Bianca's Pov
The moment I stepped into the house, I caught the strong smell of smoke coming from the sitting room. My heart skipped as a bad feeling crept into my chest.
I moved forward quickly, my steps uneven, my body still weak, but something inside me screamed to hurry.
The closer I got to the living room, the stronger the smell became.
My breath hitched as I pushed the door open and froze.
Flames flickered in the center of the room. A metal basin sat on the marble floor, fire dancing wildly inside it, devouring colors that once meant everything to me.
The canvases in the fire were my paintings. The ones my mentor left me before he died.
For a second, my brain refused to process it. Then it hit me hard. My chest tightened so violently it felt like something inside me had just been torn open again.
And standing beside the fire was Celia, a smug smile on her face.
"Oh, you're back," she grinned.
"Stop!" I screamed, my voice cracking as I rushed forward.
I dropped to my knees and reached straight into the fire. Pain exploded through my hand, sharp and blinding, but I barely felt it.
I grabbed what was left of the canvas but it crumbled and turned to ash.
"No…" My voice came out in a whisper.
"It's gone…"
My fingers trembled as the last piece disintegrated in my hands. The black dust clung to my skin before slipping away.
A broken sound tore out of my throat.
That was the last painting he gave me. The last thing he touched.
Gabriel D'Angelo, my mentor.
The only person who ever cared for me without expecting anything in return.
"Hold the brush gently, Bianca."
His voice had always been patient and warm. Like no matter how badly I failed, he would still be there. Before saying something painfully true, he would scrape a fleck of dried paint from beneath his thumbnail with exacting care, then look at me as if I were the only student in the world.
"Art isn't about perfection," he said, guiding my trembling hand. "It's how we express what we can't say out loud."
Back then, I had been afraid of ruining everything.
Now… everything was already ruined.
"Why are you making such a fuss?"
Celia's voice dragged me back.
I lifted my head slowly. Her smug face blurred through the tears gathering in my eyes.
Everything I had left of him was gone. Burned, like it never mattered.
"Why?" My voice broke. "Why would you do this?"
She tilted her head, completely unbothered.
"Do what?"
My hands shook violently, my burned skin stinging as I clenched my fists.
"Those are my things! Who gave you the right to touch them?!"
She glanced at the fire like it bored her.
"After I was discharged, Dante let me move into the master suite because it faces the garden better than my old room," she said casually. The way she used his first name, no title, no distance, was a claim in itself. In this house, under this roof, she was telling me exactly where she stood.
My breath caught. The master suite belonged to me.
"He also said I could handle your things however I like."
Her lips curved slightly.
"These paintings are so dark and depressing. Like some kind of curse."
My heartbeat slowed. Each word sinking deeper.
"Maybe that's why your child wasn't lucky enough to come into this world."
Something inside me snapped completely.
"You bitch!"
I surged to my feet, my vision going red as I raised my hand but it was caught mid-air.
"Enough!"
I turned sharply to face Dante.
His grip was tight and painful, like I was the one doing something wrong. The gold saint medal he always carried was still in his other hand, motionless between his fingers.
"How dare you touch her?" he snapped. "How can you be so cruel? She just gave birth!"
Cruel? A hollow laugh escaped me.
"I'm cruel?" I said, my voice shaking. "She burned everything! Those were Gabriel's paintings!"
"So what?"
The words landed softly but they shattered something inside me.
"So what?" I repeated in disbelief.
"Gabriel saved your life!" I shouted. "He died pulling you out of that burning car!"
Dante frowned, irritation flashing across his face.
"I didn't ask him to."
My breath caught and my knees weakened. For a moment, I couldn't feel the ground beneath me.
"How… how can you say that?" I whispered.
"That was years ago, Bianca. He's dead now," he said coldly. "Those things don't matter anymore. You need to move on."
Each word sank deeper than the last, like nails being hammered into something already broken.
"Move on?" My voice trembled. "You have no heart."
"Stop creating a scene," Dante said flatly. "The baby is sleeping. I don't want you waking him."
I smiled bitterly. My child was dead and now I had to be quiet for hers.
Celia stepped closer, gently holding his arm.
"I didn't mean anything bad," she said softly. "I just thought those paintings didn't belong here. I was helping."
Her eyes flickered to mine, filled with mocking laughter, like she was enjoying every second of this. Her smile had appeared half a heartbeat too early, the way it always did when she knew she'd already won.
My entire body trembled.
"I never asked for your help, you lying bitch!" I snapped.
"Calm down right now or I'll make you regret it," Dante warned.
"Let me go!" I struggled, my burned hand screaming in pain as I tried to pull free.
Then I felt a sharp kick slam into my side. Pain exploded through my body as I crashed to the floor, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened painfully as I gasped, but no air came in.
"I'm sorry!" Celia cried instantly. "I thought she was going to hit you! It was a reflex!"
"It's alright," Dante said, pulling her closer. "You were just protecting me. She's the one causing trouble."
My fingers curled weakly against the cold floor. My burned hand throbbed. My side ached and my chest hurt but none of it compared to what was inside.
They killed my child and now they took the last thing my mentor left me.
"You must promise me, Bianca…"
His voice had been weak that day. I held his hand tightly, afraid that if I let go, he would disappear.
"You'll protect my art… no matter what happens."
"I promise," I whispered.
A tear slipped down the side of my face. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, pressing into the bare skin like I could hold on to something that was already gone. I couldn't even keep that promise.
Darkness slowly crept into my vision. The last thing I saw was Celia leaning safely into Dante's arms, and then everything went black.
