To Seize a Stolen Crown

I had spent three whole years on it. It was the most important bargaining chip I had prepared for the family to use in a deal with a rival faction. It was also the most crucial work of my career.

I shot up from my seat and stormed into the study, where the hidden entrance to the family vault was located.

I activated the mechanism, and the password interface popped up.

I tried my birthday. Incorrect.

I tried our wedding anniversary. Incorrect.

I tried every date that had ever meant something to us. All incorrect.

I stared at the password field, my mind buzzing. Then, a sick feeling, a thought, rose in my throat.

Cassia's file had Ivy's birthday in it.

My hand trembled slightly as I typed in the date.

"Welcome, Principessa."

The vault door swung open.

The password to our family vault. He had changed it to his mistress's birthday.

A wave of immense humiliation washed over me, nearly taking my breath away.

I bit my lip and stepped inside. The shelves that had once held all my restoration records and research materials were completely empty.

All that was left was a forged restoration report, attributing all the credit for restoring Seraphina's Lament to one person.

The signature line bore the name "Ivy Reed."

Preston wasn't just deceiving me and betraying our marriage. He was stealing my glory, my value, and our family's future to pave the way for his mistress.

I had to lean against the cold vault door to keep myself from collapsing.

So this was betrayal. It didn't just break your trust. It stripped you of everything you had built with your own hands.

At the Gallo family estate, a private art appraisal was underway, an event that would decide the future of the family.

I took a seat in an inconspicuous corner and watched as Preston walked in with Ivy, seating her in a prime position beside the Don, Matteo Gallo.

He was dressed in a top-of-the-line Brioni suit, his hair impeccably styled. He turned slightly to speak to the other family heads beside him, his tone calm and confident.

Ivy sat next to him in a white haute couture gown, her makeup flawless, looking like a true socialite. The tawdry, cheap air she once had was gone, replaced by the polished sheen that comes from being nurtured by power.

She gazed at Preston with an expression of pure adoration.

They exchanged an easy smile, looking for all the world like a perfectly matched power couple.

Soon, the appraisal began.