On the Thirty-Third Try

My wedding to Don Lorenzo Corsica was always 'almost.'

Five years engaged. Thirty-two weddings. Every single one crashed and burned.

Then came number thirty-three. Halfway through, the chapel wall caved in. I landed in the ICU.

Skull fracture. Major concussion. A dozen critical alerts.

Two months stuck between life and death. Then I clawed my way back.

On discharge day, I caught him talking to his right-hand guy.

"Don, if you're really into that scholarship girl, just dump Ms. Mortoro," the guy said. "Corsicas can kill gossip. No need for staged accidents... She nearly died."

Lorenzo went quiet. Then finally, "I owed her parents. They died for me. Marrying her was the only way to repay that. But I love Sofia. She's the one I want."

I looked down at my stitched-up body and cried without a sound.

So it wasn't fate that wrecked me. It was him.

If he couldn't choose, I'd do it for him.

"You're ending the engagement?!"

Lorenzo's mother—Elisa—looked like I'd slapped her.

She knew better than anyone how hard I'd loved Lorenzo.

"Chiara, think this through. Once you're married, you'll be the Corsica matriarch. No one would dare touch you."

I just smiled, bitter and tired, then hit play on my phone.

Lorenzo's voice filled the room. Elisa went stiff, color draining from her face.

"Five years. Thirty-three failed weddings. Every 'accident'—his plan. All of it just to get me to walk away."

I slid a stack of hospital files across the table.

"He thinks marriage is a cage. I'm not dragging him in. Cutting ties is cleaner for both of us."

Elisa was shaking, pissed and heartbroken. She remembered every near-death hit I took just trying to say "I do."

First time—snipers hit our motorcade. I got shot four times, bled out on the chapel steps.

Second—some rogue truck crushed my car. Snapped my hand to pieces.

Third—our hotel exploded. I was trapped in that fire for three brutal hours.

She reached out, fingers grazing the wreckage on my arm. Then she gave this slow, heavy nod.

"Your parents trusted us with you when they died... And this is how Lorenzo repays them. We didn't just fail you—we failed everything your family stood for."

My nose burned. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

As I stepped through the gates of the Corsica estate, a sleek black Maybach rolled up.

Window down. Lorenzo, looking irritated as hell.

"Back to snitch again? If you're that desperate, let's just hit the chapel and sign the vows."

I didn't answer. Just glanced at the passenger seat.

Sofia Camorra. Red-eyed, like she was the victim. When he said "sign the vows," she flinched.

Lorenzo jumped out, blocking my view of her.

"I've caught feelings for Sofia, fine," he said, brows tight. "But relax—I'll still HANDLE MY RESPONSIBILITIES to you. The engagement stands."

'Responsibilities.'

That word stabbed me straight in the heart.

I laughed under my breath. "Got plans. Maybe next time. I mean, what's a few more days after five years?"

He blinked—thrown off. I used to beg to get to that chapel.

Didn't wait for his reaction. I turned to go.

Then Sofia stepped out and grabbed my arm.

"Lorenzo's a man of his word," she said, voice all shaky and sweet. "He's done so much for me. I just hope you treat him right once you're married."

Her eyes screamed jealousy. Her nails sank into my skin.

I yanked free, flinching. She staggered back—then slapped herself. Hard.

From Lorenzo's angle, it looked like I'd hit her.

He pulled her in, checking her cheek like she was made of glass. Then shot me a look full of fire.

"No rush, huh? So you take it out on someone who did nothing?"

He turned and left with Sofia. Right before getting in, he looked back—ice-cold.

"If your dead parents saw what you've turned into, they'd be ashamed."

The words lodged in my throat. I swallowed them whole.

I just stood there, the dust from their car clouding everything.

Then my phone buzzed.

[Ms. Mortoro, your second enhanced brain CT results are in. The prognosis isn't good. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible.]