Chapter 3

Three days have passed.

During that time, I went to see Father and learned that he had been shot in a gunfight and had never recovered since.

He kept murmuring about my marriage to Chris, saying that once Chris became the Don, no one would dare bully me after his death.

But what he did not know was that I was about to be the one abandoned by the new Don he spoke of.

After that, I shut myself inside my apartment in Manhattan, scrolling through the images I should have seen over the past two years.

Lily’s social media account was like a public diary, recording Chris’s “new life” during the days of my absence.

The most recent post was from yesterday, tagged at a jewelry store in Manhattan.

In the photo, a Cartier bracelet circled her slender wrist, and the caption was simple: “Someone said a beauty deserves jewels.”

Someone commented, “Who’s the someone? The Don?”

Lily replied with a shy emoji.

Half a month ago, Lily posted a photo of a theater ticket stub. She wrote, “Someone finally isn’t being the Don today. The opera was wonderful, and the person beside me was even more wonderful!”

Chris commented, “Being with you, I’ll never be tired.”

Never tired? I remembered lying on a hospital bed in Sicily when the doctor said my eye was recovering well and that I could call my family to let them know I was safe.

I called. He didn’t answer.

Later he sent a message: “In a meeting. Too tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

That was why I had kept the loss of sight in my right eye a secret until now.

I let out a bitter laugh. So his “tired” simply meant he was unwilling to spare any energy for me.

A dull ache rose in my throat, my fingertips turned cold, yet I stubbornly continued scrolling.

Last autumn, Lily posted a nine-photo collage, tagged at Lake Como. She wore a bright spaghetti-strap dress, smiling radiantly.

Chris left a comment: “May time stop at this moment.”

My breathing halted abruptly. If I remembered correctly, that day was the anniversary of our relationship.

I stayed up until midnight in front of my computer, waiting, and received only a brief message from him: “Family matters today. Got busy and forgot. Happy anniversary.”

I comforted myself, telling myself that he had taken over the family and that I should be understanding.

I even thought myself considerate enough to order him a bulletproof sedan and have it delivered to the estate.

It felt like a slow execution as I forced my trembling hands to scroll further back.

Further back—about eight months ago.

Lily’s account had been unusually active, several posts in a row about an underground casino.

She wrote, “Thanks to my Chris for taking me out all night long～”

Chris replied, “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

My gaze fixed on the date of that post, and my vision darkened.

That day… was my birthday.

That same day, I had received a lemon cake he ordered—yet I am allergic to lemon.

Upset, I called him dozens of times in a row.

He did not answer. Only much later did he send a message: “I’m sorry, Sophie. I was extremely busy today. One of my men ordered the cake; he probably didn’t pay attention to the flavor. Don’t mind it. Happy birthday. There’s a lot going on in the family lately. Once things settle down, I’ll make it up to you.”

He truly was busy—busy satisfying Lily’s wishes, busy accompanying Lily to underground casinos, busy vacationing with Lily, busy attending the opera with Lily.

I could not bear to read any further. I pressed the power button sharply, and the screen went dark, reflecting my pale face.

There was no hysteria. To my surprise, I was calm.

Immense sorrow swept over me, yet I could no longer cry.

So during those days without me by his side, he had never been lonely.

His world had long been filled by someone new. There was no place left for me.