Chapter 2

Chris said something more, but I could no longer hear it.

No, the Chris from before was not like this.

He was adopted by my father and was seven years older than me.

When I was five, Father picked him up from the streets, saying his parents had been silenced by a rival family and that he had survived only by hiding beneath the bodies.

“Will he hate?” I asked Father.

“He will,” Father said. “Hatred is the finest blade. Grip it tight, and it will kill for you.”

But Chris did not become Father’s blade. He became my shadow.

When I was ten, scorned by the servants because my mother had taken her own life, he always stood in front of me.

Back then he said that matters between adults should not fall upon me, and he would never allow anyone to slander me.

When I was fifteen, men from a rival family slipped into my school to kidnap me.

Chris faced three knives alone, was stabbed clean through the shoulder, and still held on until the others arrived.

Lying in a pool of blood, he smiled at me. “It’s fine. I won’t die. As long as you’re safe.”

At that moment, I thought he would be the one for the rest of my life.

When I was eighteen, he kissed me for the first time.

In the shadow of Father’s study, his palm gripping my wrist was slick with sweat.

He said, “I want to spend my life with you. If you’re unwilling, just pretend I drank too much tonight and none of this counts…”

I didn’t let him finish before I kissed him back.

Friends said he was an orphan, a dog raised by Father, a wolf coveting the Rossi family’s fortune.

I didn’t listen. At twenty, I became engaged to him, planning to marry him officially after I completed my mission in Europe and returned.

On the day I left for Europe, he dropped everything at hand and rushed to the airport to see me off.

His eyes were red as he clutched my hand tightly. “Are you really just going to study? I can’t bear to let you go.”

He cried.

I had never seen Chris cry.

He held me tightly and said, “Sophie, I’ll wait for you to come back. I will always love you.”

During the two years that followed, in a basement in Sicily, in a jolting freight truck, on a hospital bed, I thought of him again and again.

I thought of his smile, his hands, the word “always” he had spoken.

When did all of this begin to change?

Was it the resentment he felt after I refused his video calls time and again, or the silence when I pressed him about why he didn’t reply to my messages promptly?

On countless nights, I stared at the ceiling and tossed in bed, comforting myself over and over that once he knew the truth, he would understand.

But now, hearing his words with my own ears, I finally had to face the cruel reality.

Chris no longer loved me. He had fallen for my sister. He believed I had cheated on him. He thought I deliberately delayed my return because I had found someone else in Europe.

While I was filled with joy, waiting for my eye to heal and planning our reunion, the place beside him had already been taken.

Now he believed the most suitable person to be the Don’s wife was Lily, not Sophie.

Two years can change many things. The Chris of today is no longer the Chris of before, and the vows we once swore mean nothing now.

But how could he be so cruel? After he stopped loving me, even my scars became topics for his amusement.

I took a deep breath and forced back my tears. I dared not linger any longer, fleeing the Long Island villa as if I were escaping.