The dining room glowed with gold.
Every chandelier sparkled like they were mocking me, catching the light from a thousand expensive candles as if trying to blind me from the truth: I didn't belong here.
Not at this table.
Not next to Alessandro.
Not in this family.
Claudia Moretti sat at the far end, adorned in black pearls, her lips red, smile tighter than the skin on her face. Beside her were three of Alessandro's closest colleagues…Dr. Matteo Varone, Dr. Eli Romano, and the woman they always brought along like a trophy: Celina Corsi.
Celina was blonde, loud, and cruel.
She eyed me from across the table like I was something sticky on her heels.
"I hope the lamb isn't too undercooked, Anastasia," she said with a soft laugh. "I know girls from your side of the world prefer it… raw."
I didn't blink. "How lucky I don't need your approval to chew."
Matteo choked on his wine. Eli laughed.
Alessandro? Silent.
Completely.
Utterly.
Detached.
I turned to him.
He cut his steak slowly.
Didn't look at me.
Didn't defend me.
Didn't care.
"Anastasia," Claudia began, setting her glass down, "have you adjusted to the Moretti routine? I understand it's a… different pace from your previous lifestyle."
"You mean poverty?" Celina added, smirking.
"I mean silence," Claudia corrected, eyes sharper now. "The Moretti name doesn't allow scandal or spectacle."
"No worries, Claudia," I said, sweetly. "I'm excellent at fading into the background."
"Really?" Celina purred. "Because all I see is a girl trying very hard to pretend she belongs."
My smile didn't falter.
"And all I see is a woman still waiting for Alessandro to return her calls."
That one hit.
Celina's cheeks flushed, and even Claudia arched a brow.
Still, Alessandro said nothing.
Just drank his wine.
Like none of it mattered.
Like I wasn't bleeding at his table.
After dessert, the help cleared the plates.
Claudia leaned forward.
"I must ask," she said coolly, "what exactly do you bring to this family, Anastasia?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, aside from a last name and a weak immune system."
Matteo smirked.
Celina hid a laugh.
And Alessandro…God, Alessandro..sipped his scotch without raising his head.
I stood up.
Quietly.
Pushed my chair back.
And turned to Claudia.
"I bring silence," I said, voice steady. "Obedience. Pretty dresses. A willingness to be ignored. And when your son finally decides to crawl back into bed drunk and angry, I bring something else too."
The room went quiet.
"I bring the shame you're too proud to admit exists."
I walked out.
Alessandro didn't follow.
Didn't call my name.
Didn't care.
I didn't cry.
Not when I reached the stairs.
Not when I passed the staff whispering in corners, their eyes following me like shadows.
Not even when I locked the door to my bedroom and slid down to the floor, still dressed in pearls I hadn't picked, makeup I didn't want, and dignity shattered like cheap crystal on marble.
I didn't cry.
I vomited.
Quietly. Over the sink.
Blood again. Traces of red threading through bile and bile through silence.
I wiped my mouth with trembling fingers.
The door creaked open behind me.
I didn't look up.
"You were out of line," Alessandro's voice said flatly.
I turned slowly, bracing my hands on the marble sink.
"Out of line?"
"You insulted my mother. At my table."
I laughed bitterly. "She insulted me for breathing."
"She's family."
"I'm your wife."
He blinked.
I saw it.
The twitch in his jaw.
The faintest flicker of guilt or recognition or…
No.
He didn't speak.
I walked past him, dragging my feet to the wardrobe.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To shower. To scrub off this circus."
"You'll apologize tomorrow."
I paused.
Turned.
"You want me to apologize to the people who mocked me?"
He stepped closer. "They're not people. They're allies."
"Then your allies are cowards."
"You're a burden."
The words landed like a slap.
And I laughed again…this time louder, wilder.
"I know."
Silence stretched between us.
Tight.
Choking.
He stared at me.
I stared right back.
Then I reached up and slowly, deliberately, unzipped the side of my gown until it fell in a soft heap at my feet. I stood in my slip, pale skin blooming with red from corset bruises.
"If all I am is an embarrassment, then look at what you married."
He said nothing.
I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.
But not before I saw his hand twitch…like he wanted to reach for something.
Me, maybe.
But didn't.
Wouldn't.
Steam fogged the mirrors.
My skin burned from the water but I didn't move. I stood under the stream until my breath felt clean again. Until the ache in my chest dulled into something numb.
I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel.
He was sitting on the bed.
Still dressed in his suit. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar loosened, tie hanging undone like he couldn't commit to anything…not even rage.
He didn't look at me.
"I told them to leave," he muttered.
I didn't ask who.
"They're gone."
"Do you want applause?" I asked quietly.
His jaw tensed. "You made a scene."
I dropped the towel, walked past him naked, opened the closet, pulled on a silk robe.
"I didn't make a scene," I said, tying the belt slowly. "I was the scene."
"You want me to defend you like you matter?"
"No. I want you to act like your wife isn't your personal humiliation project."
He stood.
Walked over.
Stood inches behind me.
"You were nothing when I met you."
"I still am," I whispered.
He grabbed my arm. Not violently. Just firmly.
I didn't pull away.
I wanted him to see.
To feel it.
The bones under my skin.
The fever in my pulse.
The fragility he mistook for obedience.
"I don't need you to like me, Alessandro."
He stared at me in the mirror.
"I need you to remember me."
A beat passed.
"I don't forget disappointments."
"No," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "You marry them."
He dropped my arm like it burned him.
Turned.
Left the room.
Again.
Like always.
At 2:17 a.m., I woke up coughing.
Sharp. Wet. Violent.
The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue.
I crawled to the sink, barely made it before the floor spun. My body ached. My bones rattled. My breath came in gasps.
When it stopped, I sat there.
Alone.
Staring into the basin.
The mirror above it didn't lie.
I looked like the ghost of a woman no one ever loved.
I whispered one sentence through cracked lips:
"Please… just let me make it long enough to destroy him."