He Chose His Ex, I Chose Vengeance

On the day I was supposed to marry Giovanni Moretti, he publicly declared I was his brother’s girl. He called off our wedding at the last minute. His ex, Sofia, had amnesia after a car crash, her memory reset to a time when they were still deeply in love. So he cast me aside in my wedding dress to play the part of her devoted boyfriend. For a month, I was forced to live as a "guest" in the Moretti estate, watching him dote on her and rebuild their past, all while promising he would marry me as soon as she recovered. Then I overheard the truth. Giovanni had the cure for her amnesia locked away in his safe. He wasn't trapped. He was indulging, savoring a second chance with the love of his life. He was confident I was his property, that I would simply wait until he was done. He told his men he could have us both. He used his brother's name to humiliate me. Fine. I would use his brother's name to destroy him. I walked into the office of the true power in the family, Don Domenico Moretti. "Your brother said I am your companion," I told him. "Let's make it real. Marry me." Chapter 1 Isabella POV: The day I was supposed to marry Giovanni Moretti, he publicly declared I was his brother’s girl, a convenient lie whispered just loud enough for the whole Family to hear while his true love lay broken in a hospital bed, remembering only him. The heavy oak doors of the chapel were shut. Guests murmured on the other side, their whispers a dull hum through the wood. My wedding dress felt like a cage of lace and silk. An hour ago, I was ecstatic. Now, a cold dread was seeping into my bones. The news had arrived like a bullet. A car accident. Sofia Mancini, Giovanni’s ex, the one he never truly got over, was in critical condition. Worse, she had amnesia. Her memory had reset to five years ago, a time when she and Giovanni were deeply in love. He had rushed to her side without a second thought for me, his bride. When he finally returned, his face was a mask of strained composure. He stood before me, not looking at my eyes, but at the wall just over my shoulder. "The wedding is off," he said, his voice flat. Don Domenico, his older brother and the head of the Moretti family, stood beside him. Domenico’s eyes, cold and dark as a winter night, were fixed on me. He was the true power here, his presence a heavy weight in the room. Giovanni was just a Capo, a captain, but Domenico was the Don. His word was law. "What do you mean, 'off'?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Sofia… she only remembers me. The doctors say any shock could be fatal," Giovanni explained, his gaze still avoiding mine. "She thinks we're still together." He was going to pretend for her. He was going to live in a five-year-old fantasy with her while I was cast aside. "And me?" My voice was barely a whisper. "What about me, Gio?" He finally looked at me, but there was no apology in his eyes. Only irritation. "Isabella, this is a family matter. It's complicated." "We were about to become family," I shot back, a spark of anger cutting through the shock. That's when he did it. He glanced at the guests waiting outside, then at his brother. A cruel, calculated idea flickered in his eyes. "For now," he said, his voice loud enough for anyone near the door to hear, "Isabella is Dom's companion for the evening. A guest." The words hit me like a physical blow. Not his fiancée. Not the woman he was supposed to marry. A guest. His brother’s companion. He stripped me of my title, my dignity, with a few careless words. I stood there, humiliated, while he walked away to play the part of a loving boyfriend to another woman. I was left alone in my wedding dress, a ghost at a wedding that never happened. That was a month ago. A month of living in the Moretti estate as a "guest." A month of watching Giovanni dote on Sofia, taking her to all our old spots, rebuilding their shared past while erasing mine. Every night, he would come to my room and tell me it was temporary. "Just until she's better, Bella. Then we'll get married. I promise." Lies. All of it. I found the hope I needed in the most unexpected place: a hushed conversation on the evening news about a Sicilian family renowned for ancient herbal remedies. One in particular was said to restore lost memories. My heart hammered against my ribs. A solution. A way out of this nightmare. Clutching the information I’d frantically scribbled down, I ran to find Giovanni. His study door was slightly ajar. I was about to knock when I heard voices from inside. "You can't keep this up, Gio," said Marco, his most trusted soldier. "The Don is losing patience. You know there's a cure." My breath hitched. He knew? "The Mancini family sent word. The Sicilians have the medicine. It could fix her memory in a day," Marco pressed. A heavy silence followed. Then, Giovanni’s voice, low and laced with a selfishness that chilled me to the bone. "I know," he said. "I have it. It’s locked in my safe." "What?" Marco sounded stunned. "Then why haven't you used it?" "Because for the first time in five years, she looks at me the way she used to," Giovanni confessed, his voice thick with a twisted kind of joy. "This is my second chance, Marco. I'm not giving that up. Not yet." "This is insane," Marco argued. "What about Isabella? You think she'll just wait forever? She's your fiancée." Giovanni laughed, a cold, arrogant sound. "Bella? She loves me. She’d never leave me. She has nowhere else to go. I'll give Sofia the cure eventually. After we’ve had some time. I'll marry Bella, I'll keep my position. I can have both." His words were a basin of ice water poured over my soul. He wasn't trapped. He was indulging. He was savoring a dream at the expense of my reality, confident I was his property, a thing that would simply wait. I felt the blood drain from my face. My body went numb, a deep, consuming cold spreading through my veins. I pressed my hand against the wall to keep from collapsing, my fingers digging into the plaster. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not for him. Every shared glance with Sofia, every tender touch I had been forced to witness, replayed in my mind. It wasn't an act of necessity. It was real for him. Our entire relationship, our engagement, what did it mean? Was it just a placeholder until something better came along? My palm stung. I looked down and saw my nails had broken the skin, tiny beads of blood welling up. I didn't even feel it. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Giovanni. `Stay in your room tonight. Sofia is feeling down. I'll be with her. Remember, you’re Domenico’s guest. Play the part.` Play the part. The words echoed in the frozen cavern of my heart. The coldness didn't just numb me. It hardened me. The grief began to curdle, twisting into a sharp, clear resolve. Fine. I would play the part. He wanted me to be Domenico’s companion? He wanted to use his brother’s name as a shield for his deceit? I would turn his lie into my weapon. My fingers trembled as I pulled up my contacts. I scrolled past Giovanni's name to the one listed only as "Don." My thumb hovered over the call button. I took a deep, shaky breath and pressed it. He answered on the first ring, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "Isabella." "I need to see you," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "My office. Now." I walked into the lion's den. Domenico Moretti sat behind a massive mahogany desk, the city lights glittering behind him like a sea of fallen stars. He was everything his brother was not: patient, silent, lethal. His power wasn't loud; it was a suffocating pressure in the air. He watched me, his dark eyes unreadable. I didn't waste time. "I have a proposal." He leaned back, gesturing for me to continue. "Giovanni publicly named me as your companion," I began, the words tasting like ash. "Let's make it real. Marry me, Don Moretti." A flicker of something—surprise? satisfaction?—crossed his face before it was gone. He steepled his fingers, his gaze intense. "You want to marry me to spite my brother." It wasn't a question. "I want to secure my position," I countered, my voice hard. "And solidify your family's alliances. A marriage between us does that far more effectively than one with a mere Capo." He was silent for a long moment, the only sound in the room the ticking of a grandfather clock. His eyes never left mine, searching, assessing. "And why," he finally asked, his voice a silken threat, "do you think I would agree to this?" This was my gamble. My one and only card to play. "Because for the past two years, you've kept a photograph of me in the bottom drawer of your desk." The air crackled. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I had found it by accident once, while looking for a pen. A candid shot of me laughing in the garden, a photo Giovanni had never even seen. At the time, I had dismissed it as strange. Now, I understood. He didn't move, but a slow, predatory smile touched his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "Alright," he said, the word landing with the finality of a death sentence. "We will be married. But understand this, Isabella. There will be no turning back. Once you are mine, you are mine forever." A shiver traced its way down my spine. I had traded one cage for another, perhaps a more gilded, more dangerous one. But this one was of my own choosing. "I understand," I said. "Good." He stood, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "And there is one more thing." "What is it?" "For the wedding," he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl, "I want Giovanni to be the one to carry you to the car. To give you away. I want him to place your hand in mine."