Selina's POV
I was a fashion designer by profession. For years, I had personally designed suits, dresses, and formalwear for Lorenzo and occasionally for his sister whenever she attended high-profile events. But the moment he made that request, I knew—deep down—that the dresses he wanted weren’t meant for his sister at all.
Keeping my voice controlled and distant, I replied, “There’s no way I can finish two dresses by tonight.”
He let out a breath, clearly annoyed. “Then when?”
I met his gaze briefly. “By tomorrow morning. I’ll need to go out and purchase the fabrics first.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. He nodded, then reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a thick stack of bills. “Use this.”
I accepted the cash, slipped it into my purse, and closed it.
Just then, his phone began ringing. Without hesitation, he answered it while already heading toward the door.
That wasn’t lost on me.
Lorenzo never answered my calls anymore. In fact, throughout the years we’d been together, I could count on one hand the number of times he had picked up when I called.
A bitter voice echoed in my mind—my own thoughts turning sharp and cruel.
He’s already letting go.
I steadied myself, inhaled deeply, then went to the bathroom to wash the heaviness off my face.
---
The following day, I was in the living room finishing a late lunch when my phone buzzed. It was a message in the WhatsApp group chat—one that included Lorenzo, Francesca, Zed, and me.
[Selina, the dresses are stunning.] Lorenzo wrote.
A second message followed almost immediately.
[They’re absolutely gorgeous! Honestly, I’d never trust myself buying something like this. I’d get ripped off in a boutique. Lorenzo insists I let you handle these things for me.] Francesca added, overflowing with praise.
So there it was.
The dresses were for her all along.
And yet he had let me believe otherwise.
I typed back a single word.
[Alright.]
A moment later, Francesca sent another message.
[I’m wearing one tonight for a friend’s gathering. You should stop by too—it’s only a few houses down, on the balcony.]
Lorenzo replied quickly.
[There’s no reason for you to come.]
I was about to mute the conversation when a private message popped up—from Francesca.
[I’m craving chicken wings. Grab some on your way here.]
I stared at the screen in disbelief.
Designing her dresses wasn’t enough—I was expected to act like her personal assistant too?
I scoffed quietly, shaking my head, but I went anyway.
---
Thirty minutes later, I stepped into the house where the party was being held. Music thundered from the speakers, people moved in clusters, drinks in hand.
I headed straight for the balcony.
Lorenzo and Francesca were seated at a table meant for four—but they were the only ones there. Their chairs were so close their shoulders nearly touched.
He was looking at her the way he used to look at me.
My footsteps caught their attention.
Lorenzo’s expression hardened instantly, his jaw tightening as though he was forcing himself to stay calm.
Francesca, on the other hand, smiled brightly. “You came.”
Lorenzo shot her a sharp look. “I told you she didn’t need to.”
Francesca lifted her hands innocently. “My fault. I asked her to bring me food.”
Lorenzo immediately reached for her hands, lowering them gently. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said softly. “Relax.”
Always her side.
Never mine.
I reminded myself why I was there.
Pulling out the folded document from my bag, I held it out. “I didn’t come for the party. I need a signature.”
He glanced at the paper, brows drawing together. “What is it?”
“It’s for a transfer,” I said evenly. “A friend of mine is moving to another syndicate to be with her partner. I’d appreciate it if you signed.”
He hesitated for a second, then took the document.
“Just sign it,” I added quietly.
Without reading a single line, he scribbled his name and shoved it back toward me.
Relief washed over me as I took it.
Freedom was finally within reach.
“That’s it?” he asked coldly. “You interrupted us for paperwork?”
“Yes,” I answered simply.
His lips curled in irritation as he turned away, clearly disgusted.
Francesca tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Your wrist tattoo—it looks exactly like the one Lorenzo used to have. He told me he had it removed months ago.”
I looked down.
The ink—Bound Forever—still marked my skin.
I glanced at his wrist. Hers was right. The matching tattoo we’d gotten five years ago was gone.
“It’s just ink,” I replied, my voice steady despite the anger burning in my chest. “You can always get one too, if you want.”
I didn’t wait for her reaction. I turned and walked away.
---
My phone rang.
It was Alec.
I answered immediately. “Hey.”
“Selina,” he said warmly. “How are you? Is Lorenzo treating you well?”
“I’m fine,” I replied softly. “How’s Mom?”
“She’s doing well,” he said, skipping past the question I hadn’t answered. “But she misses you. We all do. You told her you’d be home this week.”
“I will be,” I assured him. “Two days.”
He didn’t ask why. And I was grateful.
When the call ended, footsteps approached.
Lorenzo stood behind me.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” he said, already turning toward the stairs.
I didn’t understand why—our mansion was minutes away—but I followed.
---
I woke up alone.
The clock read 1:00 p.m.
The door opened and Lorenzo walked in, looking unusually calm.
“I prepared lunch,” he said. “Something special. Come eat.”
I said nothing, got out of bed, and followed him downstairs—already knowing that nothing about this was going to change what had been broken.
Selina's POV
Waffles were already set on two plates placed at opposite ends of the long dining table. I walked over and took the seat farthest from him, while Lorenzo settled at the other end, the distance between us feeling deliberate rather than coincidental.
He studied me for a moment before speaking.
“Why did you change the passcode on your iPad?” he asked, his gaze fixed on me.
The tablet had been a gift from him on my twenty-fifth birthday. He was the one who had chosen the original password, insisting that couples shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. I had changed it only after I found out he had been going on late-night drives with Francesca.
And yet—he was only noticing now.
“There’s no particular reason,” I replied calmly, continuing to eat.
His brows pulled together, irritation flashing across his face. His tone cooled as he said, “There’s an alliance gala tonight. You’ve always talked about attending one of these events with me. Do you want to come as my date?”
The question caught me off guard.
Ever since Francesca became his underboss, she had been the one accompanying him to every syndicate gathering. I had been relegated to attending with acquaintances or not at all. So why now?
Still, if I refused, he might start asking questions—and I wasn’t ready for him to know I was leaving.
I rose from my chair without meeting his eyes.
“Fine,” I said simply.
---
The alliance event was being held inside City Hall, an extravagant affair filled with powerful families and guarded smiles. I sat beside Lorenzo at a reserved table, surrounded by people whose names and faces meant nothing to me.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, noticing my lack of enthusiasm.
I nodded without looking at him.
Being his date felt nothing like I had once imagined. I didn’t recognize the wives of the other dons, and Lorenzo hadn’t spoken to me once since we arrived.
“Are you—” he began.
“Lorenzo!”
The voice cut him off.
We turned to see Francesca hurrying toward us, her dress perfectly tailored—my work, I noted bitterly.
She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.
“You look incredible,” he said openly, his eyes roaming over her.
She smiled and laced her fingers through his. “Thank you.”
Then she noticed me.
“Oh—Selina,” she said, releasing his hand abruptly. “I’m sorry. We’re just… used to being close.”
Before I could respond, Lorenzo spoke instead.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said to her gently.
At that moment, Don Aiden approached, pulling Lorenzo into conversation.
Suddenly, someone shouted from across the hall.
“Attack!”
Panic erupted.
People scattered, voices overlapping in fear.
Lorenzo reacted instantly—by grabbing Francesca’s hand.
“Stay with me,” he said, pulling her toward a side exit.
He didn’t reach for me.
Didn’t even look back.
Moments later, Don Aiden’s voice rang out.
“Everyone, calm down. There’s no threat. A child mistook shadows in the garden for intruders.”
The chaos slowly died down.
I watched Lorenzo reenter the hall with Francesca at his side, then glanced at my phone.
My flight was early in the morning.
I left quietly, took a cab back to the mansion, and prepared for the last night I would ever spend there.
---
The next morning, I was already seated on the plane when a sharp wave of pain hit my chest.
Then his voice—panicked, confused—rang through my thoughts.
“Selina,” Lorenzo demanded. “Why does it feel like everything between us is tearing apart? Why are you leaving? Where are you going?”
