A Saint's Desecrated Medallion

I had had enough. That night, I contacted the most famous "cleaner" in the underworld, a lawyer named Silas Thorne. I had him draft a separation agreement to divide our marital estate. At the same time, I paid a hefty sum to a professional team to erase all traces of my existence.

"I want to disappear completely," I said over an encrypted phone line. "How long will it take to erase every trace of me here?"

"One week, at the earliest," the voice on the other end replied.

I paused.

Julian had said Silvana only had a week left. That after a week, everything would be over. He would return to his family, return to me, and love me with his whole heart again.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Where in the world does someone get to have it all? To play around and then just waltz back to his family? Did he really think I would always be there, waiting?

No. I wouldn't wait. And he couldn't come back. Because when he decided to return, he would find he no longer had a home.

"Fine. One week," I said without hesitation. "The money has been transferred. Make sure I vanish completely."

The next morning, the desecrated medallion was once again around Julian's neck. The sight of it made my stomach churn, and I couldn't touch my breakfast.

Julian, however, looked sickeningly proud. "Alessia, look, I found the medallion. It’s the symbol of our love. I'll wear it for the rest of my life and never lose it again."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Silvana, sitting across from him, suddenly contorted in pain. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and began to convulse violently.

"Silvana! What's wrong?" Julian cried, rushing over and sweeping her into his arms.

At the same time, the two children burst into tears.

Chiara pointed a trembling finger at me and shrieked, "Papa, it was her! Mamma did it! She put pistachio powder in Silvana's coffee! Silvana's allergic! She's trying to kill her!"

Julian's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "Chiara, that's ridiculous. Alessia would never do something like that."

But the next second, the older twin, Dario, rushed over and covered his sister's mouth, his voice trembling with manufactured fear. "Chiara, stop, or Mamma will kill us too!"

As he spoke, he deliberately pulled up his sleeve. His small arm was covered in a horrifying collection of deep, overlapping bruises, as if he had been repeatedly beaten with a rod.

Julian's eyes widened. He slowly looked up, his gaze locking on me with disbelief.

"You did this to them?"

My expression remained placid. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

When we married, he had promised to believe me unconditionally. But now, faced with a blood-spewing Silvana and two bruised children, rage twisted Julian's features.

"They're five years old! Do you think they would make something like this up? Besides, who in this house would dare to lay a hand on them but you? Alessia, they're just children. How could you be so cruel?"

Silvana was still convulsing. Julian, abandoning the argument, scooped her up, ready to call the family doctor.

Just then, I found it hard to breathe. My throat began to swell, constricting as if something were lodged deep inside. A red rash bloomed across my skin—the unmistakable signs of a severe allergic reaction.

"Pistachios…" I choked out, clutching my neck. "I'm allergic… to pistachios…"

I had only had a cup of coffee that morning. Everyone in this house knew about my allergy; the staff would never make such a mistake.

Chiara shot me a triumphant glance—she was the one who had done it.

"J-Julian…" My breathing grew ragged.

I tried to call his name, hoping he would take me to the clinic with her. But Julian just gave me a glacial look.

"Stop the act, Alessia," he said, his voice laced with ice. "Everyone here knows you're allergic to pistachios. Why would anyone put them in your food? Is it so hard to admit you were wrong that you have to fake a reaction for sympathy? I'm so disappointed in you."

With that, he turned and strode out, carrying Silvana, leaving me to suffocate on the cold marble floor.