When Serena opened her eyes again, the smell of antiseptic stung her nose. White light poured through half-drawn blinds. She was in a private hospital suite—one owned by the Romano family, where discretion was worth more than medicine.
The clan’s physician stood at her bedside, his face grave. “Madam, your body couldn’t endure the strain. With no food for days, and under such stress… the child is gone. I’m sorry.”
Her hand instinctively pressed against her abdomen. Empty. The small spark of life that had barely begun had already vanished.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks. Maybe the child had sensed the war between its parents and chosen not to linger in a world like this.
“Your body needs rest,” the doctor added gently. “Where’s your husband? He should be here.”
Serena steadied her breathing, forcing her voice calm. “I don’t have a husband.” Then, after a pause: “What’s the shortest time I can remain here?”
“At least three days.”
“Good.” She nodded faintly. “That’s enough.” Three days—just long enough for Dante’s promised deadline.
The door banged open. Luca entered, jacket unbuttoned, hair disheveled as though he’d rushed. His eyes flicked across her pale form, tension in his jaw.
“Why are you here?” she asked flatly.
The driver at his side began to explain, but Serena cut in, her voice low. “I hadn’t eaten in days. My body collapsed.”
Isabella, slipping in behind him, let out a tinkling laugh. “Serena, you grew up tougher than any of us. Who knew you’d turn so fragile now? What a pity.”
Serena said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than any retort.
Luca’s gaze lingered on her, something like anger loosening into unease. His voice softened, almost a whisper. “When did you become this stubborn? An apology would have ended it. Why let it get this far? If you weren’t well, why didn’t you call me?”
Her eyes met his. Cold, steady, mocking. Call you? He had been busy shutting her away, feeding Isabella her stolen place. What use was it to beg him for scraps?
“You were busy,” she murmured instead. “I didn’t want to trouble you.”
For some reason, the words scraped against him. A flicker of guilt cut through his chest.
Perhaps because of it, he began visiting daily while she remained in the ward. Not out of love, Serena knew—only guilt, the kind a Don shows when a soldier suffers under his order.
---
On the morning of her discharge, she sat quietly on the bed, her phone in hand. Messages scrolled across the screen—encrypted numbers, Dante’s code.
Her lips curved faintly, though she quickly smoothed it away when Luca entered.
“Who are you speaking with?” he asked, suspicion sharp in his tone. His hand darted toward her phone.
She drew it back with ease, her smile cool. “Do you really need to pry into a woman’s private messages?”
His hand froze midair. After a tense beat, he withdrew it. “Enough. We’re going home.”
She only hummed softly, expression unreadable.
Luca thought he had eased the wound with his presence these past days. He didn’t see the hollowness behind her calm.
When he dropped her at the estate, he left immediately for another meeting.
---
Inside, Serena went straight to the study. The safe’s steel door opened beneath her touch.
She placed the hospital’s report inside, its cold words sealing the truth of what she had lost. Then she reached for a thin black ledger—its cover worn, its pages lined with neat, ruthless handwriting.
It was her private book of debts. Not of money, but of betrayals. Dates, names, wounds. A silent tally of every time her loyalty was repaid with cruelty.
On the final line, she wrote:
“Final debt: my child. Account closed.”
She snapped the ledger shut, slid it into the safe alongside the divorce papers, and locked it all away.
That would be her anniversary gift.
Then, with quiet precision, she packed her suitcase, set the villa keys on the dining table, and erased her fingerprint from the armory’s biometric lock.
Every trace of her existence here—wiped clean.
By the time Luca realized, she would already be gone.
