Chapter 1
When Dante Valerius realized I hadn't made a single household request in three days, he called me himself for the first time in months.
"Alessia," he said, his voice smooth and patient. "The clinic has been cleared. Your file is back on priority. See? When you stop making things difficult and learn how this family works, I make sure you're taken care of."
He always sounded gentlest when reminding me who held the power.
What he didn't know was that by the time his name lit up my screen, the divorce papers were already drafted.
From the outside, I had everything a woman could want: a guarded penthouse, a driver on call, designer clothes, and the last name of one of the city's most feared men.
But almost none of it was mine.
My cards were monitored, and cash requests required approval. The staff took Luciana Rossi's orders before they ever listened to me. Even my wardrobe budget, my schedule, and my access to the family office all ran through her hands.
Dante called it convenience.
Three days ago, I was rushed into a private clinic with blood soaking through my dress. A doctor told me there was still a chance to save the baby, provided the emergency deposit was paid immediately.
I called Dante until my hands shook.
Luciana stalled the transfer.
First, she claimed there was no direct authorization. Then, the amount was too large. Finally, she said Dante was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed over something that might not be serious.
By the time the money came through, it was too late.
The baby was gone.
I had stayed with Dante for two reasons: I loved him, and I believed that when it truly mattered, he would choose me.
I was wrong about both.
Our child died first.
My marriage died with it.
When I walked out of Saint Helene Women's Center, the doctor's words still rang in my ears.
"We lost the last chance to keep the pregnancy. There's no point coming back for this one."
By the time I arrived at Valerius Headquarters, Dante was in his private office, signing a document Luciana Rossi had just placed in front of him.
When I told him I wanted a divorce, he didn't even look up at first. He just let out a short laugh.
"What is this now? Are you angry because I didn't come home for dinner last night?" His tone turned faintly reproving. "Alessia, don't say things like that. It's childish."
"I'm not joking," I said. "I want a divorce."
That finally made him lift his head. He rose and walked toward me, calm and almost indulgent, as though I were simply being difficult again.
When he reached for my hand, I stepped back before he could touch me. His hand lingered in the air for a moment. A frown flickered across his face, then disappeared.
"I know you're upset about the clinic," he said. "But I stopped that because I didn't want you jumping into every expensive procedure they suggested. Panic isn't a plan."
He glanced at Luciana, who stood quietly by the desk. She looked polished and composed, the very picture of loyal efficiency.
"She was following my instructions. How could you argue with her at the billing office in front of the staff? I restored your access yesterday, so if this is about the money, it's already resolved."
Before I could answer, he checked his watch.
"I have people waiting on me. I run an entire organization, Alessia. I can't keep wasting time on scenes like this."
"I'll come by tonight. I'll bring dessert from Artemisia. Be good and wait for me."
He was sure I would stay. He was certain that a little tenderness would make me forgive everything.
For three years, he had been right. Even when he left me standing in the rain because Luciana needed him somewhere else, all it took was one quiet line—*She works for me. Don't make this ugly*—and I would swallow the hurt and pretend I understood.
Now, dessert meant nothing. Whether he had reopened the transfer meant nothing.
If Dante had listened to me three days ago, I might still have been foolish enough to stay.
That day, I had called him from the hospital corridor, begging him not to hang up before I finished speaking. But Luciana's voice reached him first.
"Boss, I think Mrs. Valerius misunderstood me. I only told the clinic the amount was too large to release without a full breakdown. If she truly needs it immediately, I can force it through, even if it breaks procedure. I'm just worried the finance board will start asking questions later. I was strict because I thought she should learn how things are handled in this family."
That was enough for him.
"Alessia," Dante had said, already impatient. "Do you hear how considerate she's being? Why can't you learn from her instead of panicking every time something goes wrong? Do what Luciana says. Once the paperwork is complete, we'll talk."
It was always the same whenever I needed anything. Talk to Luciana. Follow Luciana's arrangements. Do whatever Luciana tells you.
I was Dante Valerius's wife, yet I had less authority in his world than the woman who managed his schedule. Even for formal dinners, political fundraisers, and private family gatherings where I was expected to stand beside him, I had to request my dresses and jewelry through Luciana. Every time, she found a reason to send me away empty-handed. The shade wasn't Dante's preference. The necklace was too flashy. The request had come too late. The better pieces had already been allocated.
So I would end up beside Dante in something outdated or poorly fitted, while he leaned in close and murmured, almost gently, "Alessia, you represent me. Try not to embarrass the family."
As if the failure were mine.
The truth was simpler. I couldn't handle even the smallest things because Dante had placed everything in Luciana's hands, only to act as though I was incompetent for depending on her. He knew the pregnancy had been unstable from the beginning. He knew the doctors had warned us that any delay could be dangerous. He knew I had been in and out of appointments for weeks.
And still, when I needed him most, he gave me the same answer he always did:
Go through Luciana.