The Cost of His Second Choice

Dante Falcone had decided he would make me his wife.

To win my heart, he pursued me relentlessly for years.

But on the eve of our wedding, I overheard him talking with his family's Consigliere.

"You're just going to marry Ava Rossi like that? What about that lover you've been hiding for three years?"

Dante paused. "She means nothing. She can't hold a candle to Ava."

"If she knows her place, I might keep her on the side. And Ava is generous. She'll learn to share."

The next day, that woman, Isabella, made a spectacle of herself at our wedding.

When Isabella shoved me off the stage, Dante dove to protect her without a second thought.

All because she was pressing a gun to her own temple, wailing, "Choose me or her?"

Blinded by panic, Dante shoved me aside and roared, "Move! I have to get her out of here!"

"If anything happens to her, I'll hold you responsible!"

In that moment, whatever love I had for him shattered.

That night, I bought a one-way ticket and left him for good.

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1

"Can't you sign your own damn consent form, Ava? Why are you calling me over something so minor?"

"Did you break a bone just to get my attention? I'm spread thin as it is, so knock it off!"

Dante's voice, laced with barely concealed fury and impatience, crackled through the phone.

Ever since Isabella had made that scene at the wedding, he had vanished with her for half the day.

This was the twentieth time I had called him.

He had hung up on the previous nineteen.

A chill ran down my spine at his indifference. "But Isabella was the one who pushed me," I pleaded.

"The doctor said a family member has to sign. You're already at our family's hospital—can't you spare five minutes to come downstairs?"

The line went dead.

Resigned, I sighed. "Just bring me the form. I'll sign it."

But the family doctor hesitated. "Perhaps you should try contacting Mr. Falcone again? Maybe he didn't quite grasp the extent of your injuries?"

"Just yesterday, he put the entire staff on alert. He said if Isabella made a scene and you were hurt, we were to prioritize your treatment above all else."

"In the past, Mr. Falcone would call in the entire medical team for a simple cold and would sit by your bedside himself."

"If he knew you had a broken bone—and that Isabella was the one who hurt you—he'd lose his mind. You're everything to him."

A bitter smile touched my lips. I used to think I was the one he loved most, too.

But now, it seemed that was no longer the case.

At my insistence, the doctor finally handed over the consent form, and I signed it myself.

Until the last possible moment before surgery, I clung to a sliver of hope, waiting for him to appear.

Instead, all I got was a photo from Isabella.

In the picture, Dante was on one knee, meticulously bandaging a minor scrape on her wrist. The background was unmistakably the Moretti family estate.

The caption read: "You said my three years of devotion were your greatest blessing and that you’d spend the rest of your life repaying me."

Isabella was smiling blissfully.

It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, Dante had publicly humiliated her for my sake.

Isabella had cornered my car, jabbing a finger in my face and screaming through her tears.

"I've been Dante's secret for three years! I gave him everything! And he tells me you're the only woman he sees a future with? What gives you the right?"

"I tried to be more like you—I even made him soup—and he slapped me! He said I couldn't hold a candle to you and called me delusional."

Her emotions had spiraled. "He called me a toy to play with when he was bored and told me to get lost the second he married you. Ava Rossi, why did you have to exist? Wouldn't it have been better for everyone if you'd just died in Europe?"

At the time, Dante had been furious that she had offended me and had her dragged away without an ounce of mercy.

His eyes were cold with disgust as he stared her down. "We sleep together. That's it. Don't you ever bother Ava again. You dare curse her? Are you insane? If you want to die so badly, be my guest."

"Ava is mine. My eyes are for her and her alone."

But today, at our wedding, he rushed to Isabella's side without a second thought, pulling her into his arms like she was a priceless treasure he was terrified of losing.

My surgery was quick. I had just regained consciousness as the anesthesia wore off when Dante burst into my hospital room.

I thought his conscience had finally kicked in. But the first thing he did was storm in, yank my hand—the one with the IV drip—from under the covers, and inspect it roughly.

When he didn't find what he was looking for, his voice dripped with fury.

"Ava, where's the ring? Give it to me. Now."