Love's Cruel Contract, His Endless Regret

Alessa POV: The night of the gala arrived, the grand ballroom of The Ritz-Carlton draped in an opulence as false as the promises broken within its walls. Lorenzo was in his element, working the room with a possessive hand on the small of my back, showing me off like a newly polished trophy. "Twenty years," he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "And you're more beautiful than ever." I offered him a small, cryptic smile that seemed to unnerve him. He didn't know that just an hour ago, the last piece of my heart had finally turned to dust. Before we left the house, I'd stopped by Marco's room. He was adjusting his tie in the mirror, looking like a miniature version of his father. "Marco," I'd said quietly. "If your father and I were to ever part ways, who would you choose to live with?" He didn't even hesitate. He didn't even look at me. "Dad, obviously," he'd answered, his voice flat. "You'd probably just sit around and cry all day." "I see," I'd said, the words nothing more than a puff of air. The last flicker of maternal hope died in that moment. He'd turned from the mirror then, a cruel smirk twisting his young face. "Don't worry. You'll get used to being alone." I took a deep breath, drew myself to my full height, and walked out of his room. I was no longer a mother grieving her son. I was an executioner with a sentence to carry out. Now, at the gala, I played my part. I smiled. I mingled. I observed. Katia arrived in a siren-red dress, a bold slash of color in the sea of muted evening wear. Around her neck was a Tiffany diamond necklace I recognized instantly. It was the very one Lorenzo had commissioned for our anniversary—the one he'd claimed the jeweler had "made a mistake on," forcing him to return it. Marco's eyes lit up when he saw her. He abandoned his shrimp cocktail and rushed over, giving her a hug that was warm and familiar, more suited for a peer than a tutor. "Katia! You look amazing! Dad, doesn't she look amazing?" Lorenzo froze, his face going pale as he tried to force a polite smile. "Marco said you wanted me here," Katia announced proudly to the group, using Lorenzo's first name like a challenge. She shot me a look of pure, venomous victory. Lorenzo's hand tightened on my arm, his fingers biting into my skin. "Alessa, this is Marco's tutor, Ms. Shepherd." I greeted her with a serene smile. "A pleasure to finally meet you. That's a stunning necklace. It's almost identical to one my husband had commissioned for me recently." Katia's triumphant smile faltered. Her hand flew to her throat protectively. Lorenzo's grip on my arm became a vise. Just then, her parents—a bewildered-looking middle-class couple—arrived with Principal Thompson in tow. Katia blanched, mumbled something about needing the restroom, and fled. Lorenzo, stammering an excuse, followed her out of the ballroom. I didn't move. I knew exactly where they were going and what he was doing. Placating her. Making more false promises. Ten minutes later, I found them in a service corridor behind the stage. The acoustics were perfect. I heard her tearful accusations, his desperate promises to leave me, to start their new life tomorrow, right after the gala. He sealed it with a frantic, sloppy kiss. I slipped back into the shadows. On my phone, the conversation was captured, the audio coming through crystal clear. I had what I needed. I returned to our table, my heart as calm and cold as a winter sea, and waited for the curtain to rise on the final act.