Sienna's POV:
The room reeked of disinfectant, the cold air from the vent chilling my bare arms.
The bed was made, but stripped of its former warmth.
The toe of my shoe scuffed against something smooth on the floor.
I looked down.
Photographs were scattered across the tiles, some still half-hidden under the bed.
I bent and picked one up, my fingers trembling slightly.
It was a high-definition, explicit photo.
Julian and Vivian, tangled together on a bed, their bodies pressed in raw, undeniable intimacy.
Five or six similar images lay scattered around the room.
"No!"
Overwhelming grief tore me apart from the inside.
The nurses' whispers echoed in my mind.
Died from fury and fear, face streaked with tears.
Grandma had seen these.
Someone had snuck these into her secure room, forced her to look.
The tears Grandma shed at the end were for the silent suffering she knew I endured.
She died knowing what kind of monster I was bound to.
In that moment, every excuse I'd ever made for him, every reason I'd endured, turned to ash in my mind.
A numbness washed over me, slowing the blood in my veins.
This was a cruel murder.
I knew who the killer was.
It was Julian. It was Julian's mistress. And it was me.
I left the hospital and got into a taxi.
I knew where Julian was tonight.
A dinner at a hotel downtown.
I bypassed the security at the main entrance; the soldiers stationed there recognized my face and respectfully stepped aside.
I entered the grand ballroom.
The air was thick with the smell of Cuban cigars, expensive oud, and the low hum of dangerous deals.
I scanned the shadows near the bar, my focus sharpening.
I found them.
Julian had Vivian pressed against a marble pillar, making out with her in the dim light.
Mobsters and their wives whispered and glanced sideways.
They speculated that Julian was finally going to legitimize his mistress and replace his boring civilian wife.
Vivian pulled back from Julian, a triumphant smile on her face.
She held up her phone, shamelessly posting a photo of their kiss on social media.
Eager to force Julian into publicly acknowledging her.
Julian turned his head and noticed me standing a few feet away.
He didn't look ashamed, just annoyed.
"Go home, Sienna," he murmured. "Don't make a scene, or I'll pull the plug on your grandmother's doctors tomorrow."
My face was completely blank.
I felt no fear, no love. Just a chilling clarity.
I shoved Julian hard with both hands. Startled by the force, he stumbled back.
Before he could react, I stepped around him and slapped Vivian across the face.
The sound cut sharply through the low music, creating a silent circle around us.
Vivian shrieked, clutching her reddened cheek, stumbling back in her stilettos.
Julian's mafia boss instincts kicked in.
But he didn't defend his mistress.
He stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body, and snapped at Vivian.
"Shut up, you're just a whore!" he growled, aggressively asserting my inviolable place as his wife.
He turned, grabbing my hand, his fingers digging deep into my skin.
He forced a fake smile for our onlookers.
"Wifey's a little jealous," he announced loudly to the room, his grip crushing my knuckles. "We're going home now. I'm going to cook her dinner."
His touch made my skin crawl.
I yanked my hand away.
I grabbed a whiskey from a passing waiter's tray.
Locking eyes with Julian, I poured it directly over his head.
The liquid soaked his hair, dripping down his custom suit.
"Looking at you makes me sick," I said loudly. "Marrying you was the curse of my life."
Julian wiped whiskey from his eyes, his jaw twitching slightly.
He forced a laugh, glancing around at his men.
"Pregnancy hormones," he dismissed coldly. "Go home, Sienna. Don't stress the baby."
I walked away alone. I didn't look back.
I left the dinner and got into a waiting car.
"The airport," I told the driver.
A one-way flight to Germany was waiting.
Hours later, Julian returned to the sprawling estate.
He walked into an empty house. The silence was suffocating.
The food on the stove was cold.
The phone line was dead.
When he realized my scent had vanished from the hallways, an unknown fear, suffocating like a noose, gripped him.
He heard the front door open and rushed to the foyer, desperate to see my face.
"Sienna!"
It wasn't me.
It was the Matriarch.
She walked in and threw a thick stack of papers onto the table.
She looked at her son with cold, pragmatic eyes.
"Consider marrying a daughter of the Romano or Rossi families," she advised bluntly. "That civilian woman is gone. You need a real wife."
Julian's eyes widened, disbelief washing over him.
