I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, refusing to let the tears fall.
"It's not about gifts," I whispered, barely audible over the cruel laughter. "It's about family. About love."
"Love?" Tyler said, standing on his chair, pointing at me like a general condemning a traitor. "You think we want your love, rat?"
Clyde reached into the whiskey glass beside Joachim’s plate. He fished out the Mancini family ring, glowing red-hot from the alcohol and fire.
"Enemies don’t cry, right, Tyler?" he said, voice light as a child's.
"Nope," Tyler agreed, grinning. "They scream."
Before I could react, Clyde grabbed my wrist and slammed my hand down onto the heavy table. The burning ring pressed into my flesh with a sickening sizzle. The pain was nuclear. White-hot. Searing straight to the bone. But I didn’t scream. I clamped my mouth shut so hard I tasted the iron tang of my own blood.
Clyde leaned close, "You’ll never be one of us, rat," he murmured sweetly. "You're just the stray my father pitied."
"And when you die," Tyler added, smiling wide and cruel, "we’ll tell everyone you begged for it."
The room exploded with laughter again. Men clapping. Whistles. Joachim — my husband, my betrayer — sipping his drink in silent approval.
That was when something inside me finally, completely shattered. It didn’t matter how many nights I stayed up praying for them. How much blood I spilled protecting them. How many lies I swallowed for their sake.
I would always be the outsider. The joke. The rat. But not for long.
***
Later that night, after they had finished laughing and left me crumpled and broken, I stumbled back to my bedroom.
I peeled away the burned skin, gasping softly, and stared at the twisted scar left behind.
It looked like a broken, ruined crown.
I pressed my mutilated hand against the cold glass of the mirror, staring into my own haunted eyes.
"I’m leaving the Mancini," I whispered to the cracked reflection. "Alive, if I can."
And this time, no vow, no blood debt, no broken boy would stop me.
***
The morning sunlight hit my face, but it felt cold.
Numb. I had already made my call — Damien would be here by midnight to take me away.
I was finally walking away from Joachim. From this cursed house. From this cursed life.
Pulling my coat tighter, I made my way to the east balcony, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I was ready to tell him. Ready to end this nightmare and ask for the divorce.
But life… Life had a funny way of kicking you in the teeth when you least expected it.
Because there he was. Joachim Mancini, the man I once worshiped like a god, kneeling on one knee. Diamond ring glittering like betrayal under the morning sun.
And in front of him — Bianca.
Bianca Peters.
The new family consigliere.
The sadist who once broke a man’s hand just because he spoke out of turn.
Petals were falling around them like a twisted fairy tale. Bodyguards clapped. The twins were laughing and shouting.
"Say yes, Bianca!"
"Be our real mama!"
"We don't want that boring witch anymore!"
I froze. The wind slapped my face.
Or maybe it was just reality finally waking me up.
Bianca laughed, the sound sharp like broken glass.
“Yes, Joachim. A thousand times yes.”
I stepped forward, slow. I clapped my hands — sharp, mocking — slicing through their fake little fairytale like a blade.
The sound cut the air.
Everyone turned.
Joachim’s smile dropped the second he saw me.
“Valeria—” he started, voice low, dangerous.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I said, voice sweet enough to rot teeth.
“Congratulations to the happy couple.”
Joachim’s jaw ticked. His dark eyes flashed.
Before he could growl something back, Clyde came running. For a second, one stupid, fragile second… my heart lifted. Maybe he remembered. Maybe—
But the hope died ugly when I saw what he was holding.
The photo.
The only thing I had left.
The last picture of me and my mother — the one I managed to save after they burned the whole album a few months ago.
My breath hitched.
"Give it back, Clyde," I said, voice low, shaking.
He just smirked, a carbon copy of his father.
"Why? It's trash," he said. "Just like you."
And then, he tossed it.
Straight into the fire pit burning beside the balcony.
The heat had already destroyed it — the ink melted, the image warped into black ash.
My mother’s smile… gone.
Gone forever.
I didn't dive. I didn’t scream. I just stood there… and shattered quietly. Behind me, they laughed.
Clyde. Tyler. Bianca’s syrup-thick chuckle.
Something inside me— fractured.
I turned, slow, the fire’s glow still dancing in my eyes.
“You little—” I started, stepping toward Clyde, but Joachim caught my arm mid-motion.
Joachim.
He yanked me back, grip tight. Iron.
"You’ve lost your fucking mind," he spat against my ear.
I looked at him — really looked. And for the first time, I saw it. Not the man I once loved. Just a tyrant in a tailored suit.
I smiled. Bright. Cold. Unbothered.
"Go ahead, Joachim," I said, voice shaking from rage and pain. "Lock me up. Chain me to the goddamn floor if you have to. But know this—" I stepped closer, flames crackling behind me.
"One day... I’ll be free. And when I am... I’ll tear your fucking kingdom down with my bare—”
"ENOUGH!" he barked.
The guests stared. The guards tried to pretend they weren't listening. Even the twins went silent, shocked by the venom in his voice.
“What kind of ungrateful woman embarrasses her Don like this?” Joachim growled into my ear, low enough only for me to hear.
"You’re dead to me, Valeria," Clyde whispered, just as cold.
I laughed. I laughed because if I didn’t, I would shatter into pieces right there.
"You have no idea," I muttered under my breath.
Then Bianca strutted up to me, that smug snake smile plastered on her face.
She placed her hand, her perfectly gel manicured, blood-red nails, on her stomach.
“Oh, by the way…” she said, voice dripping fake sweetness, "I'm pregnant. With Joachim’s heir."
The world spun. I swayed, but I refused to fall.
Not here. Not in front of these monsters.
I just smile.
“Then I’ll bury you right next to him.”
Joachim’s grip tightened until it felt like my bones would snap. "How dare you—"
“I WANT A DIVORCE.”
He frozen. He smiled. "No. You’ll stay," he hissed. "You’ll raise my sons. You’ll serve Bianca, my queen. And if you behave..." He leaned closer, his breath cold against my cheek. "Maybe I’ll let you live."
Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away.
I would not cry. Not for him.
Not for any of them.
Instead, I lifted my chin and smiled.
"Over my dead body," I whispered back. And for the first time in eleven years, I meant every word.
