Chapter 3

I shoved the door open and fixed my gaze on Vincent, ice-cold.

The older couple looked at me, confused, asking who I was.

A flash of panic crossed Vincent's face before he regained his composure.

"Mom, Dad—this is another one of my subordinates."

I laughed—a short, hollow sound. "Subordinate?"

So that was what I was to him.

And those words—"Mom," "Dad"—branded me like a hot iron pressed to the heart.

Vincent pulled me aside and spoke in a low, hurried voice.

"Lena's parents showed up out of nowhere. She asked me to play along—just to put the old folks at ease."

"Go. Please. We'll talk about this at home."

I pushed him away, my eyes like blades.

"If you want, I can give you your freedom. Let you be her husband for real."

Vincent flushed with anger, ready to fire back—but then my gaze caught something on the elderly couple's wrists.

My mother's jade bracelet. My father's emerald cufflinks.

Heirlooms of the Ambrosi family.

My head went blank. I stared at Vincent, disbelief flooding through me.

"You gave them my parents' things as a meet-the-family gift?"

Vincent stammered, his eyes darting away.

I pushed past him, walked straight to the couple, and held out my hand, teeth clenched.

"Give them back."

Lena shot to her feet and shoved me hard, her expression savage.

"Isabella, don't you dare make a scene in front of my parents. Get the hell out!"

Then she turned to console the older couple.

"Mom, Dad—she's one of Vincent's people. She's not right in the head. She was a nobody in her own family—they couldn't stand her. If Vincent hadn't kept her around, she wouldn't have survived this long. Just ignore her."

The blood in my veins ran backward.

These were the most private wounds I carried—the years spent as a castoff in a branch of the Ambrosi family, bullied by cousins who made my life a misery. Vincent had told Lena all of it.

I couldn't take another second. I lunged for Lena, ready to slap her across the face.

Crack.

A sharp, ringing sound.

I stood there, stunned, staring at Vincent—who had just struck me.

"Isabella, are you done? I'm here tonight with Lena to meet her parents. Stop making a goddamn scene!"

His face was a mask of frost, and the cruelty in his expression obliterated the last ember of love inside me.

I let out a mocking laugh, turned on my heel, and walked out in a daze.

Ella came running in at that moment, calling out happily—"Mommy! Daddy!"

Terrified of being exposed, Vincent shoved her away.

"Whose kid is this? Get out—stop calling random people your parents!"

Ella, caught completely off guard, fell hard. Her head struck the corner of a table, and a thin trail of dark red trickled down.

Something inside me snapped. I threw myself forward, scooped her up, and felt the warmth of blood at the back of her skull.

Vincent stood frozen, panic written across his face as he moved toward us.

I whipped around, eyes blazing, my voice raw and shredded.

"If anything happens to Ella—I will destroy you both."

I held my daughter and ran for the hospital.

· · ·

At the hospital, the doctor gave Ella three stitches.

She lay in the hospital bed, fast asleep, her small face pale, the back of her head wrapped in white gauze.

Vincent arrived with his shirt buttoned wrong and no jacket—he'd clearly rushed.

"How is she? Let me see her—"

I stood in the doorway and didn't move.

His hand came to rest on my shoulder. I shifted, just slightly, and let it fall.

In fifteen years together, it was the first time I had ever flinched from his touch.

Vincent's hand hung in the air, motionless. For the first time, a crack appeared in his expression.

Ella called from inside: "Mommy."

I turned and went in.

Vincent followed, standing awkwardly by the bed.

"Ella… Daddy's sorry."

Ella reached out a tiny hand and touched his fingers.

"Daddy, it doesn't hurt anymore. But could you… could you please stop letting that lady say mean things about me?"

Vincent was silent for a long time.

He didn't promise.

From that day forward, I stopped fighting with Vincent.

Fighting is the posture of someone still trying to make peace.

And I was done making peace.

What I wanted wasn't just a divorce.

I wanted revenge. I wanted ruin.