The surgery was a success. The infection was gone, but so was the baby.

I buried the miscarriage certificate deep in my medical file. I didn't want Dante to ever know about the little life that had been. It would only make me look weaker in his eyes, and it wouldn't change a thing.

At first, Dante sent a few texts.

"How are you feeling?"

"What did the doctors say?"

"Need me to arrange anything?"

I didn't reply to any of them. It wasn't about being petty. I just had nothing left to say.

On the fourth day, his message changed.

"Isabella, your silence is childish."

Sixth day:

"I know you're angry, but Seraphina really needs me. She had another nightmare last night."

Eighth day:

"You should learn to be more forgiving. Seraphina lost her brother. Her pain is greater than yours."

I stared at that message and almost laughed. Greater pain? I had lost my husband, my child, and all faith in my marriage, but in his eyes, none of it mattered next to Seraphina's bad dream.

On the tenth day, the doctor cleared me for discharge. I sent Dante a simple text: "Pick me up at 2 PM today."

He replied immediately: "Okay."

At 2 PM sharp, Dante appeared at my hospital room door. He was in a dark blue, tailored suit, looking as handsome and elegant as ever. But when he saw me, his face was a mask of shock.

"Isabella... you've lost so much weight."

I glanced at my reflection. I'd dropped ten pounds in ten days. My cheekbones were sharp, and my clothes hung off my frame.

"Hospitals do that to you," I said calmly, picking up my bag. "We can go."

"Isabella." He reached for my arm, but I subtly pulled away. "About that night... I'm sorry. I should have been there for you."

"It's fine," I said, walking toward the door. "You were right. I'm strong."

He followed me, looking like he wanted to say more, but he kept his mouth shut.

The drive home was silent. As we passed the street where I'd been attacked, I saw Dante shoot me a nervous glance. I gave no reaction. The Isabella who could be broken by a memory had died on that operating table.

"There's a family meeting tonight," he said as we neared the apartment. "The Don wants to see you. About the Eastside port project."

"I know," I said, staring out the window.

"Isabella." He stopped the car and turned to me. "Seraphina will be at the meeting with me."

I finally looked at him. "She's not a member of the family."

"But she's Luca's sister. The Don wants to meet her, to hear about her brother's last days." His tone was defensive. "It's good for her recovery, too."

"Whatever you want," I said, getting out of the car. "I'll have the reports ready."

That night, at eight o'clock, we arrived at the Don's estate. Old Don Torrino's sharp eyes scanned everyone at the long table.

Dante sat at the Don's right hand. I sat next to Dante, and Seraphina sat on his other side.

"Isabella," the Don began, "I hear you were in the hospital. Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Just an old wound acting up. It's healed now," I replied.

"Good. Then let's get to business." He looked at the files on the table. "How is the Eastside port project coming along?"

I had been running that project for six months. I knew every detail. I began my report, laying out the progress, projected earnings, and the deals we'd struck with the city.

But halfway through, Dante cut me off. "Father, the key breakthrough on this project came from Seraphina's help. Her brother Luca had deep connections at the port authority. Through Seraphina, we were able to secure those crucial permits."

I stopped talking, staring at him in disbelief.

Seraphina lowered her head modestly. "I just wanted to do something for Dante and the family. My brother always said we owed Don Torrino a debt of gratitude."

Before I could speak, Dante spoke again. "On top of that, Seraphina has helped us connect with several new investors in recent months. Her network in Europe has been very useful."

It was a complete lie.

All of it was my work, now being credited to her.

The Don's gaze turned to me, his eyes hardening. "Isabella, as the family's advisor, it seems you haven't been involved enough in these important matters."

"I..."

"Father, you can't blame Isabella," Dante continued. "She hasn't been well. Seraphina has been picking up the slack. Maybe it's time we reconsidered her role."

Reconsidered her role. He was pushing me out. He wanted to replace me with her.

I watched it all unfold with a strange sense of calm. I finally saw Dante for who he was: a man who would betray his wife for a new flame without a second thought, a man who would lie to the face of his own family.

"Then do as you see fit," I said quietly.

As we were leaving the estate, Dante said he was going to drive Seraphina back to her apartment himself.

"You go on home, Isabella," he said, avoiding my eyes. "I'll be back later."

Seraphina was holding his arm, the two of them looking for all the world like a real couple.

An hour later, I was in the home office organizing files when my phone buzzed with a text.

It was from Seraphina.

It was a picture of a tattoo design. I recognized the pattern—the intricate rose on Dante's left chest, encircling a name.

That name used to be "Isabella."

In this new design, it was "Seraphina."

Beneath the photo was a line of text: "It'll be finished tomorrow. Thanks for stepping aside, Isabella."

I stared at the picture, remembering when he got that tattoo. It was our first anniversary. He said he wanted to carve my name over his heart, to make me a part of him forever.

Now, he was erasing that "forever" for another woman.

I sent Dante a text.

[We're done.]