Forgotten Love, Unleashed Cold Revenge

Sienna POV: The cracked screen flared to life, casting a harsh blue glow over my pale face. A prompt appeared, demanding a six-digit passcode. I hovered my thumb over the shattered glass. My mind was completely blank. I didn't know my own birthday, let alone a random string of numbers. Julia let out a long, pathetic sigh from the chair beside me. She leaned in and quietly recited Dante's birthdate. I rolled my eyes so hard it physically hurt. Of course. Because my entire pathetic existence revolved around him. I punched in the numbers. The phone unlocked with a soft click. The home screen loaded, and a wave of pure, physical revulsion hit me. The wallpaper was a candid, close-up photo of Dante sleeping. His dark hair was messy against a white pillow, his sharp jawline relaxed. I grimaced, my stomach turning. I immediately opened the settings, navigated to the display options, and changed the wallpaper to a solid, pitch-black background. Breathing a little easier, I tapped the photo gallery icon. The number at the top of the screen mocked me: over three thousand photos. I started scrolling rapidly. Picture after picture. Dante sitting at his desk. Dante's back as he walked away. Close-ups of Dante's silk ties. Pictures of his half-empty coffee cups. I kept swiping, searching for myself. I couldn't find a single selfie. I couldn't find a single picture of me smiling, or doing anything that didn't involve serving him. I was a ghost in my own phone, a mere accessory to his life. I closed the gallery and opened the Notes app. The very first note was pinned to the top. The title was written in bold: *Dante's Absolute Taboos*. I tapped it. A massive, meticulously detailed list appeared. *No cilantro in anything. Shirts must be hand-washed only and scented with cedarwood. Never, ever ask about his daily schedule.* I let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Was I his fiancée, or his senior in-home nurse?" Julia looked down at her boots, refusing to meet my eyes. Her silence was a loud confirmation. I kept scrolling down the notes. My finger stopped over a title that made my blood run cold: *Valeria's Preferences*. I opened it. It was a detailed guide on how to pick birthday gifts for the other woman. It listed her favorite flowers, her clothing size, and a strict list of conversation topics to avoid so I wouldn't "upset her delicate nerves." My fingers started to tremble. This wasn't the trembling of a broken heart. This was pure, unadulterated rage. I was angry at myself. I was furious at the woman who had allowed herself to be stripped of all dignity. I closed the notes and opened the messaging app. The pinned conversation at the top was with Dante. I opened the chat log. The screen was a wall of green text bubbles. Paragraphs of me asking if he ate, telling him to drive safe, begging him to come home early. His replies were scattered gray bubbles. *Yeah. Busy. Stop bothering me.* I scrolled to the very bottom. The last message was sent two hours before the crash. *Honey, will you come to the wedding dress fitting tonight?* There was no reply. I stared at that pathetic green bubble until my eyes burned. It was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. I took a deep, steadying breath. I closed the messaging app and went back to the home screen. Without a single second of hesitation, I opened the photo gallery again. I tapped the 'Select' button in the top right corner. I dragged my finger down the shattered glass, selecting every single one of the three thousand photos of his face, his suits, his life. Julia gasped, leaning forward. "Sienna, are you sure you want to do that?" My eyes were dead. I pressed the trash can icon. A prompt asked me to confirm. I hit delete. Then I went into the 'Recently Deleted' folder and emptied that too. Next, I opened the Notes app. I swiped left on the taboos. Deleted. I swiped left on Valeria's preferences. Deleted. Finally, I opened the messaging app. I swiped left on Dante's pinned contact. I hit block, and then I hit delete. I stared at the phone. It was completely empty. A clean, blank slate. I tossed the heavy device onto the bedside table. It landed with a plastic clatter. "Seven years of garbage, cleared in one second."