I was a brilliant artist.

But I crushed my right hand saving my mafia husband, Vincent, and my ability to create died with it for three years.

Vincent promised he'd make me whole again.

Our private doctor swore he was doing everything he could.

But my hand remained numb, useless.

Then, one day, I overheard a conversation that shattered my world.

"Make sure she can never create again," Vincent told the doctor. "I can't have Isabella threatening Sophia's place in the art world!"

"But, Mr. Torrino, another procedure might... she could lose the hand for good."

"I don't care what happens to her! Sophia saved my life. I will not let her down!"

It turned out my husband was the one who had destroyed me.

And the assassin, Sophia, was the woman he truly loved.

He let her claim my designs, turning her into the art world’s new darling while I was trapped in a broken body.

When I confronted him, pregnant with our child, he slapped me in public and told the world I was losing my mind.

That night, I burned everything that bound me to him.

Then I dialed an encrypted number I hadn't used in what felt like a lifetime.

"Grandpa. In three days, I need to disappear."

I'd ruined my right hand saving my mafia husband, Vincent. For three years, I couldn't create.

And I just found out it was all a trap—one he'd set for me, to protect his true love, Sophia.

"The procedure was a success. Mrs. Torrino's nerve damage has almost fully healed."

Leaning against the cool hallway wall outside my husband’s study, I heard the voice of our private physician, Dr. Martinez.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Three years.

Could I finally create again?

"What?" Vincent's voice was sharp, laced with shock. "What do you mean, healed?"

"Well, sir, I've been administering a saline placebo as you asked, no actual treatment. But her body seems to be healing on its own..."

"You idiot!" Vincent hissed, his voice a low, furious snarl. "I told you to make sure she could never create again. What the hell did you do?"

My blood ran cold.

My hand...

Vincent... he did this on purpose.

"Boss, her nerve damage was treatable from the start. But Miss Sophia insisted..."

"Enough!" Vincent cut him off. "Find a way to ruin her hand again, and do it now! I can't have Isabella threatening Sophia's place in the art world!"

Dr. Martinez's voice trembled. "Boss, if we attempt another procedure, Mrs. Torrino might suffer permanent paralysis... or worse."

"I don't care what happens to her! Sophia saved my life. I will not let her down!"

I clamped a hand over my mouth, choking back a sob.

For three years, I believed it was a tragic accident.

It was all a meticulously crafted lie.

Sophia, the deadly assassin always at his side...

After they left, I slipped back into the study.

I knew the code to his safe—our wedding anniversary.

The irony was a bitter pill.

The moment the safe clicked open, the air left my lungs.

On the top shelf sat a dozen photos of Sophia.

A close-up of the serpent tattoo coiling on her back. Pictures of her posing with various weapons.

A photo of her at an art gala, wearing a gown I designed, smiling for an interview.

Every photo was meticulously dated, starting ten years ago.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the file at the very bottom.

A medical report.

"Isabella Torrino: Nerve Damage Treatment Protocol"

It stated clearly: Patient's initial nerve damage is fully reparable.

However, per Mr. Vincent Torrino's directive, a placebo treatment will be administered to ensure permanent functional impairment.

I collapsed to the floor, the report fluttering from my hand.

For three years, I had cried myself to sleep, hating my own weakness, hating that I couldn't create.

And he, the husband I loved more than life itself, was the one who had destroyed me.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and furious, but I wiped them away with a vicious swipe.

This wasn’t the time for grief.

It was time for answers.

I quietly put everything back, my movements stiff with newfound purpose.

Vincent had already told me he was taking me to an auction tonight.

I changed into a black evening gown and waited for him to come for me.

...

"And now for tonight's main event, lot number 37," the auctioneer's voice boomed. "A sculpture design by the brilliant artist Sophia Martinez, titled 'Rebirth.'"

My skin went cold.

The design on the massive screen was mine.

My work from three years ago.

Every line, every curve, was the result of countless nights I'd poured my soul into.

"That's my design," I hissed, grabbing Vincent's arm. "Vincent, that's my work."

He shook my hand off, his eyes like chips of ice. "Isabella, don't be ridiculous."

""Look closer! The signature—that flourish on the ‘A’ is my trademark. And the filigree on the angel’s wing… that’s my technique. No one else does that. My voice rose, drawing stares.

Sophia walked over, a mask of perfect concern on her face. "Isabella, I know it's been painful for you, not being able to create, but..."

"Shut up!" I lunged at her. "That's mine! You're a thief!"

Crack!

The sound of Vincent's hand striking my face echoed in the sudden silence.

A hush fell over the entire auction house.

Every powerful figure in the room was staring.

"That's enough, Isabella!" Vincent's eyes were filled with pure disgust. "Shut your mouth."

My cheek burned, tears blurring my vision. "Vincent..."

"Sophia is a hero to this family. If you dare insult her again, don't think for a second I'll remember we're married." He turned to the crowd. "My wife... hasn't been herself lately. Please excuse her outburst."

Muffled laughter.

Mocking whispers from every corner.

I felt like I'd been stripped naked for the world to see.

I fled to the restroom.

A moment later, Sophia strolled in, touching up her lipstick in the mirror.

"You know, Isabella," she said, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection, a vicious smile on her lips, "that mission three years ago? I could have easily tackled you out of the way."

A chill shot down my spine.

"What are you talking about?"

"But I chose not to," she purred, turning to face me. "I let the bullet find your hand. A career-ending injury for you, a flesh wound for me to play the hero."

"You're insane..."

"Insane? No, I'm crystal clear." Sophia stepped closer, her laugh low and cruel.

"To this day, Vincent thinks I was the one who saved him in that church. I know it was you. But you'll never get the chance to tell him."

My knees buckled.

The church... that rainy night fifteen years ago...

The little boy, covered in blood...

"Do you get it now?" Sophia caressed my stinging cheek. "He loves the woman who saved him. And right now, that woman is me."

I shoved her away and fled, their pitying looks and mocking whispers burning my back like a brand.

I went back to our mansion.

Vincent didn't come home until late.

He was off comforting the "wronged" Sophia, I was sure.

Thinking about the pain, my art, my life—all stolen by her—my heart turned to ash.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the encrypted number.

"Grandpa, I need to disappear in three days," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I need everyone to believe Isabella Torrino is dead."

The second I hung up, a voice cut through the darkness behind me.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you still up?"

The hairs on my neck stood on end.

But when Vincent walked toward me, his eyes held a rare, calculated gentleness.

I kept my face a placid mask.

"Couldn't sleep."

He sat beside me, reaching out to pull me into his arms.

"I went too far tonight." Vincent kissed my forehead. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that in front of everyone."

"It's fine," I said, gently pushing him away. "I understand you have to protect the family's image."

"No," he insisted, taking my hand. "Isabella, you're important to me. More important than anyone."

More important than anyone?

Including Sophia?

"I got you something." Vincent pulled a velvet box from his pocket.

Inside was a diamond necklace that could buy a house.

"Vincent, this is too much..."

"Try it on." He fastened it around my neck himself. "My wife deserves the best."

In the mirror, the diamonds glittered, cold against my skin.

My heart was colder.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," he murmured against my hair. "I know how much those designs meant to you. But your hand… it's over. For the sake of peace in this family, just let them go."

There it was.

The real reason for this show of affection.

"Tonight is just for us," he said, leading me toward the bathroom. "I've neglected you."

"You've been busy. I understand." My body trembled with revulsion, but I let him lead me.

"No, it's my fault." Vincent turned to face me as steam filled the room. "Isabella, I love you. I want you to know that."

He said it with such sincerity, it would have made me weep if I didn't know the truth.

"I love you too," I managed, the words tasting like poison.

He turned on the shower, warm water cascading over us.

"Remember our first time in here?" he asked, his eyes soft with memory. "You were so nervous you could barely let go."

"I remember."

Back then, I thought I'd found my soulmate.

How naive I was.

"Isabella, no matter what happens, I will always protect you," he stroked my face. "You're my wife. No one can hurt you."

Except you, I thought, a silent, bitter laugh catching in my throat.

I fought back the bile and let him have his way with me one last time.

The next day was Don Antonio's 80th birthday party at the family estate.

All the core members of the family were there.

I wore the gown Vincent had chosen and played the part of the dutiful wife on his arm.

"Isabella, you look stunning," the old Don said, kissing my hand. "Vincent is a lucky man."

"Thank you, Godfather."

Halfway through the party, I excused myself.

As I passed the study, I heard Vincent's voice.

"Godfather, how is Sophia?"

"She's four months along, the baby is healthy," Don Antonio replied. "When are you planning to deal with the Isabella situation?"

My heart stopped.

"I'll make Isabella disappear after Sophia gives birth," Vincent said, his voice quiet but laced with deadly resolve. "Then I'll make Sophia the true Mrs. Torrino."

"And the other child?"

"Sophia's child will be my heir," Vincent said without a flicker of hesitation. "As for Isabella... she's served her purpose."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

This cold, ruthless man was the same one who had whispered lies of love to me just last night.

So that's all I was.

A placeholder.

A tool to be discarded.

And Sophia... pregnant with his child.

He didn’t know my own plan was already in motion.

Just two more days, I thought, a sliver of ice forming around my heart.

Just two more days.

The yacht party after the main event was Vincent's favorite way to entertain.

The family yacht cruised across the dark, choppy waters of Lake Michigan.

I stood alone at the stern, watching the city lights recede.

"Isabella, what are you doing out here?"

Sophia appeared behind me, wearing a tight dress that did little to hide the slight curve of her belly.

I can't believe I didn't see it before.

"Enjoying the view," I said, not turning to face her.

She came to stand beside me.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” She leaned against the railing, then pretended to stumble. “Whoa, careful. This railing’s a bit loose.”

As she said it, she grabbed my arm.

"Help! Isabella is trying to jump!" she screamed, her voice piercing the night.

Before I could react, she shoved me with all her strength.

The icy water swallowed me whole.

I broke the surface, gasping, and saw Sophia had "accidentally" fallen in too.

"Vincent! Help us!" she thrashed, a perfect damsel in distress.

Vincent and the others rushed to the deck. "Get them out of there!" he roared.

He dove in, but he swam straight for Sophia.

"Sophia! I've got you!" he yelled, pulling her into a tight embrace. "It's okay, I'm here!"

I was less than thirty feet away, screaming his name. "Vincent! Help me!"

He didn't even look back.

A lifeboat eventually pulled all three of us out.

Vincent held Sophia tightly, his face frantic with worry.

"Is the baby okay? Are you hurt?" he demanded of the private doctor.

"We need to get her to a hospital."

"Turn the boat around! Back to the harbor, now!" Vincent commanded.

No one asked if I was okay.

No one cared that I had almost drowned.

In Vincent's world, only Sophia and her baby mattered.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a VIP hospital room.

A nurse left after checking my vitals.

I kept my eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness, and listened.

"Sophia and the baby are both fine, but she needs rest," the doctor said from the hallway.

"Thank God," Vincent breathed. "Give her the best care, whatever it takes."

"And Mrs. Torrino? She swallowed a lot of water, she has a mild lung infection..."

"She'll live," Vincent cut him off impatiently. "Focus on Sophia."

A pause.

"Mr. Torrino, there's something else about Mrs. Torrino's condition."

"What is it?"

"She's pregnant. About twelve weeks along."

The world went silent.

I opened my eyes, my hand flying to my flat stomach in disbelief.

A baby.

Our baby.

"Are you sure?" Vincent's voice trembled.

"Positive. Congratulations, sir."

Another long silence.

Then, his voice returned, cold as the grave.

"After the child is born, I want her gone."

"Sir?" The doctor sounded shocked.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Vincent's voice was lethal.

"Once that baby is delivered, handle the situation. Make Isabella Torrino disappear."