I fumbled for the edge of the table, trying to pull myself up. Lucian’s hand had just started to reach for me when Cassandra suddenly clutched her chest, her face turning ashen.

"Lucian... my heart... it hurts..."

Lucian’s hand, which had been reaching for me, instantly changed course. He swept Cassandra into his arms and stormed out without a backward glance, leaving a single, cold command in his wake: "Clean this up."

I watched him vanish through the door, the blood from my forehead dripping into my eye, stinging it crimson.

I should be used to this by now.

But the dull ache in my chest was as heavy and blunt as ever.

When I woke up, a doctor was standing over me. "The gash on your forehead is deep. It's going to leave a scar."

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

A scar. I'd stopped caring about scars a long time ago.

I gently placed a hand on my lower abdomen. Not long ago, a life had briefly blossomed there.

From outside the door, I heard Cassandra's voice, a victor's coy complaint.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and glanced at the security monitor. As long as she was okay.

"You know how I feel... I go abroad for a few years, and I come back to find you married."

Lucian's voice was a low rumble. "Cassandra, I am married to Rory."

"So what? Can you spend a lifetime with her?" Cassandra purred, moving closer. "Does she know the difference between a Bordeaux and a Burgundy? Can she sit beside you at the Met? Lucian, the woman doesn't even know how to properly accessorize."

"Lucian, she doesn't belong in your world."

Lucian was silent for a long, heavy moment—long enough for my heart to freeze over, shard by painful shard.

He let out a soft sigh. "...Even if you're right."

His words were cut short.

Cassandra stood on her toes and kissed him. He didn't push her away.

The kiss deepened, and on the monitor, the air itself seemed to crackle with heat.

I switched off the screen, my face devoid of all expression.

Just as I did, I heard the door open behind me, followed by Lucian’s sharp intake of breath. "Rory!"

I didn't turn back.

He wouldn't follow. I knew he wouldn't.

Over the years, he'd abandoned me for Cassandra time and time again. I was numb to it. Or I was supposed to be.

Memories flooded back.

I remembered that first year in New York. A girl from Montana, here to study design, a complete misfit. A wild deer lost in a concrete jungle.

Until one day, I was cornered in an alley by a rival family's Soldato. It was Lucian who pulled me out of there. That day, that man was seared into my heart.

But I knew he had a Principessa for a fiancée—Cassandra. I never dared to dream.

Later, my parents came to visit and were in a car accident. My father, a journalist chasing a dark conspiracy, died at the scene. My mother woke up to a terminal diagnosis.

And Lucian… he silently handled everything. The best hospitals, the top specialists—he arranged it all. My love for him spiraled, growing more frantic by the day.

The night of my graduation party, he drank himself into a stupor. That was the night I learned Cassandra had flown abroad.

He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. "Rory, marry me."

I nodded.

In that moment, I thought I had grasped salvation. Only now did I see how wrong I was.

I dragged myself to the ICU next door. Three years of marriage, three years my mother has been wasting away in this bed.

Holding her frail hand, I whispered, "Just ten more days. After the surgery, we'll go back to Montana."

A doctor approached. "The donor's information is confidential. You cannot contact them directly."

"I understand," I said, my head bowed. "I won't."

I smoothed my mother's white hair. "When you're better, I'll take you to our own ranch. There are horses, prairies... you'll love it."

My mother's fingers twitched, her lips moved. "What about... Lucian..."

I smiled, but tears streamed down my face.

"Mom," I whispered. "I've made my choice. I'm done with him."

For years, whenever I was on the verge of shattering, I would come to her room and talk.

On her lucid days, she would stroke my hair. "My daughter," she'd say, "my wild Montana mustang. You can't be penned up like this. If you can't take it, just come home."

But I always shook my head.

I always thought if I just waited, just endured a little longer, Lucian would eventually carve out a small place for me in his heart.

Until Cassandra came back.

He was in a family meeting when he took a call and bolted, all because someone at a party had made a pass at her. When I followed, I saw him truly furious for the first time, completely out of control.

Then, a few days ago, Cassandra fell, crying that I had pushed her. Lucian didn't even bother to hear my side before throwing me into that godforsaken estate.

The memory of those days and nights made my body tremble.

Now, I didn't care about any of it.

Except for my mother.

When I returned to the Cianci residence, I was surprised to find Lucian in the kitchen.

He was awkwardly microwaving takeout pasta. Seeing me, he thrust the plate at me, his expression guarded.

"You're too thin."

I took a bite in silence.

He suddenly began to explain. "Cassandra's heart was acting up. That's why I took her to the hospital."

I nodded. "Mm, I understand."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Understand? Rory, is that all you know how to say now?"

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed. "You've been on edge ever since you came back. First, you push her, then you shield her. What the hell is your game, Rory?"

"I'm warning you, her health is fragile. Don't try anything."

My face was impassive. "Lucian, I'm not playing a game. I've simply accepted reality."

He was about to say more when the doorbell rang.

Cassandra stood on the doorstep in a designer suit, a brilliant smile on her face. "Lucian, there's a yacht party. Are you coming with me?"

"Cassandra, you're not a child anymore," Lucian frowned. "I can make the introductions, but you have to make your own way. I can't hold your hand through everything."

Cassandra didn't bristle. Her gaze slid past him and landed on me. "Rory, you should treat yourself to a facial. I can see the stress lines around your eyes from here."

Her voice was sickly sweet. "A woman can't keep a man just by throwing tantrums. You have to take care of yourself."

My heart felt like a barren, windswept wasteland.

Not long after she left, Lucian's phone began to buzz furiously on the counter.

He answered, and Cassandra's drunken, tearful voice crackled through the speaker.

"Lucian, I'm on 'The Siren'... That producer, he... you have to come, quickly..."