own. And tonight is Serena's… you should stay with her…"

Dante chuckled lightly, almost amused. "Silly girl. One more night with her won't magically produce an heir."

"You're what matters right now. Send me your location."

He hung up and looked at me with visible impatience. "Did you hear that? Viv is worried about you, and all you do is act paranoid."

"I'm going to take her to the clinic," he added. "I'll grab some ice packs for you on the way back."

He picked up the keys to the Maserati, ready to leave without another thought. The soldier posted outside the hallway shifted at the sound of movement, waiting for a signal.

"Dante, wait," I called out.

He turned around sharply, irritation clear on his face. "Serena, can you stop this?"

"This is about two lives, hers and the baby's," he said. "Don't turn it into another jealous tantrum."

I didn't bother arguing anymore. Instead, I walked quietly to the coat closet and took out the jacket he had worn a few days ago.

From the inside pocket, I pulled out a card and held it out to him. "Viviana's clinic card. You'll need it."

Viviana never handled her own visits to the discreet family clinic. Dante always kept her card with him, right beside the estate receipts and the fold of emergency cash he carried for the Family's private physician.

For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he reached out and took it from me. "Thanks."

He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more.

But I didn't give him the chance. "Drive safe," I said calmly.

I reached up and adjusted his collar, just like I always did whenever he left the house. The gesture was familiar, almost instinctive. My fingers brushed the lapel of his overcoat the way they had a thousand times before, straightening what didn't need straightening.

But deep down, I knew this would be the last time.

For a brief moment, his expression softened, as if something inside him had shifted. He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer into his arms.

"I'll be back soon," he said quietly. "Wait for me."

I didn't wait.

After sending a brief message to Lydia Carbone to begin the separation process, I put my phone aside and went to bed earlier than usual. My fingers drifted once to the fine chain at my throat, then fell away. I didn't feel like thinking anymore, didn't want to dwell on anything that had already been decided.

In the middle of the night, the vibration of my phone pulled me out of sleep. The room was dark and quiet, and when I glanced at the time, it was already 1 a.m. As expected, the other side of the bed was still empty, cold and untouched.

I reached for my phone and unlocked it. Several new messages had come in. They were all from Viviana.

[Dante is just so hot!]

[I wanna eat him up while he's sleeping!]

There was also a photo attached.

In the picture, Dante was asleep, his head resting on a soft pink cartoon pillow. His hair was slightly messy, his expression relaxed, his lips parted just enough in a way that used to make my heart skip a beat without me even realizing it.

For a moment, I simply stared at the image, my emotions strangely distant.

When the "typing…" indicator appeared at the top of the chat, Viviana reacted quickly. She deleted the messages almost immediately, as if trying to erase the evidence.

Then she sent a playful emoji of a cat begging for forgiveness.

[Oops! I meant to send those to my bestie, but accidentally sent them to you.]

[I was just joking around, don't be mad! Dante's already asleep anyway.]

I knew exactly what she expected. She probably thought I would lose control, that I would call her in anger like I used to, demanding explanations, making a scene.

But this time, I didn't feel the urge to react at all.

Without replying, I simply blocked her. Then I put my phone down and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

Whether she was pretending or being serious didn't matter anymore. It had nothing to do with me now.

The next morning, they arrived at the counting house together.

Viviana, still playing her usual role of being fragile and delicate, suddenly stumbled as she walked, her steps unsteady as if she might fall at any moment. Her face turned pale, her expression filled with exaggerated fear.

Without hesitation, Dante rushed forward, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. He carried her straight into his office, his concern obvious and unhidden.

Viviana blushed slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned into him. But as she passed by me, she turned her head just enough to shoot me a smug, triumphant smile.

One of the other associates leaned closer to me, lowering her voice as she whispered, "Can you believe her?"

"She doesn't even know how to run a basic ledger, let alone handle real Family business. How has she been the Don's personal courier for half a year?"

She paused before adding carefully, "Do you think… he's actually into her?"

I was busy replying to messages from Lydia Carbone, my attention mostly elsewhere. Without thinking too much, I simply nodded and said, "Maybe."

The word had barely left my lips when I heard Dante's voice behind me.

"Serena, come with me."

I turned around and found him standing right there, his expression cold and distant, his gaze unreadable.

No one in the counting house knew that we were married. Dante had always insisted on keeping the union invisible inside the operation, separating blood from business in the eyes of anyone beneath capo rank.

So to everyone else, I was just another trusted keeper of the books, nothing more.

At work, he always kept his distance from me, as if we were complete strangers.

I remembered once having a high fever, so bad that I could barely stand. I had gone to him, hoping he would at least take me to the clinic.

But he had brushed me off coldly, worried about how it would look to the others. He told me to go home and rest instead.