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.

When I came around, I was in a hospital bed. A dull ache in my abdomen, exactly like that night.

My first day in federal holding, I'd gotten into it with a guard. I won the fight. The price was blood soaking through my clothes, down my legs. The doctor who examined me afterward didn't waste words. "You miscarried." That was the first moment I knew I'd been pregnant.

The baby, like everything between me and Victor, was there and gone. The three years that followed, I survived only because the Moretti name still carried weight inside. Victor never came once. He sent letters through intermediaries, explaining that any mention of me sent Sophia into a spiral, so he had to write in secret.

I touched the flat of my stomach.

“Baby, you're better off. Your father doesn't love your mother.”

Victor's frantic voice cut through.

"Delora! Delora!"

I opened my eyes slowly. He was cradling my face in both hands. "Baby, you're finally awake. You scared the hell out of me. If anything had happened to you, I would've held this entire hospital responsible."

Would you? The thought surfaced on its own. If I told him about the baby, would he actually take responsibility?

But he kissed me before I could finish the thought, pressing his lips to mine. "Delora, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. From here on out, whatever it is, I'm on your side. I choose you."

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Don Caruso, the invoice needs your signature."

After he stepped out, a woman drifted in. The patient tag on her wrist read: Room 311, Sophia Romano.

My first time seeing her in person.

She was pale, very thin, with dry and dull hair, the kind of face men read as tragic and beautiful. Her eyes were too big for her face, and I imagined she looked helpless to anyone who wanted to see it. She gripped an IV pole with one hand, her eyes red.

"You must be Delora," she said quietly. "I should thank you. But I won't. You used your father's power to steal Victor from me. Everything you've ever done for me, you owe me."

I felt my stomach turn. She really was Victor's type, right down to the performative fragility.

"If you weren't in the picture," Sophia continued, "Victor and I would've been fine."

I looked at her. "Really? I was gone for three years. Did that work out for you?"

Her face twisted with fury. "Don't think being a Moretti makes you untouchable. I'm a patient. Everyone makes allowances for me."

"People make allowances for real patients," I said. "Not for people who perform."

She snapped. She lunged forward and ripped the IV line from my hand. The needle tore free, blood sprayed from the back of my hand, and the pain shot straight to my forehead.

The door swung open. Victor, carrying a piece of chestnut cake. My favorite.

He took in the scene and was next to me in an instant, pressing his hand over mine to stop the bleeding. "Delora! What happened?"

His eyes were red as he turned on Sophia. "What did you do?! What is wrong with you!"

Sophia's enormous eyes filled with tears instantly. "Victor... I just... I only wanted to feel her hand, to see if it was cold. I'm sorry... I'm so clumsy..."

She was still talking when the sobs started.

I thought, for one second, that Victor had stood firmly by me this time. But one look at his face told me the moment Sophia cried, the restraint he'd been holding crumbled. All I could do was laugh.

Sophia's crying was the most calculated thing I'd ever heard. Even God seemed to have had enough.

A crash, and the door flew open as a man pushed inside. A black pistol pressed against Sophia's forehead. His other gun aimed at my heart.

Victor shot to his feet but held still. His guards were crowded outside the hall, just as frozen, because the man with the guns was Carlos Reyes, DEA agent, husband of the informant Sophia had killed. He was there for revenge, and no one was faster than his trigger finger.

Carlos didn't fire. He looked at Victor. "Tell me which one of them is the killer. I was told the woman who took my wife's life is in this room. I don't kill the innocent. So talk."

My stomach dropped. Sophia had blamed me for the assault, blamed me for the depression, and I'd taken the fall for the crash.

I fixed my eyes on Victor. "I'm not asking you to defend me. Just don't lie."

Sophia was already shaking, barely able to get words out. "Victor... I love you... whatever I've ever done wrong, it was for you... if you want me to die in your wife’s place, I'll do it..."

Carlos's eyes cut toward me. "So the killer is you. Correct?"

I was shaking with anger. "I am not the killer. Victor. Tell the truth."

Victor said nothing.

Carlos's patience ran out. "Say it now, or I shoot both of them."

"Don't, wait, put the gun down—"

"Shut up. Say it."

"It's Delora! It was her!"

Victor's hand was pointing at me.

"Ha... haha..."

The room went silent. My laughter was the only sound.

From the day I walked into that federal building, I had not shed one tear. Now the dam broke completely. I was drowning in it, the sheer weight of how wrong I'd been.

Victor. I, Delora Moretti, have made exactly one mistake in my life worth regretting. Loving you.

But Carlos didn't fire. He paused, something shifting in his face. Victor moved fast, grabbed Carlos's arm, and the guards poured in and stripped him of both guns.

As he was dragged out, Carlos looked back at me. His eyes said it plainly: “I know who the real killer is. God, how pitiful you are.”

Once the room was quiet again, Victor rubbed his temple and explained himself.

"Delora, I wasn't throwing you to him. It's just, if something happened to you, the Moretti and Caruso families both have grounds to take revenge. Legitimate grounds. If Sophia had been shot, I wouldn't even have a right to claim her body. She's already so damaged—"

Sophia stepped forward and looped her arm through Victor's. "You don't need to apologize," she said sweetly. "If I'd been born into a family like your wife's, I'd surely be more generous and selfless."

Everything about it turned my stomach. I leaned forward and threw up.

Victor pulled away from Sophia and rubbed my back, wiping my mouth gently. Sophia went still, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something ugly.

"I know you're shaken from what just happened," Victor murmured. "I'll get the doctor to add something mild to your drip. You can be as angry at me as you want. I'll stay right here. And if Carlos had killed you, I would've made him pay for it, and then followed you."

What a beautiful thing to say. His hands were so gentle that for a moment, if this had been before, I might have believed him again. But sincerity has a shelf life. It can't survive waiting forever.

I parted my lips. Said two words.

"Get out."

Victor didn't get angry. "Okay. If you don't want to look at me, I'll go. I'll get the doctor. Call me when you need me."

Sophia followed him to the door. On her way out, she turned and looked at me, and what was in her eyes was pure venom.