A New One Every Three Days

"There's no need for that. I don't need you to marry me."

In our six years together, he had always been free.

When he wanted to drink, I'd sit quietly beside him, never rushing him.

If I couldn't be there, I'd wait for his call and pick him up immediately.

When he was drunk, I'd care for him without a single complaint.

When he wanted to take his boat out with his men, I'd prepare everything, planning their itinerary.

Even when he handed me his encrypted phone, I never looked.

I loved him, and I refused to repeat my mother's tragedy, driving my father away with her suffocating control.

I thought I had always maintained a healthy distance.

At least, before his "accident," we were inseparable, still lost in a honeymoon haze.

But now, I finally understood. My love was suffocating him.

So, was that the real reason he faked a new personality? To escape me?

Our eyes met, and I couldn't find a single trace of affection in his.

The questions burning on my tongue died in my throat.

Alessio scowled at my stare, then snatched a bouquet of white lilies from his man, Rocco. He shoved them into my arms.

"Alright, you got what you wanted. Stop playing the victim. Take the flowers and get out of here."

He still thought I was that naive girl who could be placated with a simple gift.

He still didn't believe that I, the girl who would marry no one but him, would actually walk away.

I handed the flowers back to Rocco.

"These are for your new flame. It wouldn't be right for me to take them."

"Alessio, I'm not negotiating. I'm informing you. Our... agreement... is terminated."

A strange panic flared in Alessio's chest.

Shouldn't Colette be ecstatic?

Why did she keep saying she didn't need him to marry her?

Was she actually angry?

Anxiety flickered in his eyes. "Colette, I..."

His men coughed in unison, and he immediately corrected himself.

"Colette, I'm a man of my word."

But I just smiled.

"You should go. Be with your woman."

"I'm checking out now."

Hearing my calm dismissal, Alessio felt a flicker of panic.

She was different today.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something had fundamentally shifted.

Seeing his hesitation, Rocco slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him away.

"Come on, Alessio, she'll see you looking. Don't want your precious Portia getting jealous, do you? It's a classic move: tragic victim, then playing hard to get. All women pull this shit. You're just too soft."

"Exactly! Look at the mess you made. You're not a kid. How could you let her bleed out like that? Good thing Portia is forgiving, not like some people who demand a wedding ring for a pint of blood..."

Listening to the words they intended for me to hear, I didn't feel the expected heartache. Just an icy chill that seeped into my bones.

Even under the bright sun, I felt no warmth.

After they left, I checked out of the hospital.

While Alessio was occupied, I hired a professional cleaning service to help me pack.

The manager stared at the newly decorated penthouse, stunned.

"Miss, this is all brand-new wedding decor. Are you sure you want to get rid of it?"

"Yes. The man is dead to me. None of it is needed anymore."

The manager immediately apologized and offered his condolences.

To spare me from the memories, they started by taking down the enormous wedding portrait of Alessio and me, along with dozens of photo albums.

In just half a day, the home I had so meticulously created was stripped of all joy.

A cold apartment, a cold me.

The manager glanced at the mountain of items by the door—all the evidence of a shared life—and couldn't help but sigh.

"Miss... my condolences. Please, try to take care of yourself."

I smiled and nodded.

After they were gone, I did a final sweep to ensure no trace of me remained, wiped my biometrics from the door lock, and walked out with my suitcase.