She pulled out her own phone and confidently dialed a number right in front of my face.

It was answered instantly. A cold male voice came through the speaker. "I'm handling family business. I'll call you back."

The call was over in two seconds. His voice had been distant, indifferent. I hadn't had time to say a word, but I knew it was Oliver.

Rosina yanked my hair, smashing her phone against my face. "Did you hear that? This is my man's number. It seems your little act wasn't very thorough!"

The diamond on her ring sliced a deep gash across my cheek. I winced, shoving her away in a burst of pain.

"Is it so unusual for him to have two numbers? Why don't you just call the number and ask?"

Seeing me fight back, Rosina’s three friends swarmed me, eager to prove their loyalty.

"You're just some whore, and you're talking like you're his wife! How dare you touch Rosina. She's going to be Mrs. Falcone. You're just asking for a beating!"

"How could you just pick some random number and claim it's Mr. Falcone's? Are you that stupid?"

"Look in the mirror. What gave you the confidence to steal someone else's man? Wait until Mr. Falcone exposes your lie. You'll regret it!"

Rosina looked down at me, a confident smirk playing on her lips. "Then go ahead, call it. Let's see how many numbers my man has."

The number saved in my phone was a private line. Oliver had created it just for me.

He was so terrified of missing a call from me that he never silenced it, not even when handling family business.

The "Amore" label had been his idea. He’d threatened to cut off my grandfather’s treatment if I didn't save it that way.

So I was sure he would answer.

Seeing my calm expression, Rosina’s face darkened. She snatched my phone and dialed the number.

I was certain that once the call connected, our relationship would be proven, and they would finally leave.

But the call didn't go through. An automated message announced the number was unreachable.

In that instant, I froze. The result left me in shock.

Rosina let out a breath of relief, now utterly convinced I was a liar. She slapped me again, hard.

Her long nails dug into my skin, leaving fiery scratches on my face. The sting was unbearable.

"Dare to dream, huh? You think you're going to be Mrs. Falcone? Who knows whose soldato's number you're calling?"

"He won't even answer your call. No wonder you're so desperate. Too bad for you, you've hit a dead end today."

Her lackeys, now certain I was just a desperate mistress, closed in on me. They were ready to make me pay.

"Rosina, teach this shameless whore a lesson so she knows her place."

"Yeah, let's show all those other cheap women out there what happens when they try to seduce Mr. Falcone!"

They pulled out their phones and started recording.

I turned my head to avoid the camera, but they yanked my hair, forcing me to face the lens as they slapped me and hurled insults.

"This bitch got plastic surgery to look like me and snuck into my boyfriend's estate, trying to get into his bed. I caught her in the act. We have to teach her a lesson! She even made a mess of the place, painting all these ugly trees. Perhaps she was hoping my man would praise her art. But she'll be the one paying to have it all stripped! Don't you know my man hates olive trees? He loves vibrant, beautiful roses! He even got angry once when I wore an olive-branch pin. And you? You filled the whole estate with them!"

Hearing this, her friends grew excited, their movements fueled by a vicious energy. They began tearing the olive trees from the garden. They crushed the new saplings under their high heels and snapped the larger branches with their bare hands.

I scrambled to my feet, desperate to stop them. "No! Don't touch my trees!"

Rosina kicked me back to the ground. She planted her heel on my stomach, pressing down hard.

The pain was so sharp I couldn't move.

She sneered. "These stupid trees aren't worth anything. If they're ruined, they're ruined. This is my man's estate; who gave you permission to act like this?"

The trees weren't valuable because of money. Oliver had planted every single one himself.

I remembered a gardener once broke a small branch while trimming. Oliver broke the man’s arm in response.

I wasn’t grieving for these cruel people, but for the olive trees. They had been my lifeline, pulling me through the darkest days of my depression.

After I watched my parents get murdered, Oliver had spent ten years planting those trees, doing anything he could to help me heal.

Now, they were being destroyed right in front of me. Watching them die was like being pushed back into that same abyss.

It didn't stop there. They went inside and threw buckets of paint against the walls, destroying all my paintings.

I was pinned to the ground, my eyes bloodshot. I felt like a fish on dry land, gasping for air.

My suffering was a stark contrast to the sinister look on Rosina's face.

I prayed Dorothy would return soon.

She drove down the mountain for fresh supplies every day, a trip that usually took an hour. By my calculations, she should be back any minute.

Just then, Rosina answered a call, her voice sharp with annoyance. "So what if your tires are slashed? It's your problem if you can't get here. Why are you even driving, you old hag?"

She hung up, but I’d recognized the frantic voice on the other end.

It was Dorothy.

Rosina had made sure she couldn't get back. Dorothy was rushing home to cook for me. Even if she walked, carrying all the groceries, it would take her hours.

I was doomed.

Rosina crouched in front of me, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Look at what you've done to my man's estate. How should I punish you for that?"

One of her friends grabbed a bucket of bright green paint. She dumped the entire thing over my head.

"If she likes to paint so much, let's give her a real masterpiece! She's so pathetic for trying to copy you, Rosina!"

The other two women added their own cruel ideas. "Does she really need a man that badly? Why not just bring a few of the soldati up here to keep her company, keep her from obsessing over other people's boyfriends?"

"That would be too easy on her! She's gonna have to pay for all this damage. Maybe we should introduce her to a few clients. She's good at seducing men, so she might just make enough money to cover it."

Rosina’s eyes stayed fixed on my face, her rage building.

Suddenly, she stood and kicked me hard in the ribs.

"How dare you try to look like me! I think I'll just take that face back, don't you think?"

A sickening crack echoed as she broke my jaw. The pain made my head spin as their laughter rang in my ears.

"And she even copied Rosina's hairstyle! Cut it off!"

"Right! She even tried to wear a simple dress like Rosina. Let's take that off her!"

I fought back, but it was three against one. They held me down, punching and kicking until the world spun and my limbs went limp.

They tore my dress from my body, leaving me naked and exposed on the cold ground.

Finally, they pulled out their phones again, laughing as they filmed my helpless state.

Rosina wasn't done. She unpinned a sharp, ornate brooch from her dress. Her grin was pure menace as she advanced on me.

"I won't allow you to use this face to chase after my man. You only have yourself to blame for being so pathetic."

She was only with Oliver because of her face. She would eliminate any threat to her position.

Her lackeys laughed nervously. "Rosina, maybe that's enough. Don't make too much of a scene. This is Mr. Falcone's estate, after all. It could cause problems for him."

Rosina scoffed. "What's the big deal? He'll take responsibility for whatever happens. It's not like I'm killing her; I'm just ruining her face! If he comes back and sees what she's done to the house, he might make things worse for her."

Reassured, the three of them pinned my arms and legs to the ground. I felt the sharp point of the brooch slice across my face. I screamed in agony. They only laughed harder at my suffering.

When the torture finally stopped, my throat was raw. I lay on the ground, too weak to even make a sound.

Rosina's eyes gleamed. "She needs a real lesson, or everyone will start copying her. I might lose my position as the future Mrs. Falcone! Since you love to imitate me so much, I'll make sure you can't anymore!"

She grabbed my hand, then picked up a small hammer from a nearby toolbox. With a wicked smile, she brought the hammer down on my wrist. Then the other.

"This is all your fault for being so greedy. Don't blame me if you can't paint anymore!"

By the time both my wrists were shattered, I couldn’t even scream.

Just as the pain threatened to pull me into unconsciousness, a car screeched to a halt. Oliver was here.

He stood frozen, his face a mask of pale fury as he took in the carnage. "What the hell are you doing? Who gave you permission to come here?"