Chapter 1 Chapter 1

To the world, I'm Sophia Romano—the family's wild, radiant princess. Vincent is the mafia heir—stoic, controlled, the very picture of restraint. But every night, he grips my waist, fucking me until my legs go weak while whispering my name over and over: "Principessa." He just doesn't know that in two weeks, I'm marrying someone else. The sheets are still damp with our shared heat. I lie in bed, catching my breath as Vincent rises to dress. From my side of the bed, I watch his long fingers deftly buttoning his shirt. "Not staying tonight?" I ask. "Family meeting," he says without turning. "Be good." That again. I sit up, letting the sheet pool around my waist. Vincent's hands pause for a moment before he moves to knot his tie. "Vincent.""Hmm?""Nothing." He turns, leans down, and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm leaving." The moment the door clicks shut, I snatch my phone and dial a familiar number. "Father, I accept the marriage alliance. In two weeks, I'll marry the dying Sterling heir in Boston. But I have one condition." On the other end of the line, Don Romano sounds ecstatic. "Good! Name it!""We'll talk in person." I hang up, and my eyes fall on the phone Vincent left on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a new message. From: Isabella Vincent, thanks for coming with me to the hospital today. The doctor said my recovery is going well, and it's all because of you. I'd love to see a movie with you tomorrow, just like old times. It's followed by a kissing emoji. I stare at the message, my fingertips trembling. Vincent has never taken me to the hospital. Not even when I broke a rib during training. I get dressed and discreetly follow his car. He pulls up to a cozy Italian restaurant on Mott Street. From a distance, I watch him stride toward a girl in a white dress. Isabella. She's even thinner than she appears in photos. Vincent reaches out, tucking a windswept strand of hair behind her ear. He touches her as if she's made of porcelain, liable to shatter at any moment. I've never seen him look so gentle, except when we're in bed. Three years ago, my father sent me to Vincent. The sight of his handsome, cold face made my knees weak. "Sophia needs a proper education in how our family operates," Don Romano had told Vincent. "She's too wild. You're the only one who can handle her." I was nineteen then, fresh out of boarding school and brimming with rebellion. I thought Vincent was just another man trying to tame me. So I decided I would tame him first. The first time we met, I wore a miniskirt to his office just to provoke him. Vincent sat behind his desk and didn't even bother to look up. "Close your legs, Sophia.""Why?""Because the way you're sitting suggests the Romano family lacks class." I deliberately hiked my skirt higher. "How about now?" Vincent finally looked up, his eyes cold behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "Get out." For months, I did everything I could to get under his skin. I slipped flirtatious notes into his files, sabotaged missions he assigned, and even put a laxative in his whiskey. Vincent always cleaned up my messes with infuriating calm, then told me in that patronizing tone, "Sophia, you're a smart girl. You need to apply that intelligence to the right things." Until that night. I drugged his drink, desperate to see what a Vincent without his iron control would look like. I just didn't expect to still be in the room when the drug took hold. Vincent pinned my wrists, his breathing heavy and ragged. "What did you put in my drink?""You've already guessed, haven't you?" I met his searing gaze. "Want to try me?" That night changed everything. When I woke the next morning, Vincent was already dressed. I thought he'd be furious, that he'd send me back to my father. "Vincent, I—""Principessa," he murmured, stroking my cheek. "This will be our secret." Principessa. Little princess. That was the word that made me fall completely. For the next two years, we maintained this strange, clandestine relationship. By day, he was the same composed, rational Vincent. But at night, he'd whisper "Principessa" in my ear and fuck me until my legs gave out. I thought he loved me. Until my birthday. I'd spent the entire day preparing, put on my most beautiful dress, and booked a table at the restaurant where we first met. I was going to tell him I loved him, that I wanted to be with him, no matter the cost. But Vincent never showed up. I sat alone in that restaurant for three hours, until even the waiters started to look at me with pity. The next day, photos of Vincent greeting another woman at the airport went viral. In the pictures, Isabella was nestled in his arms, the two of them as intimate as lovers. So that’s where he'd been last night. He'd gone to pick her up. I laughed bitterly and drank until I couldn't feel anything. I wanted to confront him, to demand to know what I was to him. A fuck buddy? A tool? But I didn't have the courage. I was too lonely, too addicted to the warmth he offered. That night, Vincent came home to find a wreck. I'd used a wine bottle to smash every single picture of Isabella in his study. He didn't even flinch. He just instructed the maid to clean up the mess and take care of me, then walked right past me. In that moment, I finally understood. Vincent was the family heir—untouchable, cold, and proud. His tolerance wasn't a sign of affection. He simply couldn't be bothered to argue with me. After that, he still called me Principessa in bed, as if nothing had changed. But my heart was already dead. Outside the restaurant, Vincent opened the car door for Isabella. They were laughing about something. I looked away and drove back to the Romano family estate. In the living room, Don Romano and my stepmother, Maria, were watching TV. When I walked in, my father turned it off. "Alright, what's your condition?" I sat on the sofa opposite them. "I want you to disown me." Don Romano's expression froze. "What did you say?" Maria, sitting beside him, practically lit up. "I said, I'll marry the Sterling family's dying heir. In exchange, we sever all ties. From this moment on, I am no longer a Romano. You can welcome your mistress and your bastard daughter into this home with open arms. The day you staged the car crash that killed my mother, I stopped wanting you as a father anyway!" Don Romano's face turned ashen. "I told you, that crash was an accident!" I met his gaze and sneered. "Accident or not, she died on her way to find you cheating with Maria. Dad, let's stop pretending we're a happy family. You've been trying to sell me to the Sterlings for five months. Isn't it just so your precious mistress can finally marry into the family, so your bastard daughter can finally take the Romano name?" Don Romano shot to his feet. "Sophia, you want to be disowned? Fine! As of tomorrow, you are no longer my daughter!""Deal," I said, turning to head upstairs. "Oh, and don't forget to inform the Sterling family. Their bride is no longer the eldest daughter of the Romano family, but a parentless orphan. Ask them if they're still willing to pay the same price." Back in my room, I shut the door, and the mask I wore finally crumbled. Tears streamed down my face. I curled up on the bed, a wounded animal licking its wounds. Do you know, Vincent? To finally leave you, I had to give up the only thing I had left. The next morning, I heard the sounds of furniture being moved downstairs. I rose and walked to the landing of the staircase. A familiar figure stood at the bottom. Isabella. My blood ran cold.

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Isabella stood at the bottom of the stairs in a simple white dress, the picture of fragile innocence. She spotted me, and a brilliant smile spread across her face. "You must be Sophia. I'm Isabella. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." I didn't answer, just stared down at her. Don Romano emerged from the living room. Seeing Isabella, a rare look of paternal affection crossed his features. "Isabella, you must be tired from your journey. Have Sophia show you to your room.""Thank you, Uncle Romano," Isabella replied sweetly. "Take Sophia's room. It gets the best light, perfect for your recovery," Don Romano announced. I turned to him. "My room?""From now on, it's Isabella's room. You can move to the third floor. There's an empty guest room up there." A cold laugh escaped my lips. "No, thanks." I went back upstairs and began to pack. Thirty minutes later, I was dragging my suitcase down the stairs. Don Romano saw my luggage and frowned. "Where do you think you're going?""I'm leaving," I said without looking back. "Since I'm no longer a Romano, there's no reason for me to stay here.""Sophia!" he yelled after me. "Your wedding is in two weeks! Don't be ridiculous!""I know." I pulled the door open. "I'll be at the wedding to fulfill our agreement." The door slammed shut behind me. I drove away from the Romano estate without a second glance. My first stop was the most expensive hotel in Manhattan—The Plaza. "I'd like your most expensive suite," I told the concierge. "For how many nights?""Two weeks. " When I paid, I used the supplementary credit card Don Romano had given me. It had a five-million-dollar limit that I had rarely touched. Today, I was going to max it out. Once in the suite, I immediately began my revenge spending. I contacted Vera Wang's private couturier and ordered three bespoke wedding gowns, each worth a hundred thousand dollars. Then I bought ten sets of high jewelry and two limited-edition Rolexes. In a single day, I spent nearly four million dollars. Soon enough, Don Romano's call came through. "Sophia! Are you out of your mind? You spent four million in one day!""What's wrong?" I asked, lounging on the hotel's plush leather sofa. "I'm being shipped off to Boston. A girl has to make a good impression.""You need to spend that much to make an impression?""Of course," I said, sipping my champagne. "I'm marrying the heir to the Sterling family. I can't look cheap, can I? Besides, the Sterlings are paying five hundred million for this alliance. A few million is pocket change.""You..." Don Romano was sputtering with rage. "Father—oh, wait, I should call you Mr. Romano now," I laughed. "You already disowned me, so it's not right for me to spend your money. How about this: as soon as the alliance funds arrive, I'll pay you back immediately." I hung up and continued my shopping spree. My plan was simple: drain the Romano family's liquid assets before the alliance money came through. Then, the five hundred million would go directly into my account. If Don Romano wanted it, he'd have to come begging. Let's see if he'd still favor that mother and daughter then. Just as I was about to make my final round of purchases, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Vincent. "You haven't been to the compound in three days. Is something wrong?" I stared at the message, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. But I quickly composed myself. Vincent just hated it when his orders were disobeyed. That's all this was. I replied: "Family stuff. It'll be sorted out in a few days." Vincent didn't write back. The next morning, as I was heading out to continue my sartorial assault, the hotel concierge stopped me. "Miss Romano, I'm terribly sorry, but your account has been frozen. You cannot continue to charge to your room.""What do you mean?""You'll need to settle your bill immediately, or..." He paused delicately. "We'll have to ask you to leave." An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk outside The Plaza with my luggage. Penniless and homeless. I couldn't bring myself to sell the luxury goods I'd bought. I needed them as my armor for Boston. I thought about calling a friend, but then I realized I didn't have any. The people who flocked around me were only there for the Romano family's power and influence. Now that I'd been cast out, who would bother with me? As dusk fell, I dragged my suitcase aimlessly through the streets. Finally, I found an empty bench in Central Park and sat down. The night grew deep. The park was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic. I hugged my knees, counting down the five days until the wedding. I couldn't live on the streets until then. As I worried, a few drunk men staggered toward me. "Hey, beautiful. All alone?" one of them slurred, reeking of cheap booze. I stood up warily. "Stay away from me.""Don't be like that," the man said, reaching for me. "C'mon, have a drink with us." I stepped back, but the bench blocked my escape. Just then, a low, menacing voice cut through the air. "She's with me." I turned. Vincent was stepping out of the shadows, his face a thunderous mask of fury. The drunks took one look at his imposing presence and scrambled away. Vincent strode toward me, his gaze taking in my suitcases, then the bench. "Homeless, and you still won't come to me?"

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Vincent drove me back to his mansion in Manhattan. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the passing neon lights, a gaping void in my chest. "We're here." Vincent parked the car and walked around to open my door. Why was it always like this? He didn't love me, but he slept with me, and he was still so damn considerate. A lump formed in my throat. I got out of the car and followed him, dragging my suitcase behind me. I knew this house all too well. Every corner held a memory of our bodies tangled together. Vincent reached for my suitcase, about to take it to my usual bedroom. "Don't," I said, heading straight for a guest room. "I'm only staying for twelve days. This is fine." Vincent stopped in his tracks. "You can stay as long as you want." I put my suitcase in the guest room and closed the door. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Twelve more days, and I would leave New York forever. The next morning, I went downstairs. Vincent was already in the dining room. He saw me and gestured to the seat across from him. I sat. A maid brought me milk and toast. "Vincent," I began. He looked up, his gaze calm behind his glasses. "Did you know Isabella is Maria's daughter?""I found out yesterday," he said, his face unreadable, showing no hint of guilt. I gave a bitter smile. "What is Isabella to you?" Vincent put down his coffee cup. "A high school classmate. She took a bullet for me once, saved my life. She's been recovering in Europe ever since.""Really? Just a classmate? A savior? Is it that simple?" Vincent's brow furrowed slightly. "Sophia, I don't want you targeting her just because she has returned to the Romano family." I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Is that a warning?""It's a reminder," Vincent's tone was cold. "Isabella's health is fragile. She can't handle any trouble." I nodded, saying nothing more. Vincent was more direct in his defense of Isabella than I had ever imagined. What else was there to ask? "I understand," I said, getting to my feet. "I'm going upstairs." I stayed in the guest room all day. The maid brought lunch and dinner to my door. I didn't go down. That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Usually, Vincent would open the door around this time, push me down without a word, and grip my waist while calling me Principessa. But tonight, the hallway was silent. Of course. His first love was back. Why would he be thinking of me? The next day was Saturday. Vincent didn't go to the compound. At ten in the morning, he knocked on my door. "Sophia, there's a party tonight. You're coming with me." I opened the door. Vincent was already dressed in a sharp black suit. "What party?""A gathering between the families." Not wanting to be alone in this house full of our memories, I nodded. At seven that evening, Vincent's car pulled up to a private club. I followed him inside and found the place lavishly decorated with flowers and streamers. It didn't look like any mafia gathering I'd ever been to. Before I could ask, I heard a familiar voice. "Vincent! You're finally here!" Isabella, in a white evening gown, fluttered over like a butterfly. She saw me, and her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she plastered on a sweet smile. "Sophia's here too! That's wonderful!" I glanced around and saw a large banner that read, "Welcome Home, Isabella." It was a welcome party. For her. Vincent had brought me to Isabella's welcome home party. I turned to leave, but Isabella stopped me. "Sophia, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" she asked, her voice dripping with concern. "I heard you moved out of your house. Is it because of me? I'm so sorry, I had no idea Uncle Romano would let me stay in your room." Her voice was soft and gentle, but loud enough for everyone around us to hear. A few guests looked my way with questioning eyes. "It's fine," I replied curtly. "It's just a room.""But Uncle Romano said you even disowned him." Isabella's eyes welled with tears. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't come back...""Isabella," I cut her off. "The reason I disowned him has nothing to do with an outsider like you." Isabella's tears began to fall. She looked pitifully at Vincent. Vincent walked over, shot me a warning look, then said gently to Isabella, "Don't cry. Your eyes will get swollen." He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. Isabella's tears turned to a smile. She blinked her wet lashes and said, "You're so good to me, Vincent." I stood to the side, watching this tender tableau unfold. A sharp pain pierced my heart. In ten days, I would be gone for good, and I knew I would never be on the receiving end of that kind of tenderness from him. I turned and walked to the bar, grabbed a glass of champagne, and downed most of it in one go.

Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Once the party started, I realized just how attentive Vincent was to Isabella. He pulled out her chair, fetched her drinks, and even adjusted the strap of her dress when it slipped, his hand brushing her shoulder with a familiar ease. I had never received any of that. In the two years I was with Vincent, he had never done those things for me. I thought it was just his personality—cool and reserved, above such trivial gestures of affection. I was wrong. He just wasn't willing to do them for me. I nursed my champagne, listening to Isabella laugh and chat with other guests. She spoke of her recovery in Europe, of how much she missed New York. Every word was graceful and proper. "Isabella is such a lovely girl," a woman next to me whispered to her friend. "The way Vincent looks after her, they're sure to end up together." My hand tightened around the stem of my glass. "Alright, everyone, let's play a game!" the host announced, livening up the room. "Truth or Choice!" The big screen lit up as the host explained the rules. "Two pictures will appear on the screen. Everyone votes for their favorite, but Vincent, as our guest of honor, you'll make the final choice for everyone!" The first set of photos was of two different red wines. Vincent chose the one on the left without hesitation. "Because Isabella is sensitive to anything too strong," he explained. The room erupted in good-natured teasing. The second set was two bouquets: red roses and white lilies. Vincent chose the lilies. "Isabella prefers a more subtle fragrance." The third set was two vacation spots: the Maldives and Switzerland. "Switzerland. Isabella needs fresh air for her recovery." Every choice Vincent made was for Isabella. I watched him on stage and thought about our two years together. He had never asked what I liked, never remembered my favorite food or where I dreamed of going. "Last round!" the host said excitedly. "This one's a little special. It's photos of two beautiful women!" Two pictures appeared on the screen. On the left was Isabella. She was in a white dress, smiling faintly in a garden, looking as pure as an angel. On the right was me. I was in a crimson evening gown from some forgotten party, my gaze fiery and defiant. The room fell silent. All eyes were on Vincent. He stood on stage, staring at the screen, and for a few seconds, he said nothing. Those few seconds stretched into an eternity. I knew he would choose Isabella, but I still clung to a final, desperate sliver of hope that he would choose me. Even if it was just for show. Even if it was out of pity. "I choose..." Vincent's voice echoed through the microphone. "Isabella." The crowd burst into loud applause and cheers. I set my champagne glass down, turned, and rushed out of the room. In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the storm inside me. I shouldn't have expected anything. Not from the very beginning. I composed myself and walked out, ready to return to the party. The hallway was dimly lit. As I rounded a corner, a few drunk men blocked my path. "Hey, beautiful. All alone?" one of them slurred, stumbling closer. "Have a drink with us.""Get out of my way," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Don't be so cold," another one jeered, reaching for me. "We just want to get to know you..." I backed away and saw Vincent standing in the doorway of our private room. He was talking to a guest. I shot him a desperate, pleading look. Vincent saw me. His face darkened, and he started to walk over. Just then, a cry of pain came from inside the room. "Ouch! My foot..." Vincent immediately spun around. He saw Isabella clutching a chair, her face pale. "What's wrong?" he asked, rushing to her side. "I think I twisted my ankle..." Isabella said, her eyes welling with tears. Vincent immediately knelt to examine her ankle, completely forgetting about me in the hallway. Isabella whispered something to him. Without even looking back in my direction, Vincent replied, "Don't worry about it. She can handle herself." In that moment, my heart didn't just break. It shattered. I grabbed a wine bottle from a nearby service table and smashed it against the wall. Shards of glass flew everywhere. The sound startled the drunk men. I held up the broken bottle, the jagged glass pointed at them. "Get lost!" Seeing the feral fury in my eyes, they scrambled away. The glass had cut my palm. Blood dripped onto the floor. I looked at the wound, feeling the sting. What was this little bit of pain compared to the agony in my soul? After the party, I stood alone outside the club, waiting for a car. Isabella came out, with Vincent carefully helping her walk. "Sophia," Isabella said, hobbling over to me. "I'm so sorry about what happened earlier. I twisted my ankle so suddenly, Vincent couldn't get to you. But it looks like you handled it well." She glanced at my injured hand, a flash of triumph in her eyes. "I did," I said with a cold smile. "I've always been good at handling my own problems.""That's good," Isabella smiled sweetly. "To be honest, I was a little worried when Vincent brought you tonight. After all, you two used to...""Used to what?""You don't actually think Vincent has special feelings for you, do you?" Isabella leaned in, her voice a low, venomous whisper. "Sophia, dear, Vincent just pities you. You're homeless now, so he took you in out of charity. That's all.""Is that so?""Of course," Isabella's eyes were sharp and malicious. "You saw the game tonight. Vincent only has room in his heart for me. It's been that way since high school. That will never change." Just then, a black sedan lost control and sped straight toward us. In a split second, Vincent lunged forward and threw his arms around Isabella, shielding her with his body. And me? I was struck hard by the out-of-control car and thrown violently to the ground.

Chapter 5 Chapter 5

As the car hit me, my consciousness began to fade. Pain shot through my entire body, but what hurt more was the absolute, crushing despair of being abandoned. Flashes of memory flooded my mind. The first time I saw Vincent, sitting behind his desk, the cold light glinting off his glasses. Me, deliberately provoking him, and him, completely unmoved. The first time he pinned me down, calling me Principessa, his voice low and ragged. I had thought it was love. Countless nights, lying in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart, thinking I had finally found my home. The final image was frozen in my mind: Vincent, without a moment's hesitation, diving to protect Isabella. And me, like some disposable bystander, left to face the danger all alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. The room was quiet, but I could hear Vincent on the phone just outside my curtain. "Isabella, does it still hurt?" His voice was so gentle it felt alien to me. "Much better, thank you, Vincent," Isabella's voice was frail. "If you hadn't grabbed me in time, I might have...""Don't think about that," Vincent soothed her. "The doctor said you were just shaken up, no external injuries.""Vincent, if it happened again, you would still save me first, right?" Vincent didn't hesitate. "Of course.""But Sophia got hit...""She has no reason to be angry," Vincent's voice was calm, logical. "In an emergency, of course I'm going to save the more fragile person. She understands that." I closed my eyes, feeling as if someone had just plunged a knife into my heart. So, in Vincent's mind, I didn't even have the right to be angry. Footsteps approached, and the curtain around my bed was pulled back. Vincent stood there. Seeing that I was awake, his face held not a single trace of guilt. "You're awake?""Yeah," my voice was hoarse. "The doctor said you have a mild concussion and some scrapes on your leg. Nothing serious," Vincent said. "I've arranged for the best medical team. I'll stay here to take care of you for the next few days.""Thanks," I said, staring up at the ceiling. "I'll pay you back for the medical bills in ten days." Vincent frowned. "What are you talking about? What's in ten days?""I said I'll pay you back," I turned to look at him, my gaze flat. "And for the cost of my stay at your place. I'll settle it all at once." Vincent's expression was strained. "Sophia, you don't have to keep score with me.""Why not?" my voice was devoid of emotion. "We were never anything to each other, were we?" The room fell silent for a few long seconds. Vincent seemed to want to say something, but in the end, he just said, "Get some rest." For the next few days, Vincent did stay at the hospital to look after me. He checked on me regularly, made sure the nurses gave me my medication on time, and even tested the temperature of my food before letting me eat it. But I remained cold and distant. I didn't cry, didn't throw tantrums, didn't demand his attention. I treated him like a kind stranger, polite but utterly detached. This new version of me seemed to make Vincent uncomfortable. On the third afternoon, Vincent sat in the chair by my bed, watching me listlessly flip through a magazine. "Sophia," he began. "Hmm?" I didn't look up. "About that night..." Vincent paused. "I saved Isabella first, but it wasn't because I didn't want to save you." He continued, "Isabella's body is weak. She couldn't have survived the impact. It was the only logical choice..." I put down the magazine, cutting him off. "I know." Vincent looked at me, a strange, unreadable emotion in his eyes. "You're really not angry?""Do you want me to be?" Just then, a commotion erupted in the hallway. "Hurry! Get her to the ER!""What happened?""Miss Isabella fell down the stairs! She's hurt badly!" The color drained from Vincent's face. He shot to his feet. "I have to go handle something," he said quickly. He walked to the door, then glanced back at me. "I'll be back to check on you later." I listened to his hurried footsteps fade down the hall and closed my eyes, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. Isabella had once again succeeded in taking Vincent away from me. And I no longer had the strength to fight for him. In a week, he'd be free to be with her anyway.

Chapter 6 Chapter 6

I woke from a doze to a sharp, stinging pain in my arm. Looking down, I saw my IV line had backed up with blood, a crimson line creeping steadily up the clear tube. I pressed the call button. A nurse bustled in and frowned at the IV. "Why is no one watching you? Where's your boyfriend?""He's not my boyfriend," I said calmly. "He had to leave for something important.""How long ago?" the nurse asked, skillfully changing the needle. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning. Vincent had left at seven in the evening. Seven hours ago. "A long time ago." The nurse shook her head with a sigh. "That's how it is with these rich guys. They put on a good show, but they're never around when it counts." After she left, I couldn't get back to sleep. When morning came, I decided to go for a walk. Dragging my IV stand into the hallway, I overheard two nurses talking quietly. "That girl in the VIP wing is so lucky. Her boyfriend booked the entire floor for her.""I heard he even flew in specialists from overseas for 24/7 care.""The heir to the Marcelli family is so good to her. He hasn't left her side since she was admitted." I stopped. The VIP wing was on the tenth floor. I was on the eighth, in a standard private room. I pressed the elevator button and went up to the tenth floor. The entire floor was indeed cordoned off. Only one room was lit. I walked to the door and peered through the small window. Vincent was sitting by the bed, patiently spoon-feeding Isabella porridge. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face pale but content. "Does it still hurt?" Vincent asked softly. "Much better," Isabella said, opening her mouth for another spoonful. "With you here, I'm not afraid of anything." Don Romano was sitting on the sofa, peeling an apple for her. As soon as she finished the porridge, he handed her a small slice. "Eat slowly. Don't choke," the Don's voice was laced with an affection I hadn't heard in years. "Uncle Romano, you're so good to me," Isabella smiled sweetly. "Just like a real father.""You are my daughter now," Don Romano said, patting her hand. "This family is your home." Vincent smiled gently and reached out to smooth Isabella's hair. "Is your head still spinning?""No, just a little tired.""Then get some more sleep," Vincent said, closing the curtains and dimming the lights. "I'll be right here with you." The tender, domestic scene was a knife twisting in my heart. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, forcing myself not to cry out. I turned away from the VIP wing and went back to my own room. Don't cry, Sophia. You can't cry. Four days before I was scheduled to fly to Boston for the wedding, I was discharged. As I stepped out of the hospital, I saw Vincent leaning against his black car, waiting. "Get in," he said. "I'll get a cab.""Get in." Vincent's tone left no room for argument. I looked at his cold, hard expression and finally slid into the car. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To clear your head," Vincent said, starting the car. "You've been cooped up in the hospital for too long." Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of Sotheby's auction house in Midtown. "An auction?" I looked at the poster by the entrance. "There's an art auction today," Vincent said, getting out. "I thought you liked this sort of thing." I was about to refuse, but when he handed me the auction catalog, my eyes caught a familiar item. Lot 47: A Pearl Necklace. My hands began to shake. I knew that necklace. It was my mother's. It was the only thing I had left of her. "What's wrong?" Vincent noticed my reaction. "Nothing," I clutched the catalog tightly. "Let's go in." In the restroom, I dialed my lawyer's number with trembling fingers. "Sell everything I have. All of it. Now.""Miss Sophia, you said you wanted to take those things to Boston...""I changed my mind," I said urgently. "How much can I get?""Around fifteen million dollars.""That's enough." I hung up and took a deep breath. I had to get my mother's necklace back. We walked into the auction hall, and Vincent found us seats near the front. Just as I was about to sit, a familiar voice called out. "Vincent!" Isabella walked over, wearing a pale pink dress. Her head was still wrapped in gauze, but she was as beautiful and fragile as ever. She linked her arm through Vincent's. "Sophia's here too," Isabella said, smiling sweetly at me. "I told Vincent I wanted to apologize to you in person today. I didn't think he'd actually bring you to the auction." In that moment, everything became painfully clear. Vincent didn't bring me here to cheer me up or clear my head. He brought me because Isabella wanted to "apologize," and I was just a prop he brought along for the ride. I looked at Isabella's triumphant smile, and the last bit of pain in my heart vanished, replaced by a cold, hard numbness. I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Chapter 7 Chapter 7

The auction began. I clutched my bidding paddle, my eyes fixed on the stage, waiting for lot number 47. Finally, the auctioneer held up the pearl necklace. "Lot number 47, a stunning pearl necklace. Bidding starts at five hundred thousand dollars." I immediately raised my paddle. "Five hundred thousand.""One million," Isabella's voice chimed in from beside me. I turned to look at her. Isabella was smiling, holding her own paddle high. "One point five million," I countered, my voice tight. "Two million," Isabella said without a flicker of hesitation. The price began to skyrocket. Three million, five million, eight million... My palms grew sweaty. My lawyer had said my assets were worth fifteen million, but the bidding was already approaching twenty. "Twenty million," Isabella raised her paddle effortlessly, as if naming a trivial sum. The auctioneer looked at me. "Ma'am, do you wish to continue?" My hand trembled. I couldn't raise the paddle again. I didn't have enough money. All eyes in the room were on me, including Vincent's. I swallowed my pride and turned to him. "Vincent, lend me the money," my voice shook. "Please. It was my mother's necklace. It's the only thing she left me." Vincent looked at me, a complex, unreadable emotion in his eyes. Just as he was about to reach for his black card... Isabella turned to him too, her voice a sweet, cloying whine. "Vincent, I've never had anything nice in my whole life. This is the first time I've ever loved a piece of jewelry this much. Can you please ask Sophia to let me have it?" She tugged on his sleeve, her eyes wide and pleading. Vincent's gaze shifted between me and Isabella. Those few seconds felt like a century. "Let Isabella have it," Vincent finally said, his voice terrifyingly calm. My world collapsed. "Twenty million, going once!" the auctioneer's voice boomed. "Twenty million, going twice!" I wanted to scream, to beg Vincent again, but the words were stuck in my throat, choked by betrayal. "Twenty million, sold!" The moment the gavel fell, my heart died completely. Isabella clapped excitedly, then turned to me. "Sophia, thank you!" The triumph on her face was undisguised. After the auction, Vincent left to get medicine for Isabella, who was suddenly claiming to have a headache. I sat alone on a plush sofa in the lounge, watching the staff pack up the remaining lots. Ten minutes later, Isabella came backstage and walked up to me. I stood up to face her. "Isabella, I'll trade you for the necklace. Anything.""Like what?" Isabella raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I have a Ferrari, and some designer watches. The total value isn't twenty million, but give me some time, and I'll get you the rest..." I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Just give me back the necklace." Isabella shook her head. "I don't need any of that.""Then what do you want?" Isabella feigned a thoughtful expression, then a cruel smile spread across her face. "I want you to get on your knees and beg me for it.""What?""Kneel. Apologize for how you've treated me. And then beg me to give you the necklace," Isabella's eyes glinted with malice. "You were so awful to me before. Now it's your turn to beg." I stared at her, my fists clenched at my sides. But the thought of my mother's necklace, my last link to her, made me slowly, agonizingly, begin to bend my knees. "Good girl. But first, let me show you where the necklace is now." Isabella laughed triumphantly and took out her phone. She played a video and held it in front of my face. On the screen, a filthy stray dog was wagging its tail. Draped around its neck was a string of lustrous pearls. My mother's necklace. "See? This is where it belongs now," Isabella smiled sweetly. "I think it's a perfect match. A bitch for a bitch." My blood ran cold. "What did you say?""I said, a bitch for a bitch," Isabella put her phone away, her smile unwavering. "Wasn't your mother a bitch? She deserved to be hit by that car. Now her necklace is on a dog. It's fitting, don't you think?""Which hand did you use to put it on the dog?" my voice was a whisper, so quiet I could barely hear it myself. "My right hand. Why?" Isabella was still smiling, savoring her victory. The next second, I snatched a steak knife from a nearby catering table and plunged it straight through the back of her right hand, pinning it to the tablecloth beneath. Blood gushed out. Isabella let out a piercing, agonized scream.

Chapter 8 Chapter 8

Isabella's scream echoed through the backstage area. The staff froze in shock. Some started screaming in panic, others fumbled for their phones to call for an ambulance. I pulled the knife free and stood up straight. "A Romano always repays their debts," I said, looking down at Isabella, who was writhing on the floor, clutching her bleeding hand and sobbing. "Remember that." I turned and walked away, the sounds of chaos fading behind me. My steps were steady as I headed for the exit, as if nothing had happened. Just as I reached the door, Vincent blocked my path. He was holding a blanket and a thermos, clearly having just returned. Seeing me, Vincent's face turned to stone. "What did you do?" he demanded. I glanced at the thermos in his hand and gave a bitter, humorless smile. "You went to get medicine for her?""I asked you what you did!" Vincent's voice was colder now, sharper. "She put my mother's necklace on a stray dog and called my mother a bitch," I looked him straight in the eye, my own gaze unflinching. "So I stabbed her." Vincent's expression froze. "What did you say?""You heard me," I gestured toward his ear. "Your men must have already reported back to you." Vincent was indeed wearing a discreet earpiece. He already knew everything that had transpired. "Even if she put the necklace on a dog, you don't have the right to hurt her!" Vincent's voice was like ice, delivering the final blow. That single sentence shattered what was left of me. I looked at the man in front of me, tears finally welling in my eyes. So, in his world, even if Isabella desecrated the memory of my dead mother, I wasn't allowed to fight back. "Vincent," my voice trembled. "How are you going to 'discipline' me this time?" Vincent saw my tears, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver. But then his expression hardened again, colder than ever. "I can't control you anymore," Vincent took out his phone. "Marco, bring your men to the auction house. Arrest Sophia for assault." Listening to his cold command, I felt the last bit of my heart get ripped out. Ten minutes later, two uniformed officers walked in. "Miss Sophia Romano, you're under arrest for aggravated assault. Please come with us." I didn't resist. I held out my hands for the cuffs. As they led me away, I glanced back one last time. Vincent was holding Isabella, whose hand was now hastily bandaged, comforting her gently. "It's okay. I'm here," he stroked her hair. "No one will ever hurt you again." Isabella cried in his arms like a wounded dove. And I was dragged away like a common criminal. New York City Detention Center, Cell Block 7. This was where they held women on remand for minor charges. When they pushed me into the cell, a few imposing women surrounded me. "New girl? What're you in for?" The leader was a large woman with tattooed arms. "Assault," I answered simply. "Ooh, a little spitfire," the woman grinned, cracking her knuckles. "You know the rules here? Newbies pay a protection fee.""I don't have any money.""No money?" The woman's expression soured. "Then you'll have to pay another way." That night, they doused me with a bucket of ice-cold water. The next day, I found shards of glass mixed in with my food. The third day, they started beating me. And every time, just before they laid a hand on me, the leader would say the same thing: "Boss Vincent said you need to be taught a lesson." So, this was all Vincent's doing. He didn't just want me in jail. He wanted me to be tortured here. Three days later, I was released. It was my last day in New York. I dragged my bruised and broken body out of the detention center. The sunlight was so bright it hurt my eyes. As I reached the gate, a wave of dizziness washed over me. The world spun, and I collapsed onto the pavement. When I woke up, I was in another familiar hospital room. Vincent was standing by my bed, his hands in his pockets, his voice cold and detached. "Have you learned your lesson this time?"

Chapter 9 Chapter 9

I said nothing in response to Vincent's question. He stood by the bed, waiting for an answer. But I just stared at the blank ceiling in silence. Vincent's phone rang, breaking the tense quiet. "Vincent, my hand hurts so much..." Isabella's fragile, weeping voice came through the phone, audible even from where I lay. Vincent's expression softened instantly. "I'll be right there." He hung up, then looked back at me. "Think about what you did." Then he left, just like he always did, abandoning me for Isabella. The room was quiet again. I was alone. About an hour later, the door creaked open. Isabella walked in, her right hand wrapped in a thick bandage, but she looked triumphant. "Sophia, how are you feeling?" she asked with faux concern. I turned my head to look at her, my eyes flat and empty. Isabella pulled up a chair and sat down, a sweet, poisonous smile on her face. "My dear, I want to tell you a story.""I don't want to hear it.""But this story is about you," Isabella's eyes glinted. "It's about why Vincent agreed to your father's request to discipline you personally." My hand tightened on the thin hospital sheet. "In high school, Vincent and I were boyfriend and girlfriend," Isabella began, her voice nostalgic. "We were so in love. He was so good to me, remembered everything I liked. He even said he would marry me after graduation. But then, something terrible happened..." She paused, watching for my reaction. "One night, Vincent was ambushed by a rival family. I took a bullet for him to save his life." Isabella gestured to her left shoulder. "It went right through. It nearly killed me.""After that, Vincent was consumed with guilt. He said he would protect me and make it up to me for the rest of his life." I remained silent, but my heart began to pound a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs. "I went to Europe to recover, and Vincent promised he would marry me as soon as I returned," Isabella leaned closer, her voice turning venomous. "We never stopped talking. So I told him all about how my poor mother had married into the Romano family, but that the cruel Romano heiress was treating her horribly, and how it was breaking my heart.""Vincent said he would get revenge for my mother. That's why he came to your father and offered to discipline you himself." Isabella's smile was radiant. "Did you think Uncle Romano forced him? You're wrong, Sophia. Vincent asked for the job." I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. "What did you say?""Oh, and it gets better," Isabella took out her phone. "Did you know that every single time you two were together, it was being recorded?""What?""Vincent installed hidden cameras in the bedroom. He recorded everything," Isabella's smile grew more twisted, more malicious. "He said he was going to give the videos to me, to use as leverage to control you later." My world started to spin. "Are you shocked, Sophia?" Isabella stood up, triumphant. "Vincent never loved you. He was just completing a mission. Now the mission is over, and he's going to marry me." She walked to the door, then looked back at me one last time. "By the way, I've already made a copy of those videos. If you ever dare to cross me again, I'll post them all online for the world to see." After Isabella left, I sat motionless on the bed for a long, long time. Her words echoed in my mind, a torturous loop. Vincent asked to discipline me. To get revenge for Isabella. He recorded every private moment we ever shared. I suddenly threw off the sheets, ripped the IV from my arm, and bolted from the room. Nurses shouted behind me, but I didn't hear them. I ran out of the hospital and hailed a cab. "Upper East Side, as fast as you can!" I had to go to Vincent's mansion. I had to see for myself if what Isabella said was true. Twenty minutes later, the cab screeched to a halt in front of the mansion. I used my spare key to let myself in and ran straight to Vincent's study. There was a hidden room behind the bookcase. I knew the code. I punched it in, and a section of the wall slid open, revealing the surveillance hub inside. Multiple computers, countless monitor screens, and various high-tech recording devices. I sat down at the main computer and navigated the file directory. In a folder labeled "S," I found an encrypted subfolder. The folder name was: Sophia_Private. My hand was shaking uncontrollably, but I clicked on it. The screen filled with video files, all neatly organized by date. From the very first night we were together to the very last, every single video was there. I clicked on the first one. The screen showed me and Vincent, tangled together in the sheets, every detail captured in crystal-clear high definition. Including me, wrapped in his arms, whispering "I love you." Including every moment of my vulnerability, my trust, my complete and utter devotion. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor. It was all true. Isabella was telling the truth. Vincent really had recorded everything. I started to laugh at how stupid, how hopelessly naive I had been. I laughed and laughed until the laughter turned into ragged, broken sobs.

Chapter 10 Chapter 10

Kneeling in front of the computer, staring at the damning video files, I took out my phone and dialed Don Romano's number. "Father," I said, my voice thick with unshed tears. "What is it? I thought you were disowning me," his voice was cold and surprised. "I just have one question. Three years ago, did Vincent offer to discipline me?" There were a few seconds of telling silence on the other end of the line. "How did you know?" I closed my eyes. "So it's true.""Vincent offered me a two-hundred-million-dollar port project in exchange for the chance to take you under his wing," Don Romano's voice was mercilessly pragmatic. "I didn't know how you'd offended him, but I figured a little education wouldn't hurt you. So I agreed." I hung up. The last sliver of hope I didn't even know I was holding onto was gone. Vincent got close to me, slept with me, controlled me—it was all for revenge. For Isabella. I started to laugh again. Quietly at first, then louder and louder, a hysterical sound that filled the sterile, secret room. I laughed until the tears came, until I couldn't breathe. When I was finally spent, I wiped my eyes and stood up. I went to the master bedroom and pulled out the suitcase I had already packed. From the nightstand drawer, I took my passport and the plane ticket to Boston. I took one last look around the room, this place I had once foolishly thought was my home. In the living room, I picked up the solid gold lighter from Vincent's cigar box. It was the first gift he had ever given me. I had thought it meant something special. Now I knew it was nothing more than a hunter's mark on his prey. I flicked it open. The flame danced in the dim light. Then I tossed it onto the heavy silk curtains. The fire spread with terrifying speed, devouring every memory, every lie, every ghost in this house. I dragged my suitcase to the door and looked back at the room, now illuminated by the growing, hungry flames. Goodbye, Vincent. Goodbye, to the girl I used to be. Half an hour later, the wail of fire trucks filled the affluent neighborhood. I sat on my suitcase on the sidewalk across the street, watching it all unfold. The flames licked at the night sky, turning it a hellish red. Soon, a black car screeched to a halt. Vincent jumped out, his face turning to a mask of stone as he saw the inferno that was once his home. He looked around frantically, his eyes searching, and they finally landed on me. "Sophia!" he yelled, running toward me. "Are you hurt?!" I just looked at him, silent. "Why did you burn the house? Fine, burn it. Does it make you feel better now, Principessa?" Vincent’s voice was laced with a weary exasperation. I remained silent, stood up, and started to walk away, pulling my suitcase behind me. Vincent blocked my path. "Where are you going?""Home.""I'll take you back to the Romano estate," he said, pulling out his phone. "Marco, get the car ready.""No need," I said, stepping around him. Vincent's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his expression darkened further. "I have an urgent meeting. Marco will take you home," he told me, his tone clipped and authoritative. "We'll talk about this later." I ignored him and walked toward a cab waiting at the corner. "Sophia," Vincent called out, his voice sharp. I looked back at him over my shoulder. "Stay home and wait for me. I have something I need to tell you." With that, he got in his car and sped off. I watched his taillights disappear into the night and whispered to the empty air, "We'll never see each other again." I got into the cab and told the driver to take me to the airport. On the way, I opened my mobile banking app, calculated the total amount of Vincent's money I had spent over the last three years, and transferred it all back to him. Medical bills, living expenses, everything. It came to eight hundred and seventy-three thousand dollars. Once the transfer was complete, I threw my phone out the window. Watching it shatter on the pavement, I felt a profound wave of relief. From now on, Vincent Romano would never be able to contact me again. An hour later, the cab pulled up to JFK Airport. I dragged my suitcase toward the departures gate. "Ma'am, your flight is boarding in thirty minutes," a staff member informed me. I nodded and sat down in the waiting area. Through the large window, I could see several private jets on the tarmac. One of them was preparing for takeoff. I saw Vincent's unmistakable silhouette walking up the stairs. He must be heading to Chicago for that urgent meeting. "Now boarding for Boston," the announcement came over the speakers. I stood up and took one last look at his private jet. Our story is over, Vincent. On the plane, I chose a window seat. As we taxied, I saw two planes on the runway, pointed in opposite directions. One flying to Chicago, one to Boston. Just like our lives. Heading on different paths, never to cross again.

Chapter 11 Chapter 11

Vincent walked out of the family meeting in Chicago and loosened his tie. Three straight days of negotiations over a weapons smuggling route were finally over. The Torrino family’s territory was his. He turned on his phone, which had been off for the entire seventy-two hours. Countless unread messages flooded the screen. Ninety-nine from Isabella, and one from Sophia. Vincent’s thumb moved on its own, tapping on Sophia’s message. [Transfer Received: $873,000] [Memo: Settlement for medical, lodging, and miscellaneous expenses.] Nothing else. Vincent’s brow furrowed. He almost laughed, a humorless sound of frustration. His long fingers tapped out a reply. [You think I need your money? Do we really need to settle accounts like this?] He sent the message and stared at the screen for ten minutes. Usually, Sophia replied the second he texted, sometimes just to send a single, defiant punctuation mark. This time, the chat window was utterly silent. Vincent dialed her number. "We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service..." A sterile, automated voice answered. Vincent froze. Her phone was off? An image of Sophia sleeping flashed in his mind: her curled lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, her red lips slightly parted as she snuggled deeper into his arms. A small smile touched his lips at the thought. He tapped on her profile picture—a proud, aloof Persian cat, its blue eyes looking down on the world. Just like her. His finger brushed across the screen before he sent a final message: [Back in New York tomorrow night. Be at the airfield to pick me up.] Still, nothing. Vincent put his phone down and dialed his right-hand man, Marco. "What's the status on the item I had you track?""Boss, it's confirmed. The pearl necklace will be at the Sotheby's auction tonight. It's the one that belonged to Miss Sophia's late mother. No doubt about it.""Get the car ready." An hour later, Vincent arrived at the Sotheby's auction in Manhattan. He wore a custom-tailored dark suit, his gaze cold and distant behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he brushed off the advances of several socialites. When the pearl necklace was brought on stage, the room buzzed with anticipation. "Bidding starts at ten million dollars!""Eleven million!""Fifteen million!" The price skyrocketed, but Vincent didn't so much as twitch. Only when the bidding reached thirty million did he slowly raise his hand. "Fifty million." The entire room fell silent. In the underworld, no one dared to bid against the heir of the Marcelli family. The necklace was sold for a staggering price. On the way back, Marco couldn't hold back any longer. "Boss, I think Miss Sophia is still holding a grudge about you not lending her the money for the necklace last time... If she knew you went to all this trouble to find the real one and paid so much for it, she'd be incredibly moved." Vincent caressed the velvet jewelry box, Sophia's brilliant, defiant face flashing in his mind. "Would she?""Of course!" Marco said excitedly. "Miss Sophia is straightforward. You can read all her emotions on her face. She can be willful, but her heart is good. Remember when that new guy at the compound spilled red wine on her new painting? Anyone else would have had his head, but she just said, 'It's fine, I didn't like it that much anyway'..." Marco's words trailed off as he felt the temperature in the car plummet. In the rearview mirror, Vincent's expression was terrifyingly dark. Marco immediately shut his mouth. "Sorry, Boss. I spoke out of turn.""You like her?" Vincent's voice was like ice. Marco's hands trembled on the steering wheel, and the car nearly swerved into the guardrail. "I...""The truth." Marco took a deep breath. "Who wouldn't be drawn to someone like Miss Sophia? But don't worry, Boss. I know she only has eyes for you..." He gave a bitter smile. "So I've just... admired her from afar. I would never cross a line." Vincent's expression softened almost imperceptibly. But then Marco suddenly mustered his courage. "But Boss... I hope you can treat her better.""...""You can't protect Miss Isabella one moment and be tender with Miss Sophia the next. She deserves a love that's all or nothing.""Protect Isabella one moment and be tender with Sophia the next?" Vincent narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying?" Since he'd already started, Marco went all in. "Exactly what it sounds like! Boss, I've always wanted to ask—who do you really love? Miss Isabella, or Miss Sophia?"