Elena POV
The email arrived via an encrypted server I had accessed from the safety of the public library.
It was more than just an acceptance letter from a research institute in Geneva.
It was a lifeline.
It was irrefutable proof that Elena Rossi existed outside of Dante’s suffocating shadow.
I stared at the screen, catching my ghostly reflection in the monitor’s glass. I looked hollowed out, my eyes bruised by dark circles of exhaustion. But deep inside, where the ash of my spirit had lain cold for months, a fire was finally catching a spark.
I returned to the estate and walked straight to my dressing room, the silence of the house pressing against my ears.
Retrieving the wooden box from the back of the closet, I set it on the vanity.
I reached up and unclasped the diamond necklace Dante had draped around my throat for our first anniversary.
*Cold.*
I removed the emerald earrings he had presented to me the night I secured the deal with the Russians.
*Heavy.*
I placed them into the velvet-lined box. They were payment for services rendered, I realized, not gifts of love.
Then, I looked at my left hand.
The diamond was massive. Flawless. It weighed down my finger—a shackle of compressed carbon masquerading as a promise.
I pulled it off.
My finger felt naked. It felt light.
I walked to the fireplace in the master bedroom, where a fire was already crackling, fighting the damp chill of the rainy afternoon.
I held the ring over the dancing flames.
I watched the gold band heat up, reflecting the orange light like a dying star. I didn't feel sadness. I felt like I was cauterizing a infected wound.
I tossed it in.
It clattered against the iron grate before falling into the bed of ash.
Turning to the nightstand, I opened my journal. I picked up a pen and wrote a single, steady line:
*I am no longer a supporting character in his tragedy. I am the protagonist of my own life.*
"Elena."
Dante stood in the doorway.
He hadn't knocked. He never knocked.
"Get dressed," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The Genovese family is coming for dinner. You need to be there."
It wasn't a request. It was a command.
I didn't turn to face him.
"No," I said.
The silence that followed was deafening, sucking the air out of the room.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no," I repeated, finally turning around to meet his gaze. "I'm not feeling well. I won't be paraded around like a trophy tonight."
Dante stepped into the room, bringing the storm in with him.
His energy was chaotic, dark.
"You will do what is expected of you," he growled, closing the distance between us. "Cancel whatever plans you think you have."
"My plans are made," I said.
My voice was flat. I was bored of his anger. I was bored of his control.
He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in months.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
He saw the lack of the ring.
He glanced at the empty dressing table.
A flicker of genuine unease crossed his face, cracking his composure.
"What are you doing, Elena?"
"I'm resting," I said. "Close the door on your way out."
He stood there for a long moment, his jaw working as he ground his teeth.
He looked as if he wanted to shake me.
Or kiss me.
Or kill me.
Finally, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windowpanes rattled in their frames.
I sank onto the bed.
I stared at the ceiling, trying to force my heart rate down, trying to sleep. But the pain returned.
This time, it wasn't a cramp.
It was a vice grip tightening around my spine, crushing the breath from my lungs.
I gasped, curling into a ball as agony radiated through my pelvis.
Then, the terrifying sensation of slick warmth dampening my thighs.
*No.*
*Not now.*
*It's too soon.*
I tried to sit up, but the room spun violently.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard voices in the hallway.
Vanessa’s voice.
High-pitched. Excited.
"It's true, Dante! The doctor confirmed it. My levels are perfect. The baby is healthy."
I froze, my hand clutching my stomach.
*Baby?*
I dragged myself to the door and cracked it open just an inch.
Dante was standing in the hall, holding Vanessa by the shoulders.
His face was transformed.
He looked... relieved. He looked hopeful.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough. "After everything..."
"Yes," Vanessa wept, burying her face in his chest. "A piece of Marco. A piece of the family. He's safe."
Dante wrapped his arms around her.
He held her with a tenderness that shattered whatever remained of my heart.
He was celebrating a ghost's child while his own flesh and blood was dying inside me.
The irony hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
Another contraction ripped through me.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, desperate to keep from screaming.
If I screamed, he would come.
He would take me.
He would own the baby.
And I would be nothing but the nursemaid to Vanessa's golden child.
I watched Dante stroke Vanessa’s hair, his hand gentle, protective.
"We have to be careful," he whispered. "We have to protect him."
He was already a father.
Just not to my child.
I closed the door silently.
I leaned against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor.
Outside, thunder cracked like a gunshot.
The storm had broken.
Rain lashed against the glass, matching the tears I refused to shed.
I had no choice now.
The plan had to move up.
I had to leave tonight.
Or I would die here.
