Chapter 2

After hanging up the phone, my thoughts drifted back to that afternoon a year and a half ago...

Old Don Moretti lay in his private medical suite, the ventilator humming steadily. He had called me in alone. Those eyes, though clouded, still commanded absolute respect.

"Evelyn, your father died saving me." His grip on my hand was ice-cold. "I promised him I'd take care of you."

"I know you love Dante," he studied me intently, his voice barely a whisper, "but you need to keep this document safe. If after marriage he... don't be naive."

The lawyer handed me a document: "Should Dante Moretti engage in adultery or betrayal during his marriage to Evelyn Valenti, all his controlling interests in the Moretti family will transfer unconditionally to Evelyn Valenti."

I shook my head through tears: "Godfather, Dante loves me. I'll never need this."

Looking back now, I remember the knowing sadness in the old Don's eyes. He had seen something I was too young to understand.

...

Two months before the wedding, Dante insisted on a joint engagement party. "It'll be more fun with everyone together," he said.

At the party, his friends kept pushing drinks on me. "Come on, you need to loosen up!"

I had zero tolerance for alcohol and quickly became dizzy. Through the haze, I remember someone helping me to a back room, and then... fragments of willing embraces, words I couldn't quite recall...

I woke up the next morning disheveled and aching. One of the men kindly explained: "Evelyn, last night you said you wanted to feel free. We... we all care about you."

I couldn't stop crying: "God... how could I say such things... What will Dante think..."

I didn't realize those broken memories were fabricated. I believed I had wanted it.

A week later, I went to Dante in tears: "I can't do this to you... What happened that night... I cheated. You deserve better."

He pulled me close, his voice pained: "This wasn't your fault. You were taken advantage of. It changes nothing."

For three days, he was relentless. Hourly calls, dozens of voicemails, flowers delivered twice daily.

He came to my house twice a day, standing on the porch: "Evelyn! This wasn't your fault! I'm not giving up on us!"

All of Chicago was moved by his devotion. Even Mom urged me tearfully: "Sweetheart, Dante loves you so much. Stop punishing yourself."

I finally surrendered to his persistence: "Dante, you've been so good to me... I'll spend my life making this up to you."

Making it up to him... now that's rich. I was grateful to the very devil who destroyed me.

From then on, all of Chicago praised Dante's loyalty. Everyone envied me for having such a man.

A month later, our wedding filled St. Mary's Cathedral with half of Chicago's elite families. But the guests' whispers cut deep:

"I heard the bride was with several men before the wedding..."

"Dante really is a saint. Anyone else would have walked away."

"Probably family obligations. What man could really overlook that?"

I kept my head down, trembling. That's when Dante appeared behind me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders: "Don't listen to them. I've got you."

Tears streamed down my face: "Dante, I promise I'll be worthy of you."

He slipped the family's ancestral ring onto my finger: "I swear to protect you forever, to never let anyone hurt you again."

At the time, those seemed like the most beautiful vows. Now I know they were the devil's lies.

After we married, he was indeed very attentive. Knowing I loved quiet places, he spent twenty million on a private island.

"This is ours alone," he said, gesturing at the white roses everywhere.

No matter how busy he was, he would spend several days each month with me on the island. Initially, I was reluctant to attend public events. "Dante, I'm worried about embarrassing you..."

He would always smile: "My wife is beautiful. Taking you anywhere only brings me honor."

I'd laugh: "You always know what to say."

Whenever anyone gossiped about my past, he would lose his temper: "If anyone spreads lies again, they'll answer to me!"

Seeing his bruised knuckles, my heart completely surrendered: "I'm yours for life."

Under his protection, I gradually emerged from that shadow, no longer waking from nightmares. I thought I had found redemption, found true love.

Just when I felt I could finally start fresh—

He appeared with a young woman on his arm.

"Baby, meet Chloe Esposito." Dante's voice carried a tenderness I hadn't heard in months.

I set down my book and watched him walk into the living room with a beautiful young woman. Chestnut hair, delicate features, barely past twenty.

"She's the girl your father sponsored through school," Dante explained. "Just graduated from University of Chicago. I thought she could stay here temporarily."

I vaguely remembered my father mentioning sponsoring a girl named Chloe, but we had never met.

Chloe blinked innocent doe eyes, then feigned recognition: "Oh, you must be... that Mrs. Moretti from the news, right?"

My blood turned to ice.

"I heard people in Chicago talk about your... past." She tilted her head with fake concern. "I'm so grateful you're letting me stay. I always wanted to thank your father personally, but unfortunately..."

Humiliation and pity hit me like a physical blow.

Dante patted her shoulder: "Sweetheart, watch what you say. Evelyn is a victim."

But there was no reproach in his tone—instead, he sounded like he was indulging a child.

Chloe stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek: "Sorry, I just think you're very brave, being able to... move forward."

I bit my lip hard, forcing calm. To escape this suffocating conversation, I forced a smile:

"Honey, I want to attend tomorrow's charity gala with you. I have my dress ready—"

Before I could finish, Chloe clapped excitedly: "Oh right! Dante, that dress you bought me is absolutely stunning! Perfect for tomorrow's gala."

I froze: "The gala...?"

Dante cleared his throat awkwardly: "Evelyn, you haven't been feeling well. You should rest. The media attention has been... intense. Some occasions require more... appropriate company."

The world tilted.

Chloe continued excitedly: "Dante said the gala is very important, lots of media. I promise I won't let you down!"

Every word was salt in my wounds.

I struggled to maintain dignity: "Then... enjoy yourselves."

I turned and went upstairs, keeping my back straight despite my shaking legs.

Dante called after me: "Evelyn..."

I didn't turn around. I was afraid my tears would fall.

In the master bedroom, I slowly slid down the door to the floor. The room was silent except for the sound of my heart shattering.

I told myself: Evelyn, you should understand. You would embarrass him, make people talk. He's doing what's necessary...

But why did my chest feel like it was caving in?

Late that night, I lay in the enormous bed, silk sheets cold as a morgue.

Then sounds came from next door.

"Oh Dante! Right there! Harder!" Chloe's theatrical moans penetrated the walls.

Then Dante's deep breathing: "That's my good girl..."

I pressed a pillow over my ears, tasting blood in my mouth.

I kept telling myself: "Evelyn, you should be grateful... at least he still gives you the Moretti name... you shouldn't ask for more..."

From that night on, I learned to endure. I told myself this was penance, the punishment I deserved.

But my submission didn't make Dante restrain himself. Instead, it made him bolder.

Until that late night in the wine cellar, when I overheard those conversations—and discovered the truth was far more horrific than I had ever imagined.

But the nightmare wasn't over.

At three in the morning, I had just returned from the wine cellar when I found Dante sprawled drunkenly across the sofa.

"Look who finally decided to show up." He swayed as he glared at me. "Which man were you screwing tonight?"