I fumbled for the edge of the table, trying to pull myself up. Lucian’s hand had just started to reach for me when Cassandra suddenly clutched her chest, her face turning ashen.
"Lucian... my heart... it hurts..."
Lucian’s hand, which had been reaching for me, instantly changed course. He swept Cassandra into his arms and stormed out without a backward glance, leaving a single, cold command in his wake: "Clean this up."
I watched him vanish through the door, the blood from my forehead dripping into my eye, stinging it crimson.
I should be used to this by now.
But the dull ache in my chest was as heavy and blunt as ever.
When I woke up, a doctor was standing over me. "The gash on your forehead is deep. It's going to leave a scar."
I stared blankly at the ceiling.
A scar. I'd stopped caring about scars a long time ago.
I gently placed a hand on my lower abdomen. Not long ago, a life had briefly blossomed there.
From outside the door, I heard Cassandra's voice, a victor's coy complaint.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and glanced at the security monitor. As long as she was okay.
"You know how I feel... I go abroad for a few years, and I come back to find you married."
Lucian's voice was a low rumble. "Cassandra, I am married to Rory."
"So what? Can you spend a lifetime with her?" Cassandra purred, moving closer. "Does she know the difference between a Bordeaux and a Burgundy? Can she sit beside you at the Met? Lucian, the woman doesn't even know how to properly accessorize."
"Lucian, she doesn't belong in your world."
Lucian was silent for a long, heavy moment—long enough for my heart to freeze over, shard by painful shard.
He let out a soft sigh. "...Even if you're right."
His words were cut short.
Cassandra stood on her toes and kissed him. He didn't push her away.
The kiss deepened, and on the monitor, the air itself seemed to crackle with heat.
I switched off the screen, my face devoid of all expression.
Just as I did, I heard the door open behind me, followed by Lucian’s sharp intake of breath. "Rory!"
I didn't turn back.
He wouldn't follow. I knew he wouldn't.
Over the years, he'd abandoned me for Cassandra time and time again. I was numb to it. Or I was supposed to be.
Memories flooded back.
I remembered that first year in New York. A girl from Montana, here to study design, a complete misfit. A wild deer lost in a concrete jungle.
Until one day, I was cornered in an alley by a rival family's Soldato. It was Lucian who pulled me out of there. That day, that man was seared into my heart.
But I knew he had a Principessa for a fiancée—Cassandra. I never dared to dream.
Later, my parents came to visit and were in a car accident. My father, a journalist chasing a dark conspiracy, died at the scene. My mother woke up to a terminal diagnosis.
And Lucian… he silently handled everything. The best hospitals, the top specialists—he arranged it all. My love for him spiraled, growing more frantic by the day.
The night of my graduation party, he drank himself into a stupor. That was the night I learned Cassandra had flown abroad.
He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. "Rory, marry me."
I nodded.
In that moment, I thought I had grasped salvation. Only now did I see how wrong I was.
I dragged myself to the ICU next door. Three years of marriage, three years my mother has been wasting away in this bed.
Holding her frail hand, I whispered, "Just ten more days. After the surgery, we'll go back to Montana."
A doctor approached. "The donor's information is confidential. You cannot contact them directly."
"I understand," I said, my head bowed. "I won't."
I smoothed my mother's white hair. "When you're better, I'll take you to our own ranch. There are horses, prairies... you'll love it."
My mother's fingers twitched, her lips moved. "What about... Lucian..."
I smiled, but tears streamed down my face.
"Mom," I whispered. "I've made my choice. I'm done with him."
