His Fake Amnesia, My Real Goodbye

The line went dead, his mocking laughter echoing in the silence of the sterile clinic room.

Without another moment of hesitation, I signed the papers and climbed onto the operating table alone.

When I woke up after the surgery, my phone was filled with over a dozen messages from Enzo.

Enzo: Alessia, I didn't expect you to be so reckless. I'm still in recovery, and you're already trying to force a wedding?

Enzo: You, the Principessa of the Rossi family, resorting to a fake pregnancy to blackmail me?

Enzo: From now on, we're done. Move out. I don't want to see you again.

The apartment we lived in had been purchased in full with my personal funds.

And he had the audacity to tell me to get out?

The De Luca family was powerful, but they were never flush with that kind of liquid cash.

I glanced at the bloody gauze—the only trace of the child that would never be—and replied with a single, calm word: "Okay."

I was more certain than ever of my decision. He didn't deserve to be a father.

During the three days I spent recovering in the hospital, he never once showed up.

But his social media became a gallery of parties, alcohol, and women.

He was indeed "having some fun."

I knew he was posting all of it for me to see, so I played along and liked every single post.

The day I was discharged, I witnessed an unexpected scene:

Enzo and Dr. Valenti in the hallway, rushing a gurney toward the emergency room.

What was the Underboss of the De Luca family doing in a Rossi-owned hospital?

Enzo's gaze met mine for less than a second before darting away as if I were a stranger.

But a moment later, the emergency doctor's anxious shout reached my ears, loud and clear.

"Prep Operating Room One! We need to contact the specialist in Switzerland! The patient has a ruptured spleen from an accident, severe internal bleeding—she needs surgery now!"

"What? The specialist's schedule is full?"

After the call, the doctor rushed to Enzo's side and whispered something in his ear.

Enzo froze.

The next moment, he spun around and strode toward me, his face a mask of impatience.

"Alessia, help me contact your family's doctor in Switzerland to save Sophia," he said, his voice urgent yet filled with a sickening sense of entitlement. "And I'll overlook the fact that you're stalking me."

I froze, then let out a laugh.

It was utterly ridiculous.

I spoke softly, "I'm not stalking you."

"Stop making excuses! A life is on the line!"

He grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the doctor.

"Contact your family's doctor. Whatever it costs, just save her!"

I struggled to break free, but his grip was like an iron clamp, forcing me forward.

I asked coldly, "Didn't you want to be done with me? What makes you think I would still help you?"

I stared at him, waiting for an answer.