For a second, I just stared at him.
"Y-you want me to donate?" I asked, my fingers curling slightly. "Domenico… I can't. I'm scared of needles, I don't even… this is surgery, it's risky, I—"
"I didn't call you here to complain," he cut me off, his tone turning cold. "Don't start that shit with me."
"I'm not complaining, I just… I'm scared, okay?" My voice shook and I hated it. "Can't you find someone else? Please, I really can't do this—"
Before I could step back, two of his soldiers moved. They grabbed my arms.
Hard.
I flinched, panic rising in my chest. "Let go! What are you doing?"
Domenico stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like there was no room for refusal. The fluorescent lights of the private ward hummed above us, and neither soldier so much as shifted. They held me like men accustomed to holding people still.
"I'm your husband," he said, voice low and dangerous. "And you'll do exactly what I say."
My heart dropped.
"Your life is mine," he continued, his grip tightening on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "So you're donating. Don't make me repeat myself."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Was I even a person to him? Or just something he owned? My eyes burned but I forced it back, swallowing everything down like I always did. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist, fingers brushing the skin where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit. The ghost of its weight was all I had left.
"…Okay," I whispered.
The men let go of me.
"I'll sign."
The nurse handed me the form. My hands were shaking, but I still took the pen.
Stroke by stroke, I wrote my name. Each line felt heavy. Like I was carving something into my own heart. And I smiled a little, just enough so no one would notice the tears I was trying so hard to hide.
Just before they pushed me in, I couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Domenico!"
My voice came out weaker than I wanted. He stopped and turned his head slightly, eyes cold, like I'd just interrupted something unimportant. The silver ring on his right hand caught the corridor light as he half-turned. For a second, I forgot everything I wanted to say.
My lips trembled. Then I forced out the only thing I could.
"…Nothing."
His eyes flickered, just a little. I thought maybe, just maybe… But he didn't say anything.
He turned and walked outside. The doors closed right in front of me. And that was it. The moment they shut, my vision blurred and the tears I'd been holding back just fell. Quiet. Helpless.
So this was how deep his love went.
Deep enough to throw me onto an operating table without hesitation. Deep enough that even if it was my life, he wouldn't care.
When I woke up, everything felt heavy. My body, my head, even my breathing. It was like I was floating somewhere between awake and not.
The lights were too bright. My throat felt dry.
"…You're awake?" a nurse's voice came gently beside me.
I blinked slowly, turning my head. "Mm… yeah…"
"How are you feeling? Dizzy? Pain anywhere?"
"A little," I whispered. "I-is the surgery done?"
She smiled. "Yes. It went well. The patient is stable now and recovering."
Good.
That meant she was okay.
I swallowed, my chest feeling strangely empty. "Domenico, where is he?"
The nurse paused for a second, then said casually, "Mr. Valente? He's with his wife and her mother right now."
My heart stopped.
His wife?
Oh.
Right.
I stared at the ceiling, not saying anything. The private ward was still. Somewhere down the corridor, a door opened and closed, and low voices carried through the walls of this Family-funded clinic where no one asked questions and every room had a lock from the outside. The nurse didn't notice. She just kept talking, even giggling a little.
"Honestly, I was watching them earlier and I got so jealous," she said, her eyes lighting up. "They look like such a perfect couple!"
I didn't move.
"Mr. Valente was so attentive," she continued, almost dreamy. "He kept holding his wife's hand and talking to her softly. You wouldn't even guess he's someone so powerful."
Each word felt like something pressing deeper into me.
"And the way he looked at her," she added, smiling. "Gosh, it was so sweet. I mean, you can really tell he loves her a lot."
I closed my eyes slowly.
"Even when the doctor came out, he didn't leave her side," she said again, laughing quietly. "He kept comforting her, like she was the one who just went through surgery. If I had a husband like that, I'd never let him go."
I let out a small breath. So that was how it looked from the outside. A loving husband. A devoted man.
And me? What was I?
I forced a small smile, even though no one was looking.
"…That's good," I murmured. "As long as she's okay."
I lay there staring at the ceiling, my hand hooked to the IV, the slow drip the only thing keeping time. My body still felt heavy and numb, like it didn't belong to me anymore.
The nurse had just left when the door opened again.
I thought it was Domenico but it wasn't.
Ambra walked in.
She looked soft, fragile, eyes still a little red like she'd been crying for hours. In her hands was a basket of fruit, neatly wrapped like this was some kind of polite visit. A soldier stationed outside the door glanced in, registered her, and looked away. She belonged here. I was the one who didn't.
"Mrs. Caruso…" she said gently, stepping closer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you like this again."
I looked at her but didn't say anything.
She placed the basket down and gave me a small smile. "Thank you. Really… if it wasn't for you, my mom wouldn't have made it. You saved her."
Her voice softened, almost sweet but it was fake. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear with a slow, deliberate motion.
"Thank you for being such a devoted slave to my husband. I mean… devoted wife to Domenico."
My fingers twitched slightly on the blanket.
Slave?
"Do you want some apples?" she asked, already reaching for one. "I'll peel it for you."
"I'm fine," I said quietly.
She didn't stop.
The knife slid against the apple skin in slow, careful strokes. The sound was soft, almost soothing. Almost.
"I really didn't expect…" she continued, her voice turning distant, like she was drifting somewhere else. "After all these years, he's still like that with me."
My chest tightened.
"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "He just never changed."
The peel fell in one long strip as she spoke.
"Last year, I mentioned once that I liked this limited edition watch," she said casually. "I didn't even remember saying it. But a week later, he flew overseas just to get it for me. It wasn't even available locally."
My fingers slowly curled.
"He showed up at my place in the middle of the night," she added, smiling faintly. "But I was still mad at him back then, so I didn't even let him in. I told him to leave and threw the box back at him."
Her tone was light. Like it was nothing. Like his effort was something she could just throw away.
My mind went blank for a second.
Because I remembered. That same time. He told me he had an arrangement overseas. Three days. When he came back, he handed me a watch. Just like that. No explanation. No emotion.
"Take it," he said. "Saw it. Thought it suited you."
I'd been so happy. I didn't even wear it. I kept it safe, tucked away like something precious I didn't deserve to ruin.
And now? It was just something she didn't want. I didn't realize my nails were digging into my palm until it started to hurt.
