I watched them step back inside, their bodies close, glowing with warmth, and a pang of emptiness struck my chest.
The boy I had nurtured, the child I had poured every ounce of love into, couldn’t recognize a single thing I had done for him. Instead, he clung to a woman Victor had brought home, a hostess who resembled Alessia just enough to make him feel comforted.
It was too late to hail a cab, and the rain poured down harder by the minute. I curled into a corner near the gate, trying to shield myself from the downpour like a stray dog seeking refuge.
Just as I resigned myself to sitting there all night, the door opened. The housekeeper appeared, holding an umbrella.
“Madam, Mr. De Luca said you may come inside,” she said.
My mind felt numb, but I managed a small nod and dragged myself in.
Inside, I saw Asher curled in Liliana’s lap, eyes glued to the television, while Victor peeled fruit nearby. They looked like a perfect family straight out of a magazine.
I tried to ignore them and make my way upstairs—but Victor intercepted me.
“You know only your cooking keeps Asher from getting sick,” he said. “Don’t stay out longer than an hour from now on.”
I gave him a tired, emotionless smile. “Then maybe hire a professional nutritionist—or better yet, teach Miss Smith my recipes. I’ve written them all down. Don’t forget—we’re getting divorced soon.”
A harsh clang echoed through the room as he slammed the fruit knife onto the counter, making me flinch.
“Liana! Have I been too lenient with you? Is that why you think you can speak to me like this?” He shoved his chair back and stormed toward me, gripping my wrist so tightly it hurt.
“You toss around the word ‘divorce’ like it’s meaningless. You really believe I won’t follow through?”
Of course he would. He never loved me. The only reason he hadn’t divorced me before was Asher—he wanted his son to believe the family was still perfect.
I stared straight at him, voice steady. “Then maybe you should ask Asher whether he even wants me here. Ask him if he cares whether we stay together.”
Almost on cue, Asher’s voice rang through the room, sharp and full of disdain.
“Dad, I’ve been wishing you’d divorce her for years. I hate her. I like Aunt Vee better.”
Liliana quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. “Asher, darling, you can’t say that—it will hurt your mom.”
Her words were polite, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her satisfaction.
“She’s not my mom! I don’t want a murderer for a mother!” Asher spat, glaring at me with pure hatred.
I shrugged at Victor and said flatly, “There, you heard him. He doesn’t want me here. Can we finalize this divorce now?”
Victor’s brows knitted in frustration. He turned to Liliana.
“Liliana, take Asher downstairs.”
Disappointment flashed across her face, but she complied, leading him away.
I looked at her retreating figure and said coolly, “You like her more than me, don’t you? Then why don’t you make her Mrs. De Luca? I’m done holding that title.”
“You’re really that eager to throw me at another woman?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous.
I stared at him, baffled. What did he mean by that?
He loved Alessia. Everyone knew it. Even five years after her death, he never looked at me with love—never once. I had been nothing more than a stand-in, a body he could use whenever he wanted. And now, he’d finally found Liliana—a living reflection of Alessia, eerily similar in appearance.
Shouldn’t he be elated?
Instead, his expression darkened. He spun on his heel and barked over his shoulder. “Liliana, come back here.”
She paused, surprised, and before she could speak, Victor grabbed her wrist and yanked her down the hallway.
“You want to watch us together, Liana?” he growled. “Fine. I’ll give you the show you’re craving.”
He dragged her into the bedroom and slammed the door. Soon after, muffled sounds seeped through the walls.
I felt nothing.
I had never come to this house for love. I was here to repay a debt, nothing more. My heart had never been involved; I had never expected affection in return. Victor had loved Alessia and now had Liliana, a mirror image of the woman he still mourned. She was his second chance, a living shadow of his past love. He should be happy.
I checked the clock—my flight was leaving soon.
Quietly, I slid the signed divorce papers under the bedroom door, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the front door.
But Asher stepped in front of me, blocking the path.
With a swift kick, he toppled my suitcase.
“What? A few harsh words and you’re storming off?” His tone dripped with venom. “You think this little stunt will make Dad run after you like in the movies? You’re pathetic.”
I said nothing. Calmly, I bent down, picked up my suitcase, and tried to walk around him.
Suddenly, Asher snatched the fruit knife from the table.
He lunged at me, knife aimed straight for my chest, his young face twisted in rage.
