I served three years in federal prison for the Don's precious Sophia, and then he suddenly fell for me.

The day he came to pick me up, he had a sapphire necklace ready, the kind I'd begged him for once and never got.

I dropped it onto the back seat without a second glance.

His expression darkened. "If you have something to say, just say it. Don't take it out on things."

I smiled. "Three years inside taught me never to keep anything valuable on me. It would only bring trouble."

He swallowed hard and pulled me close. "That's over now. You have me. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you."

I pushed him back. "Then give me my wedding ring."

I'd told him once: if the day ever came that I was leaving, I'd take that ring with me.

Three years had been more than enough to kill whatever love I had left.

Victor's brow creased. "No. Ask me for something else."

I stared out the car window and said nothing.

When I didn't answer, he tried another angle. "Come on, let the past be the past. I promise I'll do my best not to contact Sophia anymore. Okay?"

He was making an effort, just not much of one.

Three years inside, and the rival family's plant had worked me over until I lost the baby. In his mouth, all of that was just "the past."

I was about to speak when his phone started playing that song, the one I'd come to hate more than anything. My Heart Will Go On.

Three years, and he still hadn't changed her ringtone. What "not to contact" was he talking about?

He hesitated for just a second, then answered.

When he hung up, he turned to me with urgency in his eyes. "Delora, Sophia slashed her wrists. She's lost a lot of blood. The hospital's out of RH-negative stock, and I remember... that's your blood type."

I looked straight at him. "Victor. Are you actually asking me to donate blood for her? This is what 'not to contact' looks like?"

Victor took a long breath, pressing down whatever was rising in him.

"Delora, it's a human life. You've always been the reasonable one—"

"Victor." I cut him off. "What if I say no?"

He stared at me for a long time. Then, slowly, like a man reduced to prayer, he said: "Please. I'm begging you."

Something hit me hard in the chest.

Victor had once had a gun pressed to his head by my father and still wouldn't soften for me. Not once. And here he was, begging. For her.

I felt something sad wash through me, not just for him, but for myself.

"Fine." I pressed my nails into my palm. "But I have one condition."

"Name it," he said quickly. "Anything."

"Give me the ring."

His voice shot up, raw with anger he couldn't hold back. "I told you no! I'm not giving it back! Why can't you just drop this!"

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked at him calmly.

"Either you give me the ring and I donate the blood, or I walk and Sophia's on her own. Your call."

Victor's jaw was tight, his eyes hard with something close to hate.

"Fine. Take it."

He wrenched the ring off his finger and threw it at me. It hit the floor, bounced twice, and finally went still, having struggled longer than his feelings for me ever had.

The car flew down the road fast enough to turn my stomach.

At the hospital, Victor dragged me into the treatment room with a grip so hard my arm went numb. He didn't relax until he saw my blood flowing into the collection bag.

"Delora, I know you only wanted the ring back to spite me. And actually, we should get new ones anyway, to symbolize a fresh start. I'll get you something better, more expensive. We can place the custom order today. It won’t take more than a month."

I was too drained from blood loss to argue.

"...Good, you're not angry anymore. Let me go check on Sophia real quick. I'll come find you after."

Once he was gone, I reached into my pocket for the ring I'd quietly picked up off the floor. I looked at it one last time. I'd designed it myself, with our initials inscribed inside the band and the word "Forever" between them.

I laughed at myself, then dropped it in the trash.

Victor, everything you were doing for me right now was nothing but guilt. And I didn't need your guilt. I didn't need you anymore.

The whole East Coast knew I'd gone after Victor.

I bought a newly discovered planet and had it named after him, then presented it to him at the most glamorous gala of the season. When his stomach was acting up and he missed a meeting, I dropped everything and showed up at his door with soup.

He was cold to me the whole time.

He told me he was in love with someone else, a girl with no family name, no connections. Sophia. The family stood in the way of them marrying, he said, but she was the only one he'd ever want.

It hurt, but I let him go. I wished him well and moved on.

His father, though, had other ideas. He wanted Victor to marry me, because I was the Moretti heiress, after all.

I'd almost forgotten Victor entirely when he showed up at my birthday party out of nowhere. That night he drank three bottles of XO, grabbed my arm, and kept asking: "Delora, Delora, do you still love me?"

Even drunk, that face of his did things to me.

When I hesitated, he got serious. He swore that he and Sophia were done, that he'd freed her, wished her well, and that my passion had moved him in ways he hadn't expected. I decided to give him one chance to prove it.

After that night, it all fell into place: dating, proposal, engagement, wedding. Clean and natural as anything. I put Sophia out of my mind entirely.

It didn't last.

On the first day of our honeymoon, just as the plane was about to take off, his phone played that song again. My Heart Will Go On.

He stared at the screen with his thumb hovering over the reject button and couldn't bring himself to press it.

A flight attendant came over to ask him to turn off his phone.

He agonized over it for a long moment. "It's Sophia. Can I take it?"

We were seconds from wheels up. "Turn it off," I said. "Deal with it after we land."

Victor pressed his lips together and declined the call.

But the moment we touched down, his phone started up again. The same song, over and over.

I was already irritated. "Just answer it. Tell her you're on your honeymoon."

But that call changed everything.

It turned out that right as we were boarding, Sophia had been assaulted. That call was her cry for help. Victor booked the next available flight back on the spot, and he left alone, without even asking if I wanted to come with him.

It rained hard that day in Las Vegas. I dragged three suitcases to the hotel by myself, and whatever excitement I'd had was gone.

Victor stayed at the hospital with Sophia for two straight weeks without a single word to me.

When we finally reunited, he shoved a medical report in my face, barely containing the guilt in his voice. "Sophia has severe depression. It's my fault. I should've answered the phone. I owe her this." Then he turned and looked at me, a shadow of resentment in his eyes. "You owe her too."

A chill went through me. "No one owes her anything except the man who attacked her," I said carefully. "Even if you'd answered, you couldn't have stopped it."

That was all it took. Victor exploded.

"It was you! You stopped me from answering! You let this happen to her and now you stand there like it's nothing! If I'd picked up, who would've dared touch her? Who?! You're so good at avoiding blame."

Right. Who was really avoiding blame here. The facts were obvious.

I couldn't keep fighting with someone who'd lost all reason, so I went to the bedroom alone. It wasn't until I closed the door behind me that I realized I was crying, shaking, silent, blindsided by how unfair it all was.

After that, Sophia overdosed on sleeping pills. Slashed her wrists. Multiple times. Every time, Victor was the one who rushed to her, stayed with her, took care of her. There was nothing I could do to stop him from going to "save a life," and everyone decided Sophia's breakdown was my fault.

Then one time he was gone for three days straight and missed a meeting my father had arranged. Because of him, I embarrassed the family.

That night I sat him down for a serious talk. "Victor, all nightmares must come to an end."

Victor smoked in his study all night. The next morning he told me: "I told her I'm done. I won't go back."

I nodded. "I can arrange a private doctor for her."

He laughed, cold. "Let's hope you actually mean that."

I held my tongue, swallowed my pride, and tried to prove something. Yet I failed again, for Sophia had lost control.

My doctor had been treating Sophia for a month when she had an episode behind the wheel and crashed into a woman near the Moretti estate. The woman turned out to be a DEA informant who'd been watching our family.

That night, Victor came home and threw a stack of files in my face.

"Look what you did."

His anger over Sophia's treatment had become routine.

I picked up the pages and sorted them one by one. "The doctor said she'd been making progress. She shouldn't have crashed like that. Maybe she was... drinking..."

Victor sneered. "Here we go again. More blame-dodging."

"I can't believe I ended things with her for you. You're a vicious woman."

His cold indifference cut into me like a blade, slicing through everything I'd once felt for him.

My eyes burned. "Victor, wake up. If I actually wanted to hurt her, it'd be easier than stepping on an ant."

He scoffed. "Of course you wouldn't dare. My father nearly had her killed for opposing our marriage back then, and you knew I had people protecting her. You think I don't know how badly you want her gone?"

At our engagement, he'd held my hands and told me he'd never met anyone as radiant, as genuinely alive, as me. Now he was accusing me of wanting to commit murder.

"You hate her, you're jealous of her, you resent her—"

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt it on my face. I couldn't take any more.

"I have never wished Sophia harm. I respected your past with her. I've put up with all of this because I love you, Victor. What do I have to do for you to stop making her suffering my fault?"

Victor's throat moved. A long silence. Then he spoke.

"Someone has to answer for this accident."

"Delora, if you really haven't done anything to hurt Sophia, then help her. Take the fall. Tell them you were the one driving. No one will touch you. She gets to walk away."

I couldn't move. I hadn't expected him to ask me that.

Sophia had hit a federal informant. The DA's office wanted someone, and they'd made it clear: no low-level pawns. Senators were staying out of it. As the Moretti heiress, if I confessed, it would be worse for me than it would ever be for someone as fragile as Sophia.

He saw me go quiet and kept going. "Sophia's too vulnerable. The DEA will use her to get to the whole family. I can't let that happen." He looked at me with the same warmth that used to mean something, trying to hold me in place with it. "I trust you, Delora. You're the Donna. This is your responsibility."

Yes. Responsibility.

He was responsible for Sophia's illness. And I was responsible for Sophia's crimes, apparently. The reason he'd married me in the first place was because he was supposed to, not because he wanted to.

I had a responsibility too: to myself, for loving the wrong man.

I cut him off mid-speech. With great effort, I nodded.

"Fine. I'll confess. But remember, I'm not doing this for Sophia. I'm doing it for you and me."

Victor didn't understand what I meant at the time. I didn't explain. I walked into the DEA's building and didn't look back.

Three years followed. The memories came faster and heavier until I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred, and then everything went dark.