"The woman by my side is Giuliana. It will always be Giuliana. And even if you came crawling back, begging for a crumb of my attention, I wouldn't waste a single glance on you."
In his arms, Giuliana flashed me a triumphant smile only I could see.
Everything from three years ago flooded back—the engagement ceremony I had planned, repurposed for another woman; the agony in the estate, the despair as drugs gnawed at my will...
But this time was different.
I was no longer the Chiara who wept in that desolate estate.
"Don't flatter yourself," I sneered. "My fiancé is Lorenzo. Lorenzo Castiglione. Why on earth would I regret a thing?"
Angelo flinched, the contempt in his eyes instantly swallowed by shock.
"Lorenzo?" he repeated, his voice trembling slightly. "You mean... Don Lorenzo Castiglione?"
Giuliana let out a shrill laugh.
"Chiara, have you lost your mind?" Giuliana's voice was a screech. "Why would a man like Don Castiglione want a woman cast out by her own family?"
An outcast.
My heart clenched.
Only Angelo knew that word.
He’d once told me that after my father's accidental death, the family elders saw my mental breakdown as a liability and nearly cast me out.
He had even told Giuliana.
"Stop talking nonsense," Angelo scoffed, regaining his composure. "Chiara, there's a limit to your lies."
"You don't believe me? Fine. Watch. I'll have him come out and get me himself."
I tried to dial Lorenzo's private number, but the silent no-signal icon on my screen mocked me.
Damn it. The Commission had blocked all signals in the area to prevent wiretaps and assassinations.
But I remained calm.
I pulled out my phone again, but my heart sank as I remembered.
I’d gotten a new phone upon returning to Chicago, and its contact list was completely bare.
Giuliana saw my predicament and burst out laughing.
"Look, she can't even make a single call. Chiara, you're a terrible actress."
She stepped forward, feigning sympathy.
"Alright. For old times' sake, there's still a place for you on Angelo's turf. I don't mind taking in a pitiful soul."
With Angelo's promise seemingly secure, she couldn't even be bothered to pretend anymore.
"Old times' sake?" I scoffed. "What right do you have to mention that?"
Angelo looked at me, his expression thick with disappointment.
"Chiara, if you need help, if you have regrets, is it so hard to just bow your head to me?"
"I still don't get it. Was being my wife that important to you? So important you’d hold a grudge for three years?"
A grudge?
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"I thought you would grow up, that you'd understand my reasons for what I did," he continued. "But you're still so childish."
His reasons?
Locking me away in that estate, to be broken by drugs and psychological torment—those were his reasons?
