Chapter 1

I never expected to run into Jared outside a pediatric clinic three years later.

But it made sense. We'd been divorced for so long—his and Sophia's child should be grown by now. After all, on our seventh anniversary, he and she had already held their wedding.

When the nurse called out “Lucien Anderson,” his gaze snapped into focus. Without thinking much, I stood up with my son in my arms.

But the moment we brushed past each other, he lost control and grabbed my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse and shattered.

“Phoenix… he… is he…?”

Before he could finish, the child wriggled free from my arms and ran toward a man not far away. “Daddy!”

Seeing the man's features—those eyes and brows so much like the child's—Jared sucked in a sharp breath.

I only smiled. “No.”

No one knew better than I did what he was trying to ask.

“Don't you remember? While you were traveling the world with Sophia, that child had already died on the operating table.”

In that instant, Jared went white—like he'd been struck by lightning.

……

……

On the day I found out I was pregnant, my husband of seven years kissed and held his first love in the sunlight, giving her the wedding I had never received.

Positive.

The paper in my hand was so thin it felt like it could dissolve if I breathed too hard.

But the scene before me was dazzlingly lively—

Outside, the private garden waited behind glass doors—lush hedges, white roses, white drapery.

And there—under the arch, in a suit that fit him like sin—stood Jared.

Across from Jared stood a woman in a white dress.

Sophia.

Her hair was pulled into a dancer's sleek bun. Her shoulders were delicate in a way that made people want to protect her.

A wedding.

For my husband and his first-love.

The moment I pushed the door open.

Jared bent down.

Then, he brushed a kiss to Sophia's lip—soft and lingering, tender and devoted.

The crowd immediately erupted into cheers and delighted shrieks.

Even the guards stood at the edges, smiled—they are Moretti's guards.

Someone near the front turned their head and saw me.

A ripple moved through the seats. Curious glances. Smirks.

“Who is she?” a woman whispered, loud enough to carry.

Another voice, a man's, amused and cruel. “Look at her. Does she think she can steal the groom? Not pretty enough.”

A few chuckles.

My throat tightened so hard I couldn't swallow.

Jared's head snapped toward me.

For one breath, his expression broke.

“Phoenix……no.”

No.

This is what he told me.

I waited for him to move.

I waited for him to step off the platform, to come to me, to say my name the way he did in private—low, possessive, certain.

But He just took one step.

Then Sophia lifted her head.

Her voice was barely more than air, soft enough to sound innocent. “Jared.”

That single syllable pulled him like a hook.

He stopped.

His gaze flickered—pain, conflict, something sharp that made my stomach twist—and then his body turned back toward the woman in white.

Someone behind me laughed again.

I turned.

I walked back through the glass doors, like something tried to kill me, my lungs refusing to take a full breath until I reached the corridor.

A nurse approached, concern in her eyes. “Ms. Valenti, are you—”

“I'm fine,” I said, too fast. My voice sounded wrong. Thin. Scraped raw.

I kept walking.

The ride home felt like moving through water.

When I finally made it home, all my strength drained away. I slid down behind the door, the pregnancy test result still crushed against my palm.

I stared at that tiny symbol as if it had betrayed me.

All night long.

Jared didn't call.

He didn't text.

He didn't come home.

Ten years.

I met Jared when I was twenty. He was the Moretti heir back then, already dangerous, already disciplined, already carrying the kind of quiet grief men like him never speak aloud.

Our families didn't introduce us for romance. They did it for peace. For alliances. For survival.

I knew what I was walking into the moment I took his hand.

And still, I chose him.

Seven years as the woman they called *Donna*.

I helped him sit in the chair they all wanted.

But I know I never walked in his heart.

Sophia's name slipped into the cracks. All the time. Like a ghost he carried without admitting it.

Until that day. A blade came for him in a crowded room—fast, low.

And I caught the movement before anyone else did. My arm took the cut. My overcoat soaked through before the music even stopped.

Jared held me afterward with hands that didn't shake, eyes that did.

And then—finally—he had looked at me one night like he could see me.

“Phoenix,” he'd said, my name heavy on his tongue. “I can give you a future.”

That night, I thought it meant I mattered in a way no one could replace.It felt like a victory I had bled for.

But today proved how wrong I was.

He hadn't been away for “family business.”

He had been giving Sophia the ceremony I had never received, in the sunlight. At my family's hospital.

All my years. All my loyalty. All my blood.

And it still wasn't enough to stand between him and her.

A sound escaped me—something between a laugh and a sob.

His chat on my phone was still stuck on my last message: “Jared, when you get back, I have a surprise gift for you.”

But now—he was the one who'd given me a “surprise.”

I reached for my phone.

When Adora picked up, her voice was bright. “Phoenix? How did it go—did you tell him?”

I swallowed, tasted metal, and forced the words out.

“Can you come with me to the hospital?”

There was a pause.

Then, softly, “Phoenix… what are you planning to do?”

I stared at the torn paper in my hand, at the little proof of a life that would tie me to Jared Moretti for the rest of mine.

My voice came out steady.

“I'm ending it.”