Elena POV

I woke to the biting chill of the IV drip in my vein.

The master bedroom was dim, the air thick with tension. Dr. Ricci was packing his bag, his movements jerky and frantic. Everyone looked nervous around Dante, but Ricci looked like a man facing a firing squad.

I scanned the room. I didn't see Giulia.

Dante was standing by the window, his back to me, looking out at the sprawling lawn. He was wearing his suit, the fabric still crisp, though his tie was loosened at the collar. He didn't look like a husband keeping vigil at his sick wife's bedside. He looked like a CEO inconvenienced by a minor logistical error.

"Giulia is banned from the estate," he said, not turning around.

"Why?" My voice was little more than a dry croak.

"She was hysterical. Screaming lies. Disrespecting me in front of my men."

He turned then. His face was hewn from granite, impenetrable and cold.

"She said you're dying, Elena. Is that the new game? You pay Ricci to fake a report? You collapse in a parking lot to get my attention because I missed dinner?"

I looked at Dr. Ricci. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He focused intently on the latch of his medical bag. Dante paid his salary. Dante owned his practice. If Dante wanted the medical report to be a blank page, Ricci would burn the real one without hesitation.

"I am not playing games," I whispered.

Dante walked over to the bed. He loomed over me, stealing the remaining light from the room.

"You are malnourished. You are stressed. That is what the doctor said. You need to eat. You need to stop obsessing over Sienna."

The door clicked open.

Sienna walked in. She was wearing a cashmere sweater that cost more than my father's car, soft and pristine against her glowing skin. She held a tray of soup.

"I heard you weren't feeling well," she said. Her voice was pure syrup-sweet, cloying, and poisonous. "I told Dante we should check on you. Poor thing."

She walked to Dante's side and placed a hand on his arm. He didn't shake it off. He leaned into it slightly. A reflex. A habit.

"Get out," I said.

"Elena, be polite," Dante warned, his tone dropping an octave.

"She is a whore, Dante. She is sleeping in my house. She is carrying the child you promised me. And you bring her into my bedroom?"

Sienna's eyes welled up with instant, practiced tears. She looked at Dante, trembling perfectly.

"I was just trying to help," she sniffled. "I know she's jealous, Dante, but I didn't mean to upset her. The baby... I can feel the stress."

Dante's expression darkened. He grabbed Sienna's waist, pulling her protectively against his side.

"Enough, Elena. You are toxic. This house is supposed to be a sanctuary, and you are filling it with venom."

"My venom?" I laughed, but the sound fractured into a cough that rattled deep in my chest. "You promised me, Dante. You said, 'Wherever you are, that is my home.'"

"That was before you became this," he spat, gesturing to my frail body on the bed. "Bitter. Ungrateful."

Sienna smirked. It was quick, hidden behind Dante's shoulder, but I saw it. She looked around the room, her eyes lingering on my vanity, my wedding photo.

"It's a bit drafty in here," she said softly. "Maybe we should move her to the guest wing? It's warmer. And closer to the nurses."

She was trying to evict me from my own marriage bed.

I sat up. The adrenaline spiked through the morphine haze, giving me a fleeting burst of strength. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. I swayed, the room tilting on its axis, but I stayed upright.

I walked up to her. She widened her eyes, playing the victim to perfection.

I slapped her.

It wasn't a strong slap-I was too weak-but it was enough to leave a red mark on her perfect, powdered cheek.

"You will never be me," I hissed.

Sienna cried out, clutching her face like I had stabbed her.

Dante moved instantly. He shoved me.

He didn't mean to hurt me, perhaps. He just wanted to separate us. But I was a ghost of a woman, brittle and light. I flew back, hitting the wall hard. I slid down to the floor, gasping for air as pain exploded in my ribs.

Dante didn't check on me. He wrapped his arms around Sienna, his hands covering her stomach.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, his voice frantic. "The baby?"

"She's crazy!" Sienna sobbed into his chest. "She tried to kill the heir!"

Dante looked at me. There was no love in his eyes. Only disgust.

"Stay in this room," he ordered. "If you touch her again, Elena, I will forget who you are."

Elena POV

He led her downstairs. I could hear him soothing her, his voice vibrating through the floorboards like a cruel lullaby.

I dragged myself up using the nightstand. My shoulder throbbed where I had hit the wall, but the physical pain was a mercy, a distraction from the fact that my heart had just stopped beating.

He had shoved me. To protect her.

I walked to the mirror. I looked like a corpse already. Pale skin, dark circles, collarbones protruding like coat hangers. How did he not see it? How did he look at this skeletal version of his wife and see only "jealousy"?

The answer was simple: because he stopped looking at me a long time ago.

I changed into a black dress. I applied makeup to hide the yellow tint of my skin. I had errands to run.

I walked out the side door. The guards let me pass; they didn't care where the barren wife went, so long as I wasn't in the way.

I went to a photo studio downtown. I needed a portrait. A final image for the funeral service, so people would remember Elena, not the ghost I had become.

The photographer was kind. He told me to smile. I tried, but the expression didn't reach my eyes.

As I was picking up the proofs an hour later, the bell above the door chimed.

Dante walked in. He was holding Sienna's hand.

They froze. I froze.

Of all the places in the city, fate had to choose this one, I thought bitterly.

"Are you following us?" Dante asked. His voice was low, dangerous. "We are here for a maternity shoot."

I clutched the large envelope to my chest. "No. I'm leaving."

Sienna stepped forward. She looked glowing. Pregnant. Victorious. She saw the logo on my envelope.

"Modeling photos, Elena?" She laughed. "A bit late for a career change, isn't it? You look... tired."

She reached out and snatched the envelope before I could react.

"Give it back," I said, panic rising in my throat.

Dante stepped between us, blocking me. "What is it? Evidence? Are you documenting us?"

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was iron. It hurt.

"Show me," he demanded.

Sienna ripped the envelope open. She pulled out the 8x10 photo.

It was black and white. Me, in a black dress, looking serene and final. It was unmistakably a memorial portrait.

Sienna's smile faltered for a second, then twisted into something cruel.

"Oh my god," she said, feigning shock. "Is this a suicide threat? Dante, look. She's planning something to ruin the baby's arrival. She wants attention."

Dante looked at the photo, then at me. He looked unsettled, haunted even, but he quickly masked it with anger.

"Is this your leverage?" he asked. "You threaten to kill yourself? You think that will make me come back?"

I snatched the photo back. The frame shattered on the floor. Glass scattered everywhere.

"I just want to see you regret this," I whispered.

Dante sneered. He kicked a piece of the broken frame away.

"If you want to die, Elena, then die. Stop threatening it. It's pathetic."

He turned his back on me. "Come, Sienna. We'll find another studio. This one smells like desperation."

I watched them leave. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, amidst the broken glass and the black-and-white face of a woman who was already gone.

A stranger, a woman waiting for her passport photos, ran over to help me.

"He doesn't love you anymore, honey," she whispered, helping me up.

I pushed her away. I didn't need a stranger to tell me the news.

I walked out onto the street. It was raining. I didn't open my umbrella. I just walked.

I took two painkillers from my purse and swallowed them dry.

Dante used to beg me to take aspirin when I had a headache. He used to kiss my forehead and bring me water.

Now he had told me to hurry up and die.

Elena POV

The text arrived the next morning.

I won. I'm taking everything.

Attached was a photo. It was a small, white house with blue shutters on the outskirts of the city.

My heart stopped.

The Safe House.

It wasn't a mansion. It was a two-bedroom cottage we had purchased when Dante was just a soldier. It was where we hid when the feds were raiding the city. It was where we had painted the nursery pink three years ago, before the miscarriages, before the doctors told us "never."

It was the only place that was truly ours.

I drove there, breaking every speed limit.

When I skidded into the driveway, I saw the dumpster.

It was full of drywall. Pink drywall.

No.

I ran inside. The front door was wide open, hanging off its hinges. A crew of contractors was tearing down the walls. The living room was gutted. The window seat, where we used to sit and dream about the future, was smashed to pieces.

"Stop!" I screamed. "Stop it!"

The foreman looked at me, bored. "Orders from the Don, lady. Full gut renovation."

I called Dante. He answered on the first ring.

"Why?" I screamed into the phone. "Why the house? You have five estates!"

"Sienna likes the location," he said calmly. "It's secluded. Good for the baby."

"It's my house! It's our memories!"

"It's a building, Elena. And it's in my name."

He hung up.

I sat in the rubble for five hours. I watched the shadows lengthen until the sun died.

Night fell. Headlights swept across the driveway. Dante's black SUV pulled up.

He got out, looking impeccable in a tailored suit that contrasted sharply with the dust and debris. Sienna followed, wrapping a coat protectively around her belly.

She looked at the gutted house and smiled. It was a smile of pure malice.

"It's a bit of a fixer-upper," she said, stepping delicately over a piece of broken trim. "But the nursery will be huge once we knock down that wall."

She pointed to the wall of the room that was supposed to be mine.

Dante stood there, watching me sitting on a pile of debris.

"You look insane, Elena," he said. "Go home."

"You are erasing me," I said, my voice hollow.

"I am renovating a property," he corrected coldly.

I stood up. I walked over to Sienna. She flinched, hiding behind Dante.

"You are trash," I told her. "You are living in my leftovers."

Sienna gasped. "Dante, she's scaring me."

Dante stepped forward, his chest hitting mine. He was a wall of muscle and heat.

"Get in your car, Elena. Or I will have my men drag you."

I looked up at him. I looked for the boy I loved. He wasn't there.

"Is the house just trash to you?" I asked. "Like me?"

He looked at the ruins of our first home. He didn't blink.

"It's just wood and brick," he said. "Stop being sentimental. It's weak."

Sienna pulled a checkbook from her bag.

"I can pay you for the furniture we threw out," she offered. "If you need the money."

I lunged.

Dante caught me easily. He twisted my arm behind my back with practiced efficiency.

"Enough!" he roared.

He shoved me toward my car.

"Go back to the estate. Wait for the divorce papers. I'm done with this."

He turned back to Sienna, checking her hands, checking her face, treating her like fine china while treating me like the garbage on the floor.

Every piece of you will be erased, Sienna texted me as I drove away.

I returned to the main estate, where the silence was deafening.

I called a removal company.

"I want it all gone," I told them. "The clothes. The furniture. The photos. Everything that proves I lived here."

They worked through the night. By dawn, the master bedroom was empty. The closet was bare.

I took the photo albums from the safe. Our wedding. Our trips to Italy. The candid shots of him sleeping.

I threw them into the fireplace.

I lit the match.

I watched our history curl up, blacken, and turn to ash.

I lay down on the bare wooden floor. The house was as empty as my marriage. The pain in my body was sharp, but the pain in my soul was gone.

There was nothing left to break.

Elena Vitiello was dead. I was simply waiting for my body to catch up.