Chapter 2

Seraphina POV:

For the next two days, Ethan was a ghost. He sent flowers-three dozen white roses, funeral flowers-but he didn't come. Dr. Gallo told me he was overseeing Isabella's recovery. Ensuring his "investment," as he'd called my kidney, was taking root in its new host. The thought made bile rise in my throat.

On the third day, I was discharged. Not to our home, but to a sterile suite at one of Ethan's luxury hotels. A gilded cage. He claimed it was for my "peace and quiet." I knew it was to keep me out of the way while Isabella recuperated in my bed.

I was supposed to be resting, but my mind was a whirlwind of logistics. I spent hours on a burner phone, speaking in code to a contact Dante Moretti had provided. We were moving pieces on a chessboard Ethan didn't even know we were playing on. Severing accounts, creating new identities, transferring assets he thought were untouchable. My assets. The ones I had built.

A week later, Ethan decided it was time for my public unveiling. He'd orchestrated a grand reopening of the art gallery I owned and curated, a legitimate business that was one of the cornerstones of Costello Innovations. It was meant to be a surprise, a grand gesture to show the world-and me-that all was well.

I stood in the center of the gallery, a glass of champagne untouched in my hand, wearing a backless black dress that did little to hide the fresh, angry scar on my side. This gallery represented four years of my work-my soul-hung on these pristine white walls. Ethan moved through the crowd, all charm and charisma, his hand possessively on the small of my back. He was performing, and he expected me to be his co-star.

"Isn't she a marvel?" he said to a city councilman, his voice booming with false pride. "Goes through a major health crisis and comes out more beautiful than ever."

I smiled, a brittle, empty thing.

Just as he was about to make a toast, a commotion started near the entrance. One of Ethan's capos rushed to his side, whispering frantically in his ear. I saw the flash of panic in Ethan's eyes before he masked it.

"Isabella," the capo said, just loud enough for me to hear. "She's having a panic attack. She says she can't breathe."

Without a second glance at me, without a word of apology to our guests, Ethan turned and strode toward the door. He left me standing there, alone in the center of the room, under the glare of a hundred pairs of eyes. The toast he was about to make died on his lips. The public humiliation was a physical blow, stripping the air from my lungs. He had abandoned me, his wife, at my own event, for her. In front of everyone.

I watched him go, and I felt nothing. The part of me that would have been hurt was gone, cauterized by his betrayal. All that remained was a cold, clear purpose.

I didn't stay. I walked out the back entrance, got into a car Dante had waiting for me, and went home. To the house that was no longer mine.

For the next hour, I was a storm of quiet destruction. I went into our walk-in closet and systematically removed every trace of my existence. My clothes, my shoes, my jewelry-all packed into suitcases. I took down our photos, leaving blank spaces on the walls. I erased myself from his life, room by room.

Then I went to my office. I logged into the Costello Innovations server and typed out my resignation. Effective immediately. I stripped myself of the title of COO, the position I had earned and bled for.

An hour later, Ethan stormed in, his face a mask of thunder. "What the hell was that? You humiliated me!"

"You humiliated yourself," I said calmly, closing a suitcase.

He stared at the luggage, then at the bare walls, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "What is this? A tantrum? Are you trying to get my attention? You want a bigger budget for the gallery? A new car? Name your price, Sera."

His complete inability to understand what was happening was staggering. He truly believed my loyalty, my very being, could be bought and sold. He thought this was a negotiation.

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from a gossip blog one of my contacts monitored. A picture had just been posted. It was a candid shot of Ethan outside the hotel where Isabella was staying. He was holding her, her head tucked against his chest, his expression one of tender concern. The caption read: "Don Costello comforts his fragile companion after a health scare."

My companion. My event. My life.

Just then, Dr. Gallo called Ethan's phone. I could hear the urgency in his voice even from across the room. "Ethan, we have a problem. You have another bleed. It's internal. You need a transfusion, now. We need Seraphina."

My blood. Of course. My rare blood type wasn't just a perfect match for Isabella. It was a perfect match for him. I'd given him my blood more times than I could count over the years, especially after the ambush.

He looked at me, his arrogance returning. The crisis had put him back in control. He thought he had me. He thought my decade of sacrifice was an unbreakable chain.

And in that moment, I knew what I had to do. The old me, the loyal me, would have rushed to his side without a second thought. But she was dead.

I looked at him, my expression unreadable. "Fine."

I let them take my blood. I sat there, the needle in my arm, watching my life force drain away to save the man who had gutted me. And as I watched, a profound, soul-deep exhaustion settled over me. It wasn't anger anymore. It was just... tiredness. A weariness that went all the way to my bones.

Dr. Gallo watched me, his eyes filled with a sad, pitying guilt. "You're a good woman, Seraphina," he murmured as he removed the needle.

"No," I said, my voice flat. "I was a loyal one. There's a difference."

I stood up, my head slightly light, and walked past Ethan without looking at him. This was the last time. The last piece of myself I would ever give him.