I refused to cower.

The next day, I went to the gallery as usual.

Aria sauntered in around noon.

She moved through the space like she owned it, carelessly dragging her fingertips across the sculptures, leaving smudges of oil on the patina.

"Bennett told me you fled early last night," she said, examining a bronze bust. "He was very upset. He came over to my place to burn off that frustration."

She watched me, waiting for a reaction, her eyes glinting with malice.

I continued typing on my laptop, refusing to look up. "The price of that piece is twelve thousand. If you break it, you buy it."

"Bennett buys everything for me," she sneered. "You know that."

"He buys things for his mistresses, yes. It's a tax write-off."

Aria's face twisted into a mask of ugly rage.

"You think you're better than me because you have a ring?" she spat. "He doesn't love you. He pities you."

I stood up, walking around the desk to confront her.

"Get out of my gallery, Aria."

"Or what?" she challenged, stepping closer. "You'll call your husband? He won't pick up for you."

Suddenly, a sickening metallic groan echoed from the ceiling.

We both looked up.

The massive, suspended kinetic sculpture-a heavy arrangement of interlocking steel beams-was swaying violently. One of the support cables had snapped.

"Move!" I shouted.

I lunged forward.

At the same moment, the front door burst open.

Bennett.

He had come to check on me, or maybe to intercept Aria. Whatever his reason, he froze.

He saw the sculpture shearing loose.

He saw us both standing in the impact zone.

Time seemed to fracture and slow.

He had a choice.

He was closer to me. He could have reached out and pulled me to safety.

But he didn't look at me.

His eyes locked on Aria.

"No!" he roared.

He sprinted past me, tackling Aria to the ground, shielding her body with his own.

The steel beam crashed down with the force of a guillotine.

It missed them by feet.

It didn't miss me.

The edge of the sculpture clipped my shoulder with bone-crushing force and sent me flying into a glass display case.

The world exploded into shards.

I hit the floor hard, pain white-hot and blinding, radiating through my arm and side.

I lay there, stunned, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Through the high-pitched ringing in my ears, I heard Bennett's voice.

"Aria! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He was frantically checking her, his hands running over her face, her arms, desperate to find a scratch.

She was crying, clinging to him. "My baby! Is the baby okay?"

"It's okay, I've got you," he soothed, his voice trembling. "I've got you."

I lay in the wreckage of my life, bleeding onto the pristine white marble floor.

He hadn't even looked at me yet.

A security guard ran over to me, his face ashen. "Mrs. Vitale! Oh my god. Call an ambulance!"

Only then did Bennett turn his head.

He saw me lying amidst the jagged glass.

His face went pale.

"Kelsey?"

He stood up, helping Aria up first, making sure she was steady before he finally walked over to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking down at me.

He didn't kneel.

He stood there, anchored to the spot, still holding Aria's hand.

"I'm fine," I whispered, though my arm felt like it was on fire.

"I have to take Aria to the hospital," he said, his eyes darting away from my blood. "The stress... the baby."

"Go," I said.

"The ambulance is coming for you," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't a monster. "I'll meet you there."

He turned and led Aria out of the gallery.

He left me bleeding on the floor.

Later, in the hospital room, my arm was stitched up and in a sling.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table.

It was a photo from Aria.

It was a picture of Bennett holding a cup of soup, blowing on it to cool it down.

He's taking such good care of us. Don't worry about him.

I stared at the photo. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn.

The nurse came in to check my vitals.

"Is your husband coming to pick you up, honey?" she asked kindly.

I looked at the empty chair beside my bed.

I looked at the phone.

I looked at the nurse with dry, clear eyes.

"No," I said. "I don't have a husband anymore."

The following morning, Bennett walked into our penthouse.

I was perched on the sofa, staring blankly at the panoramic view of the city sprawled out beneath us.

My arm was cradled in a sling, a throbbing reminder of the previous night.

He stopped abruptly when he saw me. For a split second, a flash of guilt fractured his expression, but he quickly plastered over it with his usual veneer of arrogance.

"I came to the hospital, but they said you checked yourself out," he said, his voice tight.

"I took a cab," I replied flatly.

He walked over, placing a long velvet box on the coffee table between us.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he said, smoothing his suit jacket. "It was chaotic. I had to make sure the heir was safe. You understand."

Heir.

Not child.

Heir.

"Open it," he urged, gesturing to the box.

I didn't move.

"It's a necklace," he said, when I remained silent. "Sapphires. To match your eyes."

"I don't want it," I said.

He frowned, irritation creeping in. "Don't be childish, Kelsey. It cost a fortune."

"I don't want your money, Bennett. And I don't want your apologies."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you're upset. But Aria... she's carrying a Vitale. My father expects me to protect that child above all else."

"And what about your wife?" I asked quietly.

"You are my wife," he said, as if that single fact settled everything. "You have the name. You have the status. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

He glared at me, his patience thinning. "You're being unreasonable. I'm trying to make this work."

"You're trying to buy my silence."

"It's the same thing," he snapped.

He started to say more, but his phone rang.

It was the special ringtone.

The crisis line.

He snatched it out of his pocket instantly.

"What?" he barked into the receiver.

He listened, his face draining of color with every passing second.

"The Russos?" he hissed. "How did they know about the shipment?"

He began to pace the room, his agitation growing.

"If the Don finds out we lost that territory... yes. Yes, I'll handle it."

He hung up, looking frantic.

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door. "There's a situation."

"The Russos are moving on the Jersey ports," I said.

He stopped dead, looking at me in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I pay attention, Bennett. Unlike you."

He hesitated, torn between the crisis and me. "Look, this is big. If I don't fix this, my position is at risk. I need you to be supportive right now. I can't deal with drama at home."

"Go," I said, my voice hollow. "Save your empire."

He nodded, relieved to be dismissed. "We'll talk later. I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll protect us."

He grabbed his keys and rushed out the door.

I waited until the elevator doors dinged shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, I stood up.

I walked to the mantle and picked up the expensive vase he had bought me for our second anniversary.

I held it for a moment, feeling its cold, smooth surface.

Then, I opened my hand.

I dropped it on the floor.

The crash was satisfying, a sharp explosion of sound that signaled the end.

I went to the bedroom and pulled out the boxes I had packed while he was with Aria.

I called the moving company I had scheduled.

"You can come up now," I said.

I looked at my phone.

A text from Bennett: Don't worry. I'll protect us.

I looked at the velvet box on the table.

I laughed.

It was a dry, hollow sound that echoed in the empty apartment.

"There is no us, Bennett," I whispered to the silence.

I took off my wedding ring.

I placed it deliberately on top of the velvet box.

And then I walked out the door, leaving the keys on the counter.

I didn't look back.

Bennett left for the sit-down with the Russos draped in a suit that cost more than my father's annual salary.

He kissed me on the forehead before he walked out the door.

It was a perfunctory press of lips.

A kiss of distraction.

It was the kiss of a man already thinking about the blood he was going to spill.

Or the woman he was doing it for.

His Consigliere had begged him not to go.

He warned him that it was a trap. He insisted the Russos were baiting him, using his ego against him.

But Bennett didn't listen.

He wasn't going to that meeting to secure the ports.

He was going to prove to Aria that he was the king of this concrete jungle, capable of burning down the world just to keep her safe.

I stood by the window, watching his motorcade snake through the rainy streets like a funeral procession.

I felt nothing.

No fear.

No worry.

Just a dull, rhythmic thumping in my chest that reminded me I was still alive.

Aria found me an hour later in the library.

She didn't knock.

She sauntered in, pouring herself a drink from Bennett's crystal decanter as if she already owned the house.

"He's going to kill them all," she said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "For me."

"He's going to get himself killed," I said, turning a page of my book without reading a single word.

"That's the point, isn't it?"

She sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, swinging her legs with childish delight.

"He loves me enough to die for me, Kelsey. Does he love you that much?"

I looked up at her.

She looked triumphant.

But beneath the gloating, I saw something else.

Calculation.

"You don't love him," I said quietly. "You love what he can do for you."

Aria laughed.

It was a sharp, brittle sound that shattered the quiet of the room.

"Love is for fairy tales and fools," she said. "I love that he pays my brother's debts. I love that no one looks at me like trash anymore because I have the Vitale name protecting me. Bennett is a tool. A very sharp, very useful tool."

She leaned forward, her eyes glittering with malice.

"And I know how to wield him. I cry, he kills. I bleed, he burns cities. What do you do, Kelsey? You just sit there and fade."

My throat felt tight.

Not with tears, but with the sheer weight of the truth.

She was right.

I was fading.

And Bennett was letting it happen because he was too busy being her weapon.

The phone on the desk rang.

It was the secure line.

Aria's face lit up. She snatched the receiver before I could even shift in my chair.

"Bennett?" she breathed.

She listened for a second, and then her smile twisted into something cruel.

She looked at me.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no."

She hung up the phone.

She didn't look sad.

She looked excited, fueled by the sudden rush of chaos.

"That was a soldier," she said. "Bennett walked into an ambush. They say he's down. Critical."

My cell phone started ringing in my pocket.

It was Bennett's personal number.

Probably a soldier calling the next of kin.

Calling the wife.

Aria watched me, challenging me to break, to scream, to rush to the hospital and play the grieving widow.

I looked at the screen.

"Husband" flashing in white letters against a black background.

I thought about the contract hidden in the archives.

I thought about the scarf left in the lounge.

I thought about Aria's words. He is a tool.

I pressed the red button.

I declined the call.

Aria's eyes widened in genuine shock.

"He might be dying," she whispered.

"I know," I said.

I placed the phone face down on the table.

"If he dies, he dies for you, Aria. You can go hold his hand."

I walked out of the library, leaving the silence heavy and suffocating behind me.

For the first time in years, I felt light.