Diana’s POV
“I accept your condition. I’ll come back and take my place as heiress.”
I ended the call before the voice on the other end could say anything more.
For a long moment, I stood in the bedroom that had been mine for eight years—eight long years inside the Ricci estate, a place that looked less like a home and more like a fortified mansion guarded by armed men and surveillance cameras.
Outside the tall windows, I could see black-suited guards stationed along the marble courtyard, their earpieces glinting under the afternoon sun. Luxury. Power. Influence.
And yet, none of it had ever belonged to me.
A faint, bitter smile curved my lips.
Eight years of patience. Eight years of devotion. Eight years of loving a man who never once chose me.
And in the end, I was leaving with nothing.
“How dare you wear my mom’s clothes!”
The shrill voice shattered the silence behind me.
I let out a soft sigh before turning around.
Lucan stood at the doorway, his small face twisted with anger that felt far too mature for an eight-year-old. He had Eduardo’s sharp eyes—cold, calculating, and inherited from generations of mafia blood.
“You aren't going to say anything?” he demanded, his voice rising.
“Go to your party, Lucan,” I said quietly. “Your friends are waiting.”
The estate was already buzzing. The son of Eduardo Ricci—the heir to the Ricci syndicate—turning eight was not just a birthday. It was an event. Politicians, businessmen, and underworld leaders had already begun arriving.
Lucan’s eighth birthday was practically a miniature summit of power.
“No!” he suddenly shouted.
Before I could react, he grabbed the glass pitcher from the table and hurled its contents at me.
The liquid hit my skin.
I screamed.
Hot coffee soaked through my dress, burning my collarbone and arms. The pain came instantly, sharp and biting.
“Yes! Serves you right!” Lucan snapped, glaring at me with hatred far beyond his years. “You can never replace my mother! You killed her with your wicked heart, and now you're wearing her favorite dress!”
The door opened quickly, and one of the maids rushed inside.
Her eyes widened when she saw me—coffee dripping from my dress, red patches already forming on my skin.
“I’m so sorry, Miss,” she said hurriedly. “Young Master Lucan slipped away from the guests—I'll take him back now.”
She grabbed Lucan’s hand and hurried him away.
As he left, he turned back and smiled.
A cold, satisfied smile.
I exhaled slowly and walked toward the bathroom.
The dress clung to my skin as I stepped under the shower. Warm water washed away the coffee stains, but the sting lingered.
The dress wasn't even Valerie’s.
It was mine.
My late mother had given it to me years ago. Valerie had taken it without asking—like she took everything else.
Eight years ago, I was supposed to marry Eduardo Ricci.
Back then, he wasn't just the heir of one of the most feared mafia families in the country. He was also my childhood sweetheart. The boy who promised me a lifetime together.
Or at least, that’s what I believed.
Then everything changed.
He married Valerie—my step-sister.
Within months, she was pregnant and living the life that was meant to be mine.
And when she died giving birth to Lucan…
I became the villain.
Bad luck. Jealous sister. Murderer.
Rumors spread quietly across the underworld. No one said it outright, but everyone believed it.
Eduardo never defended me.
Not once.
Instead, my stepmother sent me to the Ricci estate—to raise Lucan.
“Take care of him like your own son,” she had told me.
And like a fool, I did.
I loved Lucan. I cared for him. I devoted eight years of my life to him.
But in return?
He treated me like a stranger.
Like an enemy.
Like the woman who stole his mother’s place.
And Eduardo…
He never stopped me, never corrected him.
Over time, I realized my place in this house.
Not wife.
Not family.
Just… a kept woman.
A quiet concubine hidden inside the Ricci estate.
Three years ago, if Lucan had thrown hot coffee at me, I would have panicked and tried to comfort him.
Today…
I was done.
“The party is starting. Where are you, Diana?”
Eduardo’s deep voice came from outside the door.
I quickly finished washing, changed into another dress, and stepped out.
He entered the room at the same time.
Eduardo Ricci looked as imposing as always—black suit tailored perfectly, gun holster faintly visible beneath his jacket. Even at home, he never let his guard down.
He glanced at my stained dress lying on the chair and sighed.
“I heard what Lucan did. Don't think too much about it. He's just a kid… and he loves you.”
I let out a quiet scoff.
“That child doesn't know the first thing about love where I’m concerned.”
Eduardo frowned slightly.
“Don’t talk like that. He's a good kid.”
I ignored him and reached for the soothing balm on the nightstand, applying it to my reddened skin.
The burn had worsened, but the ointment would heal it by morning.
“Let me,” he said softly, taking the balm from my hand before I could refuse.
His fingers brushed against my skin, rubbing gentle circles over the burn.
Years ago, I would have melted under his touch.
Now, it only made my stomach twist.
“Be patient with him,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.
I stepped away.
“I have something to tell you.”
He frowned.
“Can it wait? Lucan’s birthday already started.”
“No.”
I met his eyes, steady and calm.
“It can’t.”
A moment of silence stretched between us.
Then I spoke.
“Today marks eight years,” I said quietly. “I’m leaving.”
