As soon as we entered the restaurant, one of the waiters recognized us and greeted us with a polished smile.
"Mr. and Mrs. Valente," he said warmly. "It's been a while since we've seen the two of you together."
The moment the words left his mouth, I noticed Camille's expression stiffen.
Without hesitation, she slipped her arm through Dante's, clinging to him possessively, as though staking her claim in front of everyone present.
The gesture clearly confused the waiter, but Dante either didn't notice or chose not to.
"Table for four," he said casually.
"Of course. Right this way."
The waiter led us through the restaurant toward one of the familiar tables tucked away in the back, beyond the private dining rooms where business was conducted behind closed doors and never discussed in daylight.
What none of them knew was that the restaurant itself carried a different meaning for me.
It had always been one of Dante's favorite places because the steaks were prepared tableside, allowing guests to cook them themselves if they wished.
For years, he had insisted that I be the one to do it.
What he never mentioned was that it had once been something he and Camille did together.
As the tabletop grill heated up, Ginevra grabbed the tongs with a smug smile.
"I'm actually pretty good at this," she announced. "I just don't enjoy cooking unless I have to. Watch and learn."
She flipped the steak with practiced confidence, earning an impressive hiss as the meat met the hot surface.
For a while, everything seemed perfectly normal.
Then the oil began dripping from the steak.
A few seconds later, flames suddenly surged upward from the grill.
Camille gasped.
Startled, she jerked backward and accidentally knocked the grill over.
Hot embers scattered in every direction.
Both Camille and I were sitting closest to the grill.
Ginevra managed to dodge in time, having noticed the danger moments earlier.
I barely had time to react.
Dante moved first.
Without hesitation, he rushed forward and scooped Camille into his arms.
"Call an ambulance!"
Panic filled his voice.
"She's been burned. Hurry!"
The urgency in his tone made it sound as though her injuries were life-threatening.
Meanwhile, a sharp sting spread across my arm where several embers had struck me.
But Dante never looked my way.
Not once.
His entire world narrowed to Camille.
As though I wasn't even there.
Silently, I lowered my gaze and touched the small burns on my arm.
The pain was immediate.
Sharp.
Real.
One of the waiters, rushing to assist, noticed my discomfort and paused.
"Mrs. Valente, are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"
I opened my mouth to answer.
Before I could speak, Dante's voice cut through the room again.
Cradling Camille protectively against his chest, he gently smoothed a hand through her hair.
"Make sure she's treated immediately."
His tone was urgent.
Demanding.
The waiter looked from him to me, visibly unsure who needed help first.
Seeing his hesitation, I forced a small smile.
"I'm fine."
I lowered my hand.
"Please take care of her first."
Only then did Dante glance at me.
Just briefly.
As though he had suddenly remembered I existed.
"If you're hurt, deal with it yourself."
His voice was cold.
Detached.
"Just don't make a scene."
Something tightened painfully in my chest.
Still, I kept my expression calm.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Dante."
Satisfied, he looked away again and returned all his attention to Camille.
A moment later, he guided her outside to wait for the ambulance.
Two soldiers stationed near the entrance immediately moved to flank them without being told.
Not one of them looked back.
Ginevra remained standing nearby, visibly annoyed.
She tapped her nails rapidly against her wine glass.
"Great."
She rolled her eyes.
"Now the whole evening is ruined."
Not once did she ask if I was hurt.
Not once did she even glance at my injuries.
The moment they disappeared from sight, I finally allowed myself to wince.
The burns throbbed painfully beneath my sleeve.
The waiter returned carrying a cold compress.
Sympathy softened his expression.
"Here, ma'am. This should help."
I accepted it gratefully.
"Thank you."
The cool cloth eased some of the pain.
And somehow, the simple kindness of a stranger felt more comforting than anything I had received from the people I once considered family.
As I pressed the compress against my arm, a thought quietly surfaced.
This will be the last time.
The last time I allow myself to be ignored.
After leaving the restaurant, I took a taxi directly to the hospital.
The burns weren't severe, but they hurt enough to require treatment.
In the emergency room, the doctor carefully examined my arm before beginning treatment.
"You're lucky," he said. "The burns aren't deep. With proper care, you should heal within a few days."
"Thank you, Doctor."
As I waited to settle the bill, two nurses nearby began chatting quietly.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't have paid attention.
Then I heard Dante's name.
"Did you hear?" one nurse whispered. "Mr. Valente reserved an entire floor for that woman."
"And he brought in several specialists for her consultation."
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
How ironic.
He had never gone to those lengths for me.
Not once.
Not even when I needed him most.
Pushing the thought away, I handed my card to the receptionist.
A few moments later, she frowned and returned it.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this card has been blocked."
I stared down at it.
The Valente family card.
The one Dante had given me years ago.
Understanding dawned instantly.
He had seen the divorce papers.
And this was his response.
A punishment.
A warning.
A reminder of who controlled the money.
"Oh."
I forced a smile.
"My mistake."
Reaching into my wallet, I handed over my personal card instead—the account funded entirely by the paintings I had sold over the years.
As the payment processed, an uncomfortable realization settled over me.
Habit was a frightening thing.
For years, I had relied on what the Family provided.
And now, all it took was one signature on the wrong document to reveal exactly how fragile that security truly was.
One decision.
One disagreement.
And suddenly, you discovered what your value really was.
Nothing.
After my arm was bandaged, I returned to the estate.
Dante and Camille would be spending the night at the hospital, which suited me perfectly.
The last thing I wanted was to see either of them.
Several staff members noticed the bandage wrapped around my arm and immediately looked concerned.
"It's just a minor burn," I reassured them with a smile.
"Please don't worry. And I'm sorry for disturbing everyone so late."
The following morning, I was awakened by the soft chime of a notification.
Still half asleep, I reached for my phone.
Then I froze.
An acceptance notice.
The Arts Academy in Italy had officially confirmed my admission.
My heart nearly stopped.
The school requested one final artwork as part of the enrollment process.
Excitement surged through me so suddenly that it drowned out everything else.
Without wasting a second, I gathered my art supplies and headed downstairs.
The driver immediately offered to take me.
For the first time, I declined.
"I'll drive myself."
He looked uncertain but stepped aside.
Like everyone employed by the Valente family, he wasn't accustomed to people refusing the routines that had always existed.
But I no longer wanted those routines.
I wanted freedom.
I drove directly to the RISD Museum, hoping inspiration would come from the art that had first made me fall in love with painting.
And it did.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
I sketched.
Painted.
Created.
Completely losing myself in the process.
For the first time in years, I felt light.
As though the weight of my marriage had finally loosened its grip around my throat.
With every brushstroke, another piece of myself returned.
The version of me that existed before Dante.
Before disappointment.
Before years of waiting for love that never came.
I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't notice night had fallen until my phone suddenly rang.
The sound shattered the peaceful silence of the studio.
I glanced at the screen.
Dante.
A flicker of annoyance crossed my face as I answered.
"What is it?"
"Where are you?"
His voice was sharp.
Demanding.
I could practically picture him standing in the dining room, irritated to discover I wasn't sitting there waiting for him like I always had.
"Where I am is none of your business, Mr. Valente."
My tone was ice cold.
The silence on the other end lasted only a second.
Then I felt his anger through the phone.
"How long are you going to keep up this tantrum, Seraphina?"
He scoffed.
"Is this because I cut off the card?"
Another bitter laugh.
"We both know you can't survive without me."
I lowered my gaze to the familiar callus on my middle finger.
The ridge felt solid beneath my thumb.
Steady.
Reliable.
Unlike him.
Taking a slow breath, I answered calmly.
"Actually, I can."
Then I hung up.
Without hesitation.
Without regret.
Without looking back.
A moment later, a text message appeared.
**Dante:** Come back right now, or I'll drag you home.
I stared at the screen.
Then typed a single word.
**Seraphina:** Never.
With one final swipe, I blocked his number.
And for the first time in a very long time, I felt free.
