“You really want to bring this up again?” Marcello snapped, the sharp edge in his voice slicing through the room like a blade. His frustration wasn’t just irritation—it carried the weight of a Don displeased with a lieutenant questioning his orders. “Fine. If this is eating at you that much, I’ll have Serafina remove the post. Happy now?”
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh that barely rose above a whisper, tasting of iron and disillusionment. He still didn’t get it.
“It’s not about the post, Marcello,” I said, my voice calm on the surface, but my heart burned with betrayal beneath it. “It’s about the lie. It’s about why you deceived me. It’s not the meeting with Serafina, not the kiss… not even whatever private indulgence you think excuses yourself with.”
Marcello smirked, like a Don who’d just solved a puzzle. “Ah, I see now,” he said, his tone mockingly smooth. “You’re jealous. That’s all this is. Jealousy over Serafina. That explains why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder this past week. Typical.”
He leaned against the polished mahogany desk of his penthouse office, arms crossed, posture casual, but every syllable was sharpened with condescension.
I had always told myself to stay patient, to be understanding—the loyal partner who didn’t cause ripples in calm waters. But since he had broken his promise on my graduation night, a fissure had formed inside me, growing steadily until it finally yawned open.
“And what if I am jealous?” I shot back, my voice cutting, laced with fury and heartbreak. “Will you finally do something about it? Will you finally stay away from her?”
Marcello’s eyes flickered, a flash of impatience masked by his usual charm. “No, right? You’re still accusing me, still questioning me. But you know the truth, Isabelle. I never went to Monaco for a client. That was just an excuse. A cover. For Serafina.”
The words fell like bullets. I felt the tears slide down my cheeks despite myself. I didn’t try to stop them—they were the release of months of bottled resentment, a bitter acknowledgment of everything I’d suppressed.
“So… I think it’s best if we end this,” I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute. “The family doesn’t even know the full story between us, and soon enough, you’ll be officially bound to her anyway.”
Marcello’s expression shifted instantly—the first crack of panic I had ever seen in him. His amber eyes darkened with desperation as he stepped toward me. “No, Isabelle. Don’t say that,” he pleaded, hands gripping my shoulders with a strength that belied the vulnerability in his voice. “I can’t function without you. Don’t leave me.”
He swallowed hard, voice trembling as he continued, “I know it’s complicated now, but Serafina—everything with her—is for appearances. For the families. The one I want… the only one I care for… it’s you. Only you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, softer now, almost fragile. “I’m sorry for missing your graduation. I’m sorry for the embassy. I’m sorry for all the times I let you down. From now on… you’re my priority. My first thought every morning. I swear it.”
I sneered silently. Another empty promise. I caught myself, wondering why I still felt anger. In less than three weeks, I’d be gone—far from his family’s empire, far from him. Why waste energy on someone who had spent years proving he didn’t deserve me?
So, as I always had, I forgave him. But this time, it was a performance, a mask I wore for my own protection.
Marcello exhaled in relief, pulling me into a warm, deceptive embrace as if nothing had changed. “Then tonight… we’ll be together?” he asked, hope glinting in his golden eyes.
I pulled away sharply. “No.”
Without another word, I turned and retreated to my room, closing the door with finality. His low chuckle trailed beneath the wood, casual and careless.
“Take your time, my girl,” he called softly, the words hollow, confident in his control.
---
The next morning, I prepared breakfast and packed a lunch for him, playing the obedient role he always demanded. Marcello’s lips curved into a grin when he saw it, sharp and predatory.
“Thanks. Looks like if this is how it’s going to be, everything runs smoothly between us,” he said, smug but satisfied, as if I had no choice but to comply.
I mirrored his smile—perfectly practiced, hollow.
For five days, I continued the act. All the while, I quietly packed my belongings, my heart already halfway across the ocean. I even attended a friend’s wedding alone. In the bridal room, I shared my plan with her. She cried, clutching my hand tightly.
“Don’t cry today—your happiness matters,” I whispered, forcing my own tears back.
She nodded. “Promise me we’ll meet one last time before you leave for Melbourne.”
“Of course,” I said, straightening my shoulders.
Watching my friend walk down the aisle, a sharp pang of jealousy cut through me. Marcello could have been beside me if he had honored his promises, if he had respected me as his equal. But he hadn’t. I shook my head and immersed myself in the celebration, swallowing my resentment.
---
Later that night, as I prepared to leave the party, my phone buzzed. Serafina.
“Isabelle,” her voice was silky, sharp as a dagger. “Marcello’s completely drunk at our friend’s gathering. You’re going to pick him up, aren’t you?”
I went—not out of concern, but because this was the last time I would perform the role of compliant partner.
Outside the private box, I overheard their conversation clearly.
“So… what happens to Isabelle once you marry Serafina, Marcello?” one of his associates asked, voice casual, laced with cruel amusement.
Marcello laughed, lazy, the sound carrying the entitled confidence of a man who believed he owned everything. “Isabelle? She’s just here to follow orders. To be on standby when I need her. Isn’t it amusing? A loyal little shadow waiting at home.”
