I was in the middle of a secured tribute-ledger call with several silent partners when my high school class group, which had been dead silent for a decade, suddenly exploded with notifications.
[Bianca, did you see Serafina's post? She's getting married today! Are you really not coming?]
As the messages flooded in, I realized that Serafina Caruso, the prom queen of our Catholic prep school, was tying the knot.
All our old classmates were attending.
I replied, trying to keep it professional: [Sorry, I'm swamped with work at the moment.]
But the responses were swift and brutal.
[What could you possibly be busy with? Someone who hasn't posted in a hundred years must be doing pretty poorly!]
[Seriously, just admit you're embarrassed and stop pretending to be so busy.]
Serafina chimed in herself: [Remember our bet? I always said I'd marry someone better than you!]
I shot back: [Can't say I recall that.]
Immediately, others jumped in.
[Serafina's husband is the Don of a whole syndicate! They even sent over a hundred armored cars to pick her up today!]
[Sounds like you're worried about how your life compares, so you're pretending to forget!]
[Maybe you're so broke you can't even afford a wedding gift? Why not start a crowdfunding campaign to help you chip in?]
Under the barrage of comments, Serafina tagged me again, putting on a show of graciousness.
[I really hope you can make it to my wedding to witness my happy moment! Since we're classmates, I'll have my husband arrange a cleaning job for you.]
With that, she posted a stunning photo of herself and her husband in formal wedding attire, posed on the steps of a cathedral.
My jaw dropped when I saw her husband's face.
That was Damian Vescari. My husband, who had married into the Bellandi Family.
[Sure, I'll definitely come to witness your happiness!] I typed back, my fingers shaking slightly.
——
Serafina's words instantly sent ripples through the crowd, leaving everyone staring at us with widened eyes and disbelief written all over their faces. The atmosphere, which had been filled with excitement moments ago, shifted into something tense and electric.
"Serafina, is that car really your husband's? No way!" one classmate blurted out, clearly stunned.
Serafina lifted her chin proudly, her posture straightening as if she had been waiting for this exact moment to prove herself. "Of course it's real," she said without hesitation, her tone firm and confident. "Why would I lie about something like that?" Then, as if to cement her claim, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her photos with deliberate slowness.
Soon, she held up the screen for everyone to see. The images were intimate and unmistakable. There were photos of her leaning against Damian in the armored town car, the two of them pressed close together, and others of them lounging on the hood, laughing and looking entirely at ease. The interior details of the car and the plate were crystal clear, leaving no room for doubt.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. "Holy crap, that really is Serafina's husband's car!" someone exclaimed. Another voice followed immediately, louder and sharper, "Then that means Bianca must be the goomah!"
Serafina's face darkened, her lips curling into a cold, scornful smile as her brows drew together. "No wonder you've kept such a low profile all these years," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Turns out you've just been hiding in the shadows, playing the side piece this whole time."
At her words, all eyes turned toward me. The looks they gave me were no longer curious or indifferent. They were filled with shock, judgment, and unmistakable disdain, as if I had suddenly become something filthy in their eyes.
"I can't believe this," one person muttered, shaking their head. "Bianca always looked so put together, so elegant. And all this time, she's been sneaking around as someone's goomah?"
"Exactly! I used to think she was this untouchable, straight-A student back in school," another chimed in bitterly. "I even wrote her a love letter once. Now it just feels disgusting thinking about it."
"Some people really know how to pretend," someone else added mockingly. "They act all innocent on the outside, but behind the scenes, they're desperate the moment they see a powerful man."
"And look at her now, driving the man's car right in front of the real wife," another voice scoffed. "She must be jealous that Serafina is the one getting married, so she came here to stir up trouble."
Even Teresa looked at me differently now. The warmth she had shown Serafina was nowhere to be found. Instead, her gaze was cold and filled with contempt. Her thumb rubbed against the side of her forefinger, quick, rhythmic, like she was brushing away invisible chalk dust. "Bianca," she said sharply, her tone laced with disdain, "when you're out in public, please don't mention that you were ever my student. I never taught anyone with such a lack of morals."
The murmurs around me quickly escalated into a chaotic frenzy. More and more people were drawn in by the commotion, gathering around us to watch the unfolding spectacle. Some pointed fingers openly, whispering among themselves, while others took out their phones and began recording without any hesitation. A few even spat in my direction, their disgust unrestrained.
My thumb found the jagged edge of my Blackwood's cross beneath my collar. I held it there, pressing the rough metal into skin, and let them talk.
