Open Marriage Closed Heart

"Stop!" I screamed, rushing forward.

Sophia's mother, Elena Ricci, turned around slowly.

She wore the smile of a predator that had just claimed its territory. "Isabella, you're back. Damien invited me to help redecorate. He said Sophia prefers a brighter style."

My eyes swept across the living room, and my heart sank.

My prized 16th-century tapestries were ripped down, tossed on the floor.

In their place hung a cheap print of a giant pink rose.

My collection of rare classical vinyl records was shoved into a cardboard box.

Next to it was a tacky, rhinestone-covered Bluetooth speaker, blasting pop music.

This home, the sanctuary Damien and I built together, was being defiled. Destroyed.

"This is my house," I managed, my voice trembling with a rage so deep it barely made a sound.

"Of course, dear," she said, her eyes scanning the room with contempt. "But a home should feel alive, not like a tomb. It's time to clear out the dead weight."

She pulled her phone from her pocket.

She clicked on a text message and flashed it in my face.

It was from Damien. The words were a knife in my gut: "Do whatever you want with the house. Just make it how Sophia likes it."

I couldn't believe Damien would let someone humiliate me like this.

But I didn't have time to process it.

Elena's gaze fell on the fireplace mantel.

On it sat a delicate antique music box. It was the only thing I had left of my mother.

My heart seized.

"This, for example," Elena said, picking it up and tossing it casually in her hand. "Poorly made, old-fashioned. What is this piece of junk?"

"Put. It. Down." My voice was dangerously low.

"Let me guess, a gift from your dead mother?" She laughed, deliberately opening the lid in front of me.

The clear, crisp melody filled the air. It was my mother's favorite song.

"I said. Put. It. Down." Murder bled into my voice.

"You think you can scare me?" Elena's smile turned vicious. "Isabella, you need to face reality. Damien loves you, but he needs excitement. A boring, old-fashioned woman like you can't hold him. This junk… it represents your pathetic, abandoned past…"

Crash.

It shattered on the marble floor. A hundred tiny pieces of my heart along with it.

The music stopped. Just like my heart.

I remembered being a little girl, my mother holding me, pointing to the Moretti family crest on the box. "Bella," she'd said, "remember, you are a Moretti. You never, ever lose your pride."

Now that music box, the symbol of my mother, was crushed to dust along with my pride.

I launched at her like a lioness, but two huge bodyguards appeared from nowhere, grabbing me and holding me fast.

I couldn't move.

I could only watch as Elena ground the pieces of the music box under the heel of her shoe. The sound was sickening.

"You see?" she said, looking down at me, her eyes filled with triumph. "It breaks so easily. Just like this cheap box. Just like your pride."

"You will pay," I hissed, struggling against the guards. "I swear on the Moretti name, I will burn your entire bloodline to the ground."

Just then, the manor doors burst open.

"Isabella!" Damien's panicked voice yelled as he ran inside.