The Don’s White Gown

Alessia frowned. "I haven't."

Matteo took a step closer, his eyes locked on her. "You haven't? You're out all day and barely show your face. If that's not avoiding me, what is?"

"Is it because I'm with Bianca?"

Alessia shook her head quickly. "No! Mr. Carbone, I'm genuinely happy for you. You've found the person you love, and as someone who grew up by your side, I truly wish you both the best. You can rest assured—I know my feelings will never be returned, so I am letting you go."

She said it so matter-of-factly, as if stating a simple truth.

Matteo's face darkened.

Alessia was letting him go? Ha. As if.

"First the confession, which I refused. Then the pestering, which I also refused. What's this, Alessia? A new strategy?"

He didn't miss the flicker of pain in her eyes, and his suspicion grew.

He moved closer, his gaze dropping to the box in her arms. "You're letting me go? Then why did you paint so many portraits of me? Why did you draw me over and over again? You've been obsessed with me for years, and now you're telling me you're done? Don't you think that's ridiculous?"

She met his gaze, silent.

She knew how insane it sounded.

She had cried wolf too many times. Who would believe her now?

But it was still the truth.

"I did love you," Alessia said, her voice steady. "For a very long time. But you will never love me back. So I've truly given up."

Then, without a hint of hesitation, she turned the box upside down and emptied its contents into the fireplace.

The flames devoured the paper, and she watched, one by one, as the portraits and sketches—all of them—turned to ash right in front of him.

The fragments of her past obsession burned away, light and meaningless.

Matteo didn't look relieved. On the contrary, his expression grew even darker.

For a second, she wondered if she was seeing things.

But before the thought could settle, his cold, sharp voice cut through the air.

"Keep pretending. But remember this—no matter what games you play, the only woman I will ever love is Bianca."

After that day, Alessia and Matteo didn't speak another word.

She had let go. He thought she was playing hard to get. So he ignored her.

This tension lasted until the Carbone family's private banquet.

Before, these events had always revolved around Alessia. Matteo's mother, Isabella, adored her and would fuss over her at every opportunity, only letting her go when Matteo finally came to claim her for a dance.

Now? Everything revolved around Bianca.

She was the future Donna of the Carbone family.

Alessia? Just a guest.

That morning alone was proof of how much they valued Bianca. The moment she arrived, Isabella placed the Carbone family heirloom on her wrist.

In her past life, Alessia had never even laid eyes on that heirloom.

At dinner, the family openly discussed the wedding date. By the end of the party, it was set.

Just as Alessia was preparing to leave with Matteo, Isabella suddenly stopped her.

"I need to speak with you alone."

In the study, Isabella skipped the pleasantries.

"Alessia, it's time for you to move on from Matteo." Her tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument. "He's with Bianca now. Staying here will only embarrass you and cause him trouble. What's the point?"

There wasn't a trace of warmth.

A bitter taste filled Alessia's mouth. Isabella had once adored her—until the day she confessed her love for Matteo. From then on, she had become frivolous, shameless... a burden.

Alessia's fingers dug into her palms. "Don't worry, Mamma Isabella. I'm already making arrangements to leave."

She took out the travel documents and handed them over.

"I've already told my father I'm going to New York. He's even arranged a marriage for me. From now on, I will stay far away from Matteo—I won't bother him anymore."

Isabella examined the documents, and her expression finally softened.

"You'd better keep your word."

As soon as Isabella left, Alessia slowly exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her.

She put the papers back in her bag and turned to leave—only to find Matteo standing in the doorway.

Their eyes met.

His voice was cold. "Who are you planning to stay far away from?"