Chapter2

That evening, Matteo prepared a memorial dinner for us as if nothing had happened.

The entire estate was ablaze with light, even the garden fountain was illuminated, as if this were some grand ceremony.

He had the dining table set in the center of the hall, with projections of our son's birth playing on the walls.

"I want you to know I've never forgotten," he said.

And I sat across from him, feeling nothing but cold clarity.

In the video, I held our newborn son, my smile exhausted but blissful.

Matteo stood beside us, looking down at us, his expression soft.

"He looks like you," I said in the video.

In reality, Matteo reached across and took my hand.

"Whether or not we have more children, I'll treat you well for the rest of my life."

His palm was warm.

I looked at him without pulling my hand away.

"You're very quiet today," he said softly.

"Today is his day," I replied.

He nodded, his expression somber. "I know."

I looked at the blindingly bright lights in the hall and suddenly realized something.

True grief doesn't need an audience.

People who are truly mourning don't light up the entire family estate for everyone to witness their remembrance.

But he'd illuminated the entire mansion.

The elders sent texts one after another, saying tonight's arrangement was dignified, that he was thoughtful toward me, that he hadn't let the outside world see us in disarray after losing our child.

Dignified.

I almost laughed out loud.

He raised his glass. "To him."

I raised mine as well.

The glasses clinked softly together.

He looked at me intently. "Elena, I won't let you bear this alone anymore."

I stared at that familiar face.

Three years ago, he'd proposed on a private island.

The coastline was deserted, and he slipped the ring on my finger, saying the island would belong to me.

He'd commissioned the world's only blue diamond necklace for me, simply because I said I liked that color.

He'd blocked off streets to set off fireworks for my birthday.

At my parents' funeral, he'd knelt before me, saying he would shoulder all future sorrows.

Back then, I believed he could take on the entire world for me.

Now, this same man had told another woman in a parking garage that he would divorce.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

I looked at him. "About our past."

His expression softened. "I'll make it up to you."

Make it up.

The phrase made my heart sink.

He pulled out his phone and glanced at it.

The movement was quick.

But I still caught sight of that encrypted phone.

When he looked up at me, his expression had returned to normal.

"Family business," he said.

I nodded.

"Stay with me tonight," he said. "Let's watch these together."

In the video, our child was laughing.

I stared at the screen, but in my mind I saw him in the garage, making his quiet promise.

When the time is right, I'll get a divorce.

"Matteo." I suddenly spoke.

"Mm?"

"What if, one day, I left here?"

He frowned slightly. "You won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

He squeezed my hand. "You belong here. You're the lady of the DeLuca family."

I looked at him without arguing.

After dinner, he personally walked me back to the bedroom.

"Get some rest," he said.

I stood in the doorway, watching him turn to leave.

He walked to the end of the hallway, stopped, and pulled out that phone.

The screen lit up.

He bent his head to type.

A few seconds later, he glanced around, then continued typing.

I closed the door.

The room fell quiet.

I walked to the vanity and took out my backup phone.

In the contacts, there was a name I'd saved long ago.

The lawyer.

I sent a message.

"How are the divorce terms coming along?"

A few minutes later, the reply came.

"We need evidence."

I sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the scene in the garage.

I would provide the evidence.

I picked up my phone and opened the surveillance backup permissions.

Starting tonight, I would collect every piece of evidence.

The lights were still on.

The entire estate remained resplendent.

But in my heart, I'd already begun the countdown.