I had stayed up making him sobering soup, woken early to prepare breakfast, reminded him of sit-downs, washed his shirts, packed his things, and cleaned up every mess he left behind.
I had mistaken all of that for love.
Now I only found it exhausting.
My early arrival clearly surprised my supervisor. When she walked past my desk, her brows lifted slightly, but she didn't say anything.
After the morning briefing, she called me into her office.
"Bianca," she began, her tone measured, "there's an opportunity to work at one of our foreign territory fronts. Marseille. Are you interested?"
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"I've always valued your skills, but I was concerned about your family situation before, so I wasn't sure if you would be willing to leave."
Before she could finish, I nodded.
"I'm interested," I said calmly. "I'd be grateful for the opportunity. Thank you."
My answer came so quickly that she blinked in surprise.
For a moment, she seemed unsure whether she had heard me correctly.
Then her expression softened.
"I also noticed you threw away a bouquet last night," she said hesitantly. "Did you have a fight with your husband?"
I gave a small smile and shook my head.
A fight?
No.
Lorenzo never truly fought with me.
Whenever I questioned him, he would look at me with that patient, indulgent expression, as if I were a spoiled child throwing a meaningless tantrum.
He never argued because he never thought I was worth arguing with.
To him, my anger was noise.
My pain was drama.
My disappointment was something he could wait out until I eventually softened.
Just then, my phone vibrated twice.
I glanced down.
Lorenzo.
I answered.
His voice was gentle, but beneath that gentleness was a faint edge of displeasure.
"Busy today?" he asked. "Why did you leave without making breakfast?"
There it was.
Not, "How's your ankle?"
Not, "Did you sleep well?"
Not, "Are you feeling okay?"
His first concern was breakfast.
I said nothing.
After a short pause, he added, "Yesterday was our anniversary. I got you a gift."
"Oh?" I asked lightly, hiding the flicker of curiosity that still rose in me despite everything. "What gift?"
"A small box in my coat pocket," he said. "A ring."
I heard the rustle of fabric on the other end, followed by his low mutter as he searched his pockets.
"Strange. It's not here."
Then he seemed to realize something. His tone changed quickly, becoming almost too casual. I could picture him smoothing the strap of his watch flat against his wrist, already turning the lie into something that sounded reasonable.
"It must've fallen out in the car. I'll get you another one."
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
In the photo from last night, Adriana had been wearing a ring on her finger.
So even my anniversary gift had to be tried on by his protected little saint first.
How thoughtful.
How disgusting.
"No need," I said. "I forgot to get you anything anyway."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Bianca?" Lorenzo's voice tightened. "Are you upset? I really did buy you a gift."
"Yeah," I replied flatly.
Then, before he could say anything else, I added, "If there's nothing else, I'll hang up now. I'm busy with work."
I ended the call.
From that day on, my relationship with Lorenzo settled into a strange, uneasy calm.
We lived under the same roof in that guarded estate, but the warmth between us had gone cold. The soldiers posted at the gates saw us come and go at different hours. If they noticed, they said nothing. Men in this world were trained not to notice.
He seemed to sense that something was wrong, yet he still assumed I would eventually return to the way I used to be.
He didn't understand that some things, once broken, did not make noise.
They simply stopped existing.
A few days later, the DeLuca matriarch invited me over for Sunday dinner.
That had never happened before.
She had never liked me.
In her eyes, Adriana had always been the daughter-in-law she truly wanted. I was only the woman who had stepped into a position that should have belonged to someone else.
Still, I did not refuse.
