Chapter 4

Seraphina POV:

His words-low-cost placeholder-were a final, shattering blow. I finally understood the iron-clad marriage contract I'd signed. It wasn't to protect me; it was to ensure his clean, easy exit.

I decided then and there to leave this three-person tragedy. I would not be cast aside. I would walk away on my own terms.

In the days that followed, Dante was rarely home. He was never at his official businesses, yet Isabella's social media became a daily torment. Photos of them at exclusive restaurants, on private jets, at lakeside retreats. She deliberately tagged me in every single one.

The pain didn't fade. It hardened, crystallizing into a numb, cold resolve. I walked into the grand living room and took down our wedding portrait; in it, he looked stern and I looked terrified. I couldn't bear the sight of his face anymore.

I began packing the gifts he'd given me over the years-jewelry, designer bags, things meant to be seen, not felt. While searching for a box in his study, I pulled open a drawer and froze.

Inside, a pile of unopened boxes lay in perfect, mocking order, all neatly wrapped. Every birthday, every anniversary, every Christmas gift I had ever given him. A custom-made tie I'd commissioned. A leather-bound journal I'd embossed with his initials. A framed sketch of his favorite view from the estate. All of them, untouched.

The realization was a cold, final blow. My affection, my thoughts, my very existence-they were worthless to him.

His phone call came later that day.

"Isabella is having a housewarming party tonight," he said, his voice distant.

"You and I both know Isabella and I are not on good terms," I replied calmly.

There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "It was her idea to invite you. Do you need me to send a car?"

I let out a short, bitter laugh. He only remembered my existence for Isabella's sake. "No. I'll drive myself."

I arrived at Isabella's lavish new villa to find the party winding down. The air was thick with a hostility directed squarely at me. Isabella greeted me with a venomously sweet smile, while Dante barely even glanced in my direction.

I stood awkwardly, an outsider in my own life, as Isabella began to hold court, loudly mocking my simple tastes.

"Seraphina prefers common beef, you know," she said to a group of laughing guests. "I suppose you can't expect her to appreciate air-freighted wagyu. Some palates are just... low-born."

The guests roared with laughter, their eyes all on me. I felt the blood drain from my face, my skin growing cold and tight.

Suddenly, Dante's face was thunderous. He didn't look at me, but at the guests. "The De Luca family can afford anything," he stated, his voice a low threat.

It wasn't a defense of me. It was a defense of his own pride. The message was clear: You don't insult what belongs to the Don.