Elena POV：
I woke up alone.
The sheets were charcoal silk, cool against my heated skin.
My body ached, but it was a deep, satisfied ache, not the sharp agony of the drug I had anticipated.
I sat up, pulling the sheet against my chest.
The penthouse was silent.
Matteo was gone.
Naturally. I wasn't surprised. Men like him didn't stay to cuddle. They conquered, took what they wanted, and moved on to the next battle.
But he had left something on the nightstand.
A bottle of water. A bottle of aspirin. And a single, perfect red apple sitting mockingly on the glass surface.
I stared at the fruit.
It felt almost biblical. Like I had taken a bite of forbidden knowledge and doomed myself.
Or maybe, just maybe, I had saved myself.
I dragged myself to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a stranger staring back.
My hair was a tangled mess, a chaotic halo around my face. My lips were swollen, bitten red.
And on my neck, right where the collar of a modest dress would sit, was a dark, violet bloom.
A mark.
Matteo hadn't been careful. Care was for lovers. He had been territorial.
I traced the mark with my fingertip, wincing slightly.
It was a declaration of war.
I didn't cover it.
I showered quickly, scrubbing the sterile scent of the hotel soap off my skin, though the memory of his touch remained.
I put on the ruined dress from the night before, the fabric feeling foreign now.
I took the elevator down to the lobby.
I strode out the front doors of the Ritz-Carlton, ignoring the doorman's questioning glance, and hailed a taxi.
When I arrived at the Vitiello estate, the gates were open.
Cars were in the driveway. Genovese cars.
My stomach twisted, but I forced my spine straight. I was done cowering.
I walked through the front door.
Voices echoed from the drawing room. My father's booming baritone clashing with Dante's frantic tenor.
I walked in.
Silence fell like a guillotine blade.
Dante was standing by the fireplace. He looked disheveled. His tie was loose, his hair a mess.
My father, a man who loved power more than his children, looked at me with relief that quickly curdled into anger.
"Where the hell have you been?" my father demanded. "Dante has been out of his mind with worry."
I looked at Dante.
He didn't look worried. He looked like a man caught in a noose. Guilty.
"I woke up and you were gone," Dante said, stepping toward me. He tried to sound like a concerned fiancé, but his eyes were cold, calculating.
"I thought you were kidnapped."
"I wasn't kidnapped," I said calmly.
"Then where were you?" He reached for my arm.
I stepped back, out of his reach.
"I was in the hallway," I lied smoothly. "Listening."
Dante froze.
"Listening to what?"
"To you and Sofia," I said.
The room went deadly quiet.
My father looked at Dante, eyes narrowing. "Who is Sofia?"
Dante's face paled. "She's... nobody. A mistake. Elena, you were confused. The champagne..."
"I wasn't confused when I heard her screaming your name in my bridal suite," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.
I saw Luca in the corner. My brother. He looked green. He knew what was in that champagne. He knew I should have been unconscious hours ago.
"You abandoned me," I said to Dante. "On the night of our engagement. To sleep with a whore."
"It was an accident!" Dante shouted, losing his composure. "She came onto me! I thought it was you!"
"You thought the woman in the cheap sequins was me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.
Dante flushed red.
"It doesn't matter," he snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "We are getting married. This changes nothing."
"It changes everything," I said.
I lifted my chin, brushing my hair aside to expose the bruise on my neck.
Dante's eyes dropped to it.
His pupils dilated.
He knew that mark. He knew it wasn't his.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"Proof," I said.
"You whore," he hissed. He lunged at me.
Luca stepped forward, blocking him with his shoulder.
"Don't touch her," Luca warned, his voice low.
Dante pointed a shaking finger at me. "She slept with someone else! She broke the contract!"
"You broke it first," I said, my voice ice cold. "You brought a mistress into our bed. I just... sought comfort elsewhere."
"With who?" Dante screamed. "Who touched you?"
I smiled. It was a small, cruel thing.
"Someone who knows exactly how to treat a woman," I said.
"The engagement is off, Dante. Get out of my house."
