His Body Craved Mine, His Heart Chose Me

The wreckage in the study was still on the floor when my phone buzzed.

A text from Dante.

"Done with your tantrum? I'll have someone replace everything. This ends now."

This ends now?

I stared at the words, a wave of dizzying absurdity washing over me. I lost our baby, I destroyed his study, and to him, it was just a tantrum that needed to "end"?

My phone trembled in my hand. Not from anger, but from absolute despair.

And just like that, my heart was dead. Stabbed, the knife pulled out, leaving a gaping hole that would never heal.

I dialed the Romano family lawyer.

"Mr. Peterson, it's Elara. I need you to draw up divorce papers."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Ma'am, are you certain? This could impact the business alliance between the two families…"

"I'm certain," I said, my voice so calm it was chilling. "As fast as you can."

"And... regarding the division of assets? The prenuptial agreement states that if you initiate the divorce…"

"Follow the prenup to the letter," I cut him off. "The house, the cars, the shares—I don't want an extra dime. All I want is my freedom."

Peterson was clearly shocked, but he was a professional. He didn't ask any more questions.

"Very well, Mrs. Moretti. I'll have the documents prepared immediately."

I hung up and walked into our bedroom. Or rather, my bedroom. Dante rarely slept here. Even when he did, it was just to fulfill his husbandly duties before retreating to the guest room.

I opened the closet and started packing.

After three years of marriage, I had so little to show for it. Most of my things were what I'd brought with me from the Romano estate.

Good. It would make leaving that much easier.

Dante came home at ten.

I was waiting for him on the living room sofa. Three copies of the divorce agreement were laid out neatly on the coffee table.

He walked in and froze when he saw the documents.

"What is this?"

"Divorce papers," I said, gesturing to the table. "Just sign."

Dante walked over, picked up the papers, and gave them a cursory glance before scoffing.

"Elara, do you think we're in some soap opera?" He tossed the documents back on the table. "Three years, and you're still the same spoiled brat."

Spoiled brat?

After my mother died, I had to wear a mask of fire and steel just to survive.

But after marrying Dante, I had slowly let my guard down, seduced by his rare moments of gentleness. I kept bending, hoping one day I'd become the wife he wanted.

Clearly, he'd never even noticed.

I swallowed the bitterness. "I'm serious."

"Serious?" Dante sat down across from me, crossing his legs in a posture that was both relaxed and threatening. "Then let me seriously remind you of something. The partnership between the Romano and Moretti families is a three-billion-dollar deal. Do you really think your father will let you throw that away over a little temper tantrum?"

I just watched him, silent.

"And another thing," he continued, his voice growing colder. "Your sister Luna's medical bills are a million a month. Our private hospital gives her the best drugs and equipment in the world. Do you think the Romano family, in its current state, can afford that without me?"

He stood up, looming over me.

My heart ached, but I forced a smile, the same one I used every time we went to war. "You sound so sure of yourself. But what about your precious Ava? Don't you care? If we don't divorce, she'll always be nothing more than your infamous mistress. It seems you don't love her that much after all, Dante."

We stared at each other, the air thick with tension.

Finally, he grabbed a pen, scribbled his name, and threw the papers at me.

"Happy now? Stop this pointless drama. And don't forget your sister still needs me." He snatched his jacket. "I have business to attend to."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast, empty living room.

I looked at the signed papers on the table, and the tears finally came.

But this time, crying felt like a release.

Dante didn't know that Luna had been in remission for six months. I'd used my own money to find her the best doctors and then sent her to France. She was in Paris now, studying art, healthy and happy.

I never told anyone, not even my father. I knew that as long as Luna was "sick," it was the leash that bound me to this marriage.

But I finally understood. The real reason I stayed was never my sister. It was my own stupid heart. I thought one day, Dante would see me. That he would love me as a wife.

What a pathetic fantasy.

I picked up my phone and sent a text to Peterson: "Papers signed. File them with the court tomorrow."