He must have heard the words "wedding ring," because for the first time in a long while, that calm, untouchable expression on his face cracked.
A trace of panic flashed through his eyes.
"Wedding ring?" he asked, staring at me sharply. "What wedding ring?"
His gaze was so intense that it almost felt like interrogation. Somewhere deeper in the house, I heard footsteps pause on the marble, as if even the soldiers could feel the temperature change.
Once, if he had looked at me like this, my heart would have raced. I would have panicked, explained, tried to prove my innocence before he even asked.
But now, I only looked back at him with quiet indifference.
I was just about to make up an excuse when my phone suddenly rang.
The name on the screen was Viviana Caruso.
I answered.
Her weak, tearful voice came through immediately.
"Bianca… is Adrian with you? I just had another nosebleed. I'm so scared…"
Before I could say anything, Adrian snatched the phone from my hand.
"Viviana, don't be afraid. I'll come over right now."
His voice was urgent, gentle, and full of concern.
Then he turned and left.
No explanation.
No hesitation.
Not even a glance back at me.
I stood there alone, watching his figure disappear through the doorway.
Only then did I remember that tonight, he had promised to take me on a night cruise along the harbor.
He said it was to make up for missing our tenth anniversary.
I had once waited for that promise.
Now, I only found it ridiculous.
So this was what it felt like to truly let go.
Watching him run toward another woman, I felt no pain, no anger, no jealousy.
My heart was calm.
So calm it felt almost numb.
As if even the deepest wound had finally stopped bleeding.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was Dominic.
"Bianca," he asked gently, "are you ready? I'll send someone for you in Boston tomorrow."
My thumb pressed against the inside of my sleeve hem, running along the stitching. Then I let go.
I looked out into the distance. The night outside the window was vast and silent. Somewhere below, a black sedan idled at the curb. One of Adrian's soldiers, always watching the perimeter. Even the DeLuca security didn't know what was coming.
After a while, I said, "Give me one week. I need to settle everything here first. After that, I'll come to Seattle, and we'll get married."
Dominic's voice softened.
"Alright. I'll wait for you. If anything happens that you can't handle, remember, I'm here."
After hanging up, I called Enzo DeLuca to say goodbye.
Enzo DeLuca and my grandfather had once been bound by the kind of loyalty only forged through blood and survival. They had fought on the same side, covered each other's debts, and sworn oaths that outlived them both. Because of that bond, the DeLuca family had taken me in when I was eight.
Back then, doctors had diagnosed me with a severe heart condition. My grandfather had searched everywhere for treatment, and the DeLuca family's private clinic in Boston was one of the most renowned on the East Coast, especially famous for cardiology. Old connections, old favors. My grandfather called in the last one he had.
So I was sent to the DeLuca household.
From that day on, Adrian's parents treated me like their own daughter.
Enzo cared for me even more deeply, always worrying about whether I had eaten, whether I had taken my medicine, whether I was tired.
Now that I was leaving Boston and crossing into Moretti territory in Seattle, it was only right that I say goodbye.
That night, Adrian did not come home.
Near midnight, Viviana sent me a message.
"Look at you with cake all over your face. So cute."
Attached to the message was a photo.
In the picture, Adrian was leaning down to take a bite of cake, while Viviana smiled sweetly beside him, smearing cream onto his cheek with her finger.
The two of them looked intimate, natural, and happy.
A few seconds later, the message was deleted.
Then Viviana sent another one.
"I'm sorry, Bianca. I sent that to the wrong person. Adrian thought it was cute and asked me to send it to him. You're not upset, are you?"
I stared at the screen for a moment.
Then I turned it off.
I did not reply.
Instead, I returned to my room, opened my suitcase, and quietly began packing my things.
