Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit
At the auction, my husband raised his paddle and bid five million dollars on the only keepsake I had left of my dead mother.
But he didn't buy the sapphire necklace for me.
He handed the velvet box to his pregnant mistress, Mia, right in front of the entire New York underworld.
When I reached for it, Mia faked a stumble.
Dante moved with the speed of a predator. He shoved me hard to clear space for her.
My body slammed into a marble pillar, shattering my hip, while he scooped her up and carried her out, stepping over my dress without a single glance.
That was only the beginning.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her during a false emergency.
He exiled me to a freezing cabin with no heat, leaving me to be buried alive in an avalanche while he comforted her over a lie.
Lying in the hospital bed after surviving the snow, I realized I no longer hated him.
Hate is passion. Hate implies he still matters.
I felt nothing but a cold, heavy silence.
So when he finally left the house to hunt down the truth about Mia’s baby, I didn't wait for his apology.
I left my wedding ring on the bathroom counter.
I dropped my phone into a sewer grate.
By the time the Dragon of New York realized his wife was gone, I was already in Seattle, painting a new life where monsters couldn't find me.
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Chapter 7
I woke to the acrid sting of cheap antiseptic and the scent of stale coffee.
This wasn't the Vitiello private clinic.
It was a small county hospital somewhere in Colorado.
A nurse was adjusting my IV drip.
"You're awake," she said, her face etched with kindness and exhaustion. "You're incredibly lucky the patrol team found you when they did. Another hour out there, and..."
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
The door swung open.
Dante walked in.
He looked pristine in his cashmere coat, not a hair out of place, but his eyes were wild, haunted things.
"Serena," he breathed.
He rushed to the bed, reaching for me.
I flinched.
It was a visceral, involuntary reaction, like a hand pulling back from a searing hot stove.
He froze.
His hand hovered in the air, inches from my face, trembling slightly.
"I... the roads were closed," he stammered. "I came as soon as I heard."
"Where is she?" I asked.
My voice was a rusted hinge, grating and painful.
"Who?"
"Mia."
"She's in the car. She wanted to come in-to apologize-but I told her to wait."
Apologize.
For answering my call for help with a death wish.
"Get me out of here," I said.
I didn't want his comfort.
I didn't want his explanations.
I just wanted to go back to New York and end this.
The flight back was suffocatingly silent.
Dante tried to hold my hand.
I kept it tucked firmly under my blanket.
He tried to feed me fruit.
I turned my head away, staring out at the clouds.
When we arrived at the estate, the air was thick with tension.
Nonna was waiting in the foyer.
She didn't look at me.
She looked at Mia, who was trailing behind Dante, clutching her stomach as if the avalanche had hit her instead of me.
"Are you alright, cara?" Nonna asked Mia, her voice dripping with concern. "This stress... it is poison for the heir."
Mia nodded bravely.
"I'm fine, Nonna. I'm just worried about Serena."
I walked past them.
I walked with a limp, my bruised leg dragging slightly on the cold marble floor.
I went straight to the living room.
Dante followed me.
"Serena, we need to talk."
"No, we don't."
I walked to the display case in the center of the room.
Inside sat the Ming Dynasty vase.
It was priceless.
It was the symbol of the Vitiello legacy, handed down for four generations.
It was the first thing Dante had ever shown me when I entered this house as a bride.
This will be ours, he had said. Unbroken. Eternal.
Mia walked in, emboldened by Nonna's presence.
She stood next to Dante, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
"You look terrible, Serena," she whispered, a cruel smile touching her lips. "Maybe you should have stayed in the snow."
Dante didn't pull away from her.
He was too busy watching me, trying to gauge my mood, trying to figure out how to manipulate me back into submission.
I opened the glass case.
Dante frowned.
"What are you doing?"
I took the vase in my hands.
It was cool and heavy against my palms.
I turned to face them.
My husband.
His mistress.
The grandmother who valued a hypothetical boy over a living woman.
I looked straight at Dante.
"You broke us," I said softly.
I opened my hands.
The vase fell.
Time seemed to warp, stretching into slow motion.
I saw Dante's eyes widen in horror.
I saw Mia's mouth open in a silent scream.
The porcelain hit the marble floor.
It didn't just break.
It exploded.
Shards of blue and white flew across the room, skittering like terrified insects.
The sound was a gunshot in the silence of the mansion.
"NO!" Nonna shrieked from the hallway.
Dante stared at the debris.
He looked up at me, his face pale, his composure finally cracking.
"That was... that was my legacy," he whispered.
"Broken things remain broken, Dante," I said.
I stepped over the shards.
I didn't look back at the ruin I had made.
I walked up the stairs, leaving him standing in the wreckage of his history, finally understanding that I was no longer part of his future.