Chapter 4

Seraphina POV:

Lorenzo takes a business call, his voice sinking to the low, commanding timbre he once reserved for deals that shaped the city's underworld. He ends the call, presses a brief, possessive kiss to Isabella's forehead, and heads for the door. "I'll be back for dinner," he says-to her, not to me.

As I turn to walk back up the grand staircase, Isabella's voice stops me. "Not so fast."

She stands at the foot of the stairs, a smug smile playing on her lips. In her hand, she holds up a single, folded document. "He signed them this morning," she says, her voice a triumphant whisper. "Slipped them into a stack of acquisition papers. He didn't even read what he was signing."

My heart doesn't break. It doesn't even shatter. It atomizes, turning to dust in my chest. Divorce papers. He'd signed them. The man who swore on his mother's grave that he would die before leaving me.

"He's ninety percent mine now, Seraphina," she gloats, her eyes glittering with malice. "It won't be long before I have him completely."

I look at her, at the raw ambition on her face, and I feel... nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. "Congratulations," I say, my voice steady.

My composure is a slap in the face. I can see it in the slight tightening of her jaw, the way her smile becomes a predatory line. This isn't the reaction she'd orchestrated.

Just as a flicker of pure venom crosses her features, the heavy front door clicks open again. It's Lorenzo. He must have forgotten his phone.

Isabella's expression shifts in an instant. She grabs my hand, her nails digging into my skin. "I'm sorry, I was wrong!" she screams, her voice filled with fake terror.

And then she shoves me. Hard.

I stagger backward, my heels finding no purchase on the polished marble. The world dissolves into a dizzying blur of chandelier and floor as I tumble down the grand staircase. I land in a crumpled heap at the bottom, a blinding, searing pain exploding in my abdomen. A warm stickiness spreads beneath me. Blood.

Isabella, in a move of pure, theatrical genius, then throws herself down the stairs, landing artfully beside my broken form with a piteous wail.

Lorenzo rushes in. His eyes, wide with panic, lock on me first, on the blood blooming on my dress. For a fraction of a second, I see a flash of the man he used to be-the man who would have burned the world down for me.

But then Isabella's staged sob shatters the moment. "She pushed me, Enzo!" she cries, clutching her arm as if it were broken. "She said she'd kill me!"

Instantly, all concern for me vanishes. He scoops her into his arms, his face a mask of frantic worry. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks her, his voice choked with emotion. Without a single backward glance, he carries Isabella out the door.

Lying in a pool of my own blood, I clutch my abdomen, the agony a white-hot nova inside me. A laugh escapes my lips-a raw, broken sound soaked in tears. He chose her. He always chooses her.

Then my world goes black.

I wake up in a sterile, white hospital room. Lorenzo is at my side, his face grim.

"Doctor," he barks as a man in a white coat enters. "Report on the baby's condition. Now."

The doctor looks confused, glancing from Lorenzo to his chart. "Sir, the baby? According to our records, Mrs. Bianchi had an abortion several days ago."

Panic, cold and absolute, seizes me. He can't find out the truth. Not like this. My hand shoots out, deliberately knocking the glass of water from the bedside table. It shatters against the floor, the sound a welcome explosion in the suffocating silence.

Lorenzo's head snaps toward me, his eyes blazing. "You aborted my child," he snarls, his voice low and lethal. "You lied to me, and then you tried to kill Isabella. You will pay for this."

"She pushed me!" I cry out, my voice raw with desperation. "She framed me! The divorce papers, the fall-it was all her! Check the security footage, Lorenzo! For once in your goddamn life, just check the tapes!"

For the first time, a flicker of doubt-small but undeniable-crosses his features. He hesitates.