I said nothing. I walked straight toward Arthur.
Our eyes met. There was a flicker of panic in his gaze, but far more than that, there was irritation at the way I'd been acting tonight.
Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line, his expression darkening.
I knew that look. He was on the verge of losing his temper, waiting for me to fold the way I always did.
But not this time.
I stood in front of him and held his gaze. The moment I parted my lips, he smirked and caught my hand, already assuming I was about to apologize.
Instead, I pointed at the alliance ceremony invitation on the table and smiled, bitter to the bone:
"Arthur. Congratulations on your wedding."
Before the tears could spill, I wrenched my hand free and turned to leave.
The smirk on his face froze. Humiliation twisted into fury, and he swept the invitation off the table with one sharp motion, his voice cold:
"Bianca, are you done? There's a limit to how much of a scene you can make."
"When did you become so difficult? You were never like this before."
"Think about it. Besides being obedient and agreeable, what do you actually have going for you?"
I went rigid. Something sharp drove itself through my chest.
Everyone in his circle had always said I wasn't good enough for Arthur. I'd never cared.
He was the one who pursued me. I hadn't even known he was Falcone blood.
The heir apparent to one of the most powerful Families in the city had hidden his name to chase an ordinary girl from the old Moretti neighborhood. It wasn't until our second year together that I stumbled onto the truth. A bodyguard slipped up. A black car idled too long outside my building. And then the pieces clicked into a shape I couldn't unsee.
I tried to walk away from him the same day. I knew the distance between our worlds would only lead to a dead end.
He left without a word. Then, in the middle of the night, he stood below my building in the pouring rain, shouting my name.
I could hear how drunk he was. He'd had far too much.
He was soaked through, shaking from the cold. His thin dress shirt clung to him, streaked with blood.
But his voice rang out into the rain, fierce and bright:
"Bianca, I've already convinced my family. Will you face whatever comes with me?"
The puddles at his feet had turned red. I didn't know what had happened after he left, didn't know which sit-down had gone wrong or whose hands had drawn that blood, but I could see exactly what he'd gone through to get back to me.
In that moment, I threw all caution aside, ran downstairs, and threw myself into his arms.
I'd always believed we were in love. Everyone could see how much Arthur adored me.
He would start planning for our anniversaries weeks in advance. He said love should be displayed in the most extravagant ways possible. He said he wanted the whole world to know.
Whenever I was feeling low, he'd whisk me away on a spontaneous trip, watching the sunrise and sunset with me.
He remembered every little thing I liked and surprised me again and again.
I thought he was the person who loved me most in this world, second only to my Sinclair.
But all of it was a lie. He'd only pursued me on a bet among the Capos' sons, a wager to see whether his first love would get jealous.
And now she had. Now they were binding two Families together, and I was the loose thread being cut.
The grief I'd been holding back broke through. Tears streamed down my face.
Just as I turned to go, Arthur grabbed my arm. His signet ring pressed cold against my skin. His eyes locked onto the report in my hand, and his voice turned sharp:
"What were you doing at the hospital? Are you sick? Why didn't you tell me?"
My breath caught. I crushed the report tighter in my fist, but my voice came out flat and cold:
