He started doing more and more business with Monica.

He even introduced her to his inner circle.

By the time I realized what was happening, my own allies were singing her praises.

Soren was exceptionally attentive to Monica.

Once, we had a massive fight over her family's business, which led to three months of cold silence.

I had told him, "If you want Monica, I'll walk away."

But Soren had held me and cried. He said, "You're the only one I care about."

"Monica's family is powerful. They have channels, resources. I'm just using her to make connections. We're just business partners."

"Don't overthink it, baby."

I believed him.

Looking back now, I hadn't thought about it enough.

Soren had treated me like a complete idiot.

Their "partnership" grew closer and closer, the word a convenient cover for whatever was happening between them.

And now, he had betrayed our vows for her.

I was the real fool in their perfect, golden fairy tale.

I snapped back to reality. Night had fallen, and Soren's mother, Lucia, had arrived.

Because I'd changed the codes, she was stuck outside the gate, her shrill voice cutting through the air.

"Fighting with Soren again? And you blocked his calls?"

"Don't think your little tricks can control Soren. He's a capo now, not the same street punk you could wrap around your finger."

"Are you listening to me? If you have any sense, you'll unblock his number and fix the gate right now!"

I turned off the security monitor and slipped out the back door.

If she wasn't leaving, then I would.

I needed to confirm the flight plan for my private jet.

For dinner, I went to a restaurant I used to frequent.

As if on cue, just as I pulled up, I saw a familiar black sedan.

I paused for a moment, then decided to go in anyway.

Monica was sitting in my usual spot, pressed tightly against Soren.

Her hand was on his arm as she laughed and talked with the bosses of other families.

And Soren, my fiancé, let it happen without a hint of protest.

He even poured her a glass of wine.

He saw me, but his gaze only flickered toward me before he looked away.

He was waiting for me to back down.

This time, he was wrong.

I walked past their table and headed straight for the other end of the room.

I stopped beside Darrel, the heir to another major family.

"Abby," he murmured, his voice soft, just as it had been when we first met ten years ago.

I'd been trapped in a warehouse during an attack by a rival family, certain I was going to die. It was Darrel who had charged through a storm of gunfire to carry me out on his back.

Afterward, looking at the gunshot wounds that riddled his body, I knew I owed him a debt I could never repay.

"Then don't repay it," he'd replied with an easy smile. "Just keep it. You can pay me back, little by little, down the line."

Later, in the hospital, we saw each other through the worst of the recovery.

And Soren, busy retaliating against the Moretti family, had barely found the time to visit.

Ever since, even though we rarely spoke, there was a special kind of understanding between us.

Just like now. Darrel watched me with a playful glint in his eye as he pulled out my chair.

The moment I sat down, the entire restaurant fell silent for a few seconds.

All eyes turned to us, including Soren's.

He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

He strode over, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into an empty private room.

"Abby, when are you going to drop this act?"

"I'm warning you, stop this childish act and unblock my number. Now."

"And another thing," his voice grew harsher. "Have you made a decision about Italy? I can't wait forever."

"What's so great about some frozen city in Northern Europe? Come with me to Italy. We can have everything there: power, status, wealth. Isn't that more important than your childish fantasies?"

I was forced to stare at him for a few seconds.

"Oh. I wasn't planning on contacting you again anyway."

"As for Italy," I said, meeting his gaze, "my answer is no."

Soren's face instantly darkened.

I turned to leave, but he called after me.

"Abby, don't be rash! This opportunity in Italy is once in a lifetime. Are you really going to throw it away out of spite?"

"Think carefully about the benefits of this alliance. Don't forget how you got the life you have now..."

Before he could say more, Monica appeared, cutting him off.

"Soren, everyone's waiting for you," she said, her voice soft.

Soren immediately turned to her, his expression softening instantly.

"Monica, I'm sorry. I'll be right there."

As I watched them, I finally understood.

It was perfectly clear who he valued more.

I let out a bitter laugh. To him, my refusal to go to Italy was nothing more than a childish tantrum.

I turned on my heel and walked, and by the time he registered what was happening, I was almost out of the room.

Soren's shout followed me.

"Abby, think about it! Think about what this alliance can do for you!"

I stopped at the restaurant's entrance, replaying Soren's words in my head.

So arrogant. He really thought his word was law.

He thought he could tempt me with the promise of enormous wealth.

He thought I would abandon my principles for money, for status, for some so-called "future," and follow him to Italy like a puppy.

He was dreaming.

If I cared about those things, I wouldn't have rejected old Don Moretti's proposal three years ago.

That old man had promised me control over the entire East Coast art market if I married him.

What would I have needed Soren for then?

He knew exactly how I felt but chose to ignore it. And I was tired of trying to explain.

After all, he found placating me to be a huge hassle, and I found explaining myself to him just as tiresome.

Thank God I had finally woken up.

Back in the restaurant, Darrel noticed my expression and insisted on taking me to his private art gallery.

"You need to clear your head," he said softly, his eyes gentle.

I nodded and followed him out of that suffocating place.

I could finally breathe a little.

At least here, no one was trying to manipulate me with promises of what I stood to gain.

The gallery was quiet. Darrel walked with me past each painting.

"Are all of these from your collection?"

"Some of them," Darrel said, stopping in front of an abstract piece. "Others are on consignment from friends."

"You know about art?"

"Not an expert. But I know what's good."

He turned to look at me, his gaze serious.

"Like your work. I've seen it. There's a real tension to it."

It was the first time anyone had described my paintings that way.

Not "beautiful," not "talented," but "tension."

We spent two hours in the gallery.

Darrel didn't ask me a single question about Soren, nor did he show the slightest curiosity.

He just quietly looked at the art with me, occasionally exchanging thoughts on a piece.

For the first time in a long time, I felt truly respected.

But as we were leaving the gallery, we ran into a grim-faced Soren.

He looked at Darrel, his eyes hostile.

I knew he was jealous.

But I had no desire to explain myself.

I treated him as if he were thin air.

As I headed for the parking lot, I overheard his conversation with Marco.

"Boss, what's with Abby? Does she think she's grown wings?"

"Women," Soren's voice was laced with impatience. "They're all like this."

"She's being a pain in the ass right now, but she'll come around."

"How can you be so sure?"

"What's she going to do without me? Paint?" Soren sneered. "Without my protection, she wouldn't last a day in this world."

"Besides, the opportunities in Italy... she won't be able to resist."

"Women are practical. Once she really thinks it through, she'll be on that plane to Italy."

He still saw me that way.

Soren spotted me and quickly sent Marco away.

"Your conversation," I said, looking him straight in the eye, "was fascinating."

Soren cornered me against a wall.

"I'm sorry, what I just said..."

"It was honest," I cut him off. "You finally said what you really think."

"Abby, that's not what I meant."

He reached out to touch my face, but I pulled away.

"Are you coming with me to Italy or not? Just answer me that," he asked again, as if certain I would eventually break.

"Our future is in Italy now, not Northern Europe. Do you finally understand that?"

"It's crystal clear."

"Good." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I knew you'd understand."

"The opportunity in Italy is incredible. The Rosetti family's power..."

"What I've realized is that we don't have a future."

The smile froze on Soren's face.

"What?"

"You heard me."

I turned to walk away, and he tried to grab me.

But Monica's voice rang out from behind him.

Perfect. Her arrival gave me the perfect excuse to leave.

"Soren, I've been waiting for you forever," she whined, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Monica, what are you doing here?" Soren immediately turned to her.

"I was worried about you."

Monica linked her arm through Soren's, then looked at me.

"Abby, I'm so sorry. I know you might be upset, but..."

"But the family business has to come first."

"I hope you can understand."

She put a hand on my arm, stopping me as I tried to leave.

"After all, we both just want what's best for Soren, right?"

I looked at Monica. Her words were utterly ridiculous.

"If you're not happy, I can pull out of this alliance."

A flash of triumph flickered in Monica's eyes before it was masked by a look of wounded innocence.

"I truly don't want to ruin your relationship. If my presence is making you uncomfortable, I can have my family cancel the partnership with Soren."

"I can even cut off all contact with him, if it will give you peace of mind."

Her voice trembled as if she were on the verge of tears.

What a performance.

Seeing Monica's tears, Soren immediately grew protective, shielding her behind him.

"Abby, that's enough!"

"Monica is doing this for us. How can you treat her like this?"

"She's willing to back out of the alliance for you. What more do you want?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the scene before me.

"What do I want?"

"Do you really think this is what keeping a professional distance looks like?"

Soren's expression turned ugly.

"What's not professional? We're just business partners."

"Do business partners need to be that close?"

"Abby, stop being so unreasonable," Soren snapped.

"You're the one who told me to get close to Monica's family, and now you're complaining that we are?"

"What the hell do you want?"

I stared at him for a few seconds.

"Just marry her."

"What did you say?" Soren looked at me, confused.

"That way, you can officially become the Don of a major family."

"Isn't that what you really want?"

With that, I turned and walked away.

Soren called my name from behind, but I ignored him.

Back home, I poured myself a glass of red wine and opened my phone.

I found myself scrolling through my phone, my thumb stopping on Monica's latest post.

A group of people was on a luxury yacht, playing some drunken party game. She had been chosen and had to kiss anyone present.

Monica's gaze swept over to Soren, but he didn't move for a long moment.

"Soren, you're the one I know best here."

"Whoa, Princess Monica, what are we, invisible?"

As the catcalls and whistles grew louder, Monica's face turned redder and redder. She tried to explain, flustered, tears welling in her eyes.

Soren remained frozen in his seat.

"If Soren doesn't want to, I'll just take the forfeit and drink."

She closed her eyes and reached for a bottle of champagne.

Suddenly, a hand shot out and stopped her.

"You're allergic to alcohol. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I have to complete the game or take the penalty."

Looking at Monica, Soren lifted her chin.

"You couldn't have picked someone else?"

"No."

Fighting through her shyness, Monica grabbed the collar of Soren's shirt, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

And this time, Soren went from hesitating to actively deepening the kiss, his hand wrapping around her waist.

"Hell yeah, Boss!"

The cheers and laughter around them grew louder, but a white-hot pain seared through my chest.

Even though I had told myself I didn't care anymore, seeing that still hurt.

So, he knew I was angry because of Monica, yet he made no effort to comfort me.

After more than a decade together, tearing him out of my heart was excruciating.

At 11:50 PM, a small pebble hit the window of my art studio.

It was our old private signal.

But it had been years since Soren had the patience for little games like this.

For a second, I felt a dizzying sense that we were teenagers again.

I leaned out to look. Standing below was Soren, the same man who had been wrapped around Monica just hours ago.

He sounded desperate.

"Abby... stop this. Be good... Our future is in Italy..."

"Italy... it's beautiful there... When we get there, I'll take you to see the Colosseum..."

"Open the door. Let's talk this through."