I remained on my knees.
Blood slowly soaked through the fabric of my pants, warm and sticky against my skin. My hands were torn up, trembling, and somewhere deep inside my chest, Gabriel’s name kept echoing like a wound that refused to close.
Vincenzo lifted Lena effortlessly, like she weighed nothing at all—like she was something precious that could break if held wrong. She curled into him immediately, soft whimpers escaping her lips, one hand pressed over her stomach as if she were barely holding herself together.
Before stepping out, he paused.
He looked back at me.
Those eyes… they weren’t the same ones that once softened when they landed on me. Now they were sharp, distant—cold enough to cut.
“Don’t move from there,” he said flatly. “You don’t even deserve air, let alone anything else.”
I said nothing.
“You don’t even deserve a bed,” he added, voice low with disgust.
Then the door slammed shut, and the silence swallowed everything.
I don’t know how long I stayed there on the floor. My body felt like it had turned to stone. My mind buzzed faintly, and my throat burned raw, like I had been screaming without realizing it.
Then—
The door creaked open again.
Light footsteps approached slowly.
I didn’t lift my head until a shadow fell across me.
“Why are you sitting like that?” Noel’s voice rang out.
He was holding a small blue toy car, dangling it loosely from his fingers. His pajamas were neat, hair perfectly brushed, face bright and rested like he’d slept peacefully through everything.
He crouched down beside me, smirking slightly, resting his elbow on his knee as if he was inspecting something interesting on the floor.
“My mom’s really good at acting, huh, puta?” he whispered, amused.
The word hit like a blade.
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
He rolled the toy car across the tiles. It clicked softly as it moved.
“Dad always believes her,” he added casually. “Every single time.”
Then he stood up like nothing had happened and walked away, humming under his breath—like he hadn’t stomped on my son just hours ago.
I lowered my head slowly. My voice barely came out, broken and thin.
Soon.
This would all end soon.
The divorce papers were already with the lawyer. I just had to wait.
And when it was done… I would finally be free.
And they would finally understand what it meant to lose everything.
**
Vincenzo returned before sunrise.
He dropped a bottle onto the floor in front of me. It rolled slightly before stopping—painkillers, no label, no explanation.
“Try not to cause trouble next time,” he muttered without even looking at me.
He grabbed his keys again but paused at the doorway.
“This weekend is my parents’ anniversary,” he said. “You’re still legally my wife. People will ask questions. Bring Gabriel.”
I didn’t react.
Not anger. Not shock. Nothing.
“You heard me,” he repeated coldly. “Bring him. Clean him up. Smile. Act properly. You know how this family works.”
Then he left.
Back to Lena. Back to her hospital room. Back to her world.
**
The anniversary came.
Vincenzo didn’t sit with me in the car. He made me ride in front with the driver, like I was staff instead of anything else.
Behind us, Lena leaned comfortably against him, like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there. Noel sat close to her, tucked under her arm.
She whispered something into Vincenzo’s ear, and he smiled—softly, almost fondly—brushing his thumb over her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked down at my dress.
Black. Simple. Rough against my skin. Too plain, too tight, too wrong for the world they were stepping into.
Everyone else sparkled. Diamonds, silk, perfection.
Lena wore white. Pearls flowed down her hair like a crown. She looked untouched, innocent, untouchable.
No one spoke to me.
No one even glanced in my direction before we left.
**
At the estate, cameras exploded in flashes the moment we arrived. Reporters swarmed like a storm breaking at the gates.
Vincenzo stepped out first, straightening his cuffs, playing his role perfectly—the devoted husband, the powerful man.
He opened Lena’s door himself.
She stepped out slowly, like the world had been built just for her entrance.
Noel followed, holding her hand.
I stepped out last, my shoes sinking slightly into the gravel.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Vincenzo said quietly without looking at me.
I nodded.
He didn’t look back.
**
Inside, the ballroom glittered like a different world. Gold chandeliers hung above us like dripping jewels. Music floated through the air, soft and expensive.
Vincenzo raised his glass.
“Everyone,” he announced, “this is Lena. The woman who will carry my future forward.”
Applause erupted instantly.
Lena lowered her head gracefully, pretending to be shy, though her posture said otherwise.
“And this,” Vincenzo continued, pulling Noel forward, “is my heir.”
The room clapped louder.
Vincenzo’s parents embraced Noel like he was something sacred.
I stood near the edge of the room, half-hidden among coats and shadows. Easily ignored. Easily forgotten.
“Who is she?” someone asked near the dessert table.
Vincenzo’s mother answered without hesitation.
“Oh, her?” she said lightly. “Just the former wife. Couldn’t even raise her own child properly. A sickly boy she kept hidden. No one really knows what became of him.”
Lena placed a hand over her chest, pretending sympathy.
“Gabriel is still recovering,” she said gently. “He wasn’t strong enough to travel.” Then she turned to me with a perfect look of pity. “Poor Olivia… still grieving.”
She leaned in and kissed Vincenzo’s cheek.
My nails dug into my palms until it hurt.
A waiter accidentally knocked over a dessert stand. A silver tray crashed to the floor, the sound echoing through the hall.
Laughter followed immediately—Vincenzo’s father the loudest of all.
“We’re here to celebrate,” he said loudly, then pointed at me. “Let her clean it up. She’s used to it.”
Some guests chuckled.
Lena stepped forward smoothly, voice sweet as syrup.
“She used to be such a wonderful hostess,” she said. “Maybe she can serve drinks. Just until things settle.”
Vincenzo said nothing.
So I bent down and picked up the tray.
I moved through the room, handing out glasses like I belonged nowhere else. A waitress gave me a look—something close to pity.
At the bar, someone whispered, “Is that the first wife?”
Another voice replied, “I heard she poisoned the house… with her dead child’s ashes.”
I kept walking.
Slow. Steady.
They couldn’t take anything more from me.
I had already lost it all.
Let them talk.
Let them laugh at the ghost they thought I had become.
Because soon—
They would remember my name again.
And when they did… it wouldn’t be in whispers.
