Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit

The silence in the kitchen was heavy, suffocating.

Dante stood behind me as I chopped carrots.

The knife hit the cutting board with a steady, rhythmic thud. Chop. Chop. Chop.

"I'm sorry about the blood," he said.

He didn't sound sorry.

He sounded annoyed that he had to apologize at all.

"It was necessary. You know that."

I didn't answer.

I just kept chopping.

"We need a reset," he said. "Aspen. Just us. This weekend."

He placed his hands on my shoulders.

I stiffened instinctively.

"Mia is stable. Nonna will watch her. I want to take you to the cabin. Remember? Where we spent our honeymoon."

I remembered.

I remembered thinking I was the luckiest woman in the world.

I remembered him worshipping my body by the fire.

I remembered a lie.

"Okay," I said.

He exhaled, relieved.

"Good. But first... Mia is craving your soup. The minestrone."

I paused.

The knife hovered over a celery stalk.

My mother's recipe.

The one I only made for him when he was sick.

"She needs her strength," he said, tightening his grip on my shoulders. "Please. As a peace offering."

A peace offering.

Cooking for his mistress.

It was so absurd, so cruel, that I almost laughed.

"Okay," I said again. I forced the word out, needing him to believe I was compliant. Needing him to trust me just long enough for me to disappear.

"You're a good wife, Serena."

He kissed the top of my head.

It felt like a brand.

I made the soup.

I put every ounce of my hate into the broth, stirring it with a dark, silent fury.

I packed a bag.

Not for the trip to Aspen.

I put my passport in a hidden pocket.

I put a stack of cash I had been siphoning for months inside my boots.

I left my wedding ring on the granite counter next to the stove.

It looked small.

Insignificant.

Dante drove me to the private airfield.

He was checking his watch every two minutes.

"I left something at the house," he said as we pulled up to the jet.

"Go get it," I said. "I'll wait on the plane."

He nodded.

"I'll be right back."

He kissed my cheek.

He got back in the car and drove away.

I waited.

I waited for an hour.

Two hours.

The pilot looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as the engine idled.

"Mrs. Vitiello, the weather in Aspen is turning. We need to leave soon."

I checked my phone.

No calls.

Three hours.

Finally, my phone buzzed.

It was Dante.

I answered.

"You poisoned her," he said.

His voice was a shard of ice.

"What?"

"She's vomiting blood. She said the soup tasted bitter. How could you?"

"I didn't-"

"Shut up!" he roared. "I trusted you. I tried to fix this, and you try to kill my child?"

"Dante, I didn't-"

"Get on the plane, Serena."

"I'm on the plane."

"Go to the cabin."

"Are you coming?"

"No. I'm staying here to make sure my heir survives your jealousy. You go. You sit in that cabin and you think about what you've done. Don't come back until I call for you."

The line went dead.

I looked at the phone.

I looked at the pilot.

"Take me to Aspen," I said.

We landed in a blizzard.

The car service took me up the mountain.

The cabin was dark.

Cold.

There were no guards.

Usually, there were a dozen men patrolling the perimeter.

Today, there was no one.

He had stripped me of protection.

Punishment.

I walked inside.

It was freezing.

The heating was off.

I tried to turn it on.

Nothing.

I went to the kitchen.

The cupboards were empty.

No food.

He had sent me to a prison of ice.

My phone rang again.

I picked it up, my fingers numb.

"Dante?"

"Hello, Serena."

It wasn't Dante.

It was Mia.

She sounded perfectly healthy.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He's in the shower," she giggled. "He was so worried about me. The soup was delicious, by the way. I just added a little... ipecac syrup to my bowl. It works wonders for drama."

"You're a monster."

"And you're alone."

I heard a noise in the background.

Dante's voice.

"Mia? Who are you talking to?"

"No one, baby. Just ordering pizza."

She hung up.

A low rumble shook the floorboards.

I looked out the window.

The snow on the peak above the cabin was moving.

A white wave.

Crashing down.

Avalanche.

I ran for the door.

But I was too slow.

The world turned white.

The windows shattered.

The cold hit me like a physical blow, burying me, crushing me, erasing me.

And as the snow filled my lungs, I realized the truth.

Dante Vitiello hadn't just broken my heart.

He had finally managed to kill me.