The next day.

I spent the entire afternoon lost in my art studio.

After I first discovered Alessandro's affair with that woman, Ava, I had screamed hysterically. I’d thrown things. I’d even threatened to ruin the family's reputation, demanding he break things off with her. It was all useless.

Back then, he had pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at me with a complicated expression.

"Alessia, in our world, what man doesn't have a woman or two on the side? I only have her, besides you. I promise she will never appear at any official family functions. You are, and always will be, Mrs. Moretti."

I had collapsed, sobbing on the cold floor, my hands covering my face. My words came out choked and broken. "I don't want to be just Mrs. Moretti… I want you to love only me…"

Alessandro had slowly kneeled to meet my gaze. His voice was as gentle as ever, but his words held no warmth, no love.

"I do love you, Alessia. You're the only one I love in this world."

Then he turned and left.

As he walked away, he told me to "calm down."

I lost control completely. In that room, filled with memories of our past, I grabbed a picture frame and smashed it, then used a shard of glass to cut my arm, as if the physical pain could somehow lessen the agony in my heart.

I’d thought about divorce, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't ready to give up.

We grew up together. How could our lifetime of love be worth less than a woman he’d only known for three months?

I tried to use the love I had left to fight off the temptations of this dirty world, but the outcome was obvious.

I endured. I suffered.

I imprisoned myself in memories of the past, chained myself to the promises Alessandro once made.

Chloe was the first to notice something was wrong. She wasn't part of our "circle." She took me to see a therapist, took me on trips to clear my head, and encouraged me to find myself again.

During that dark, depressing time, I fell in love with painting.

Only when I painted could I temporarily forget the people and things that were suffocating me.

Alessandro came home early tonight. When I finished a painting and came downstairs, he was already sitting at the dining table.

I was a little surprised to see him home so early.

Seeing me, he spoke first. "Why isn't dinner ready? You used to always cook."

Alessandro was incredibly picky about food and had irregular eating habits. I used to worry he’d get stomach problems, so I’d wake up early every day to make him breakfast.

But ever since Ava came into the picture, he rarely ate breakfast at home.

In a desperate attempt to win him back, I started making dinner every night. But he always said he was "handling business" or had a "work dinner," and he never once came home to eat.

I replied calmly, "I thought you were busy. If you're hungry, you can ask one of the housekeepers to make you something."

His lips tightened, and he looked up at me. "Alessia, I feel like you've changed."

I smiled faintly. "Have I?"

"Yeah."

Alessandro blinked at me like a child, a hint of grievance in his voice.

"You used to always ask me when I was coming home for dinner. I haven't heard you ask that in a long time…"

But Alessandro, people don't change overnight.

When I used to ask you when you were coming home, you’d say you were busy with work, but you were really in bed with Ava.

Every question was just a painful reminder of your disgusting betrayal.