Chapter 4

Elena's POV

I sat up abruptly, yanking the IV needle askew. A sharp pain shot through the back of my hand.

"Doctor—"

My voice came out hoarse but sharp. Riccardo immediately turned and walked in, his eyes dropping to where blood seeped from my hand.

"Don't move." He pressed his palm over mine, frowning at the wound. His tone was lower than usual. "How can you be so careless?"

"Does it hurt?"

I shook my head.

He was about to say something when—

The door pushed open. One of his men leaned in. "Miss Serena... the doctor says her wound might be infected. They're asking you to come."

Riccardo's hand stilled on my wrist.

He glanced at me, then let go. "I'll be right back."

He turned and left.

After the door closed, the doctor approached my bedside and flipped open the chart.

"Mrs. Castro, you're showing signs of threatened miscarriage."

My fingers clenched the bedsheet.

"You need bed rest. No stress." The doctor continued. "I recommend informing your partner. He needs to be more careful with you going forward."

"Did you tell him?"

"No." The doctor hesitated. "I didn't get the chance just now."

I exhaled. The tension in my chest loosened for a moment, then tightened again immediately.

"Please keep it confidential." My lips trembled, but my eyes stayed steady. "I'll handle it myself."

The doctor studied me for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Anti-miscarriage medication twice daily. Complete bed rest for one week. Come to the hospital immediately if anything feels wrong."

The next day, I walked slowly down the hospital corridor.

As I passed the nurses' station, whispered voices drifted toward me.

"...the Castro man, he's really devoted to Serena. Stayed up all night watching her IV himself..."

"They're childhood sweethearts—they should have been together in the first place. If Mr. Marco hadn't died..."

"It's not too late now. You see how anxious he is about her? If she gets a scratch, he worries. That's real devotion."

"I heard Serena is pregnant? That means the next Castro heir will be hers..."

"Of course. In that kind of family, the child has to come from 'one of their own.' Outsiders—they'll always be outsiders."

I leaned against the corridor wall, my fingers gripping the fabric of my hospital gown.

They were right.

In the Castro family script, I was never the lady of the house. I was just a sheltered orphan, a promise that needed keeping, a marriage certificate used to silence secrets.

Serena was the "insider."

I walked back to my room slowly, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.

My phone vibrated.

An email from the International News Agency:

[Elena, your application has been approved. You may proceed to deployment whenever you're ready.]

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then I opened a booking site and purchased a ticket for two days later—Naples to Beirut.

From Beirut, I would cross into Syria.

Over the next two days, Riccardo never came to my room.

I heard Serena's wound wasn't healing well. Riccardo had called in specialist consultations and was personally overseeing her care.

While he was occupied, I could leave.

On departure day, I returned to the manor to pack.

The butler saw me at the entrance and froze. "Mrs. Castro, you've been discharged? Should I notify the boss?"

"No need. I'm just picking up a few things. I'll be gone shortly."

I walked into the master bedroom and opened the closet.

My clothes occupied maybe a fifth of the space. When I'd moved in two years ago, Riccardo had said "buy whatever you need," but I never did.

After packing, I sat down at the desk.

I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and placed them in the center. The ring slid off my finger and settled on top of the document.

I stood up and picked up my suitcase.

The butler stood at the foot of the stairs, his expression uncertain.

"Business trip." I spoke first. "Riccardo will know."

He stepped aside. I walked to the entrance where a car was already waiting.

"Mrs. Castro, where to?"

"Airport."

As the car pulled away, I didn't look back.

......

Riccardo returned from the hospital as the sky darkened.

Serena had been discharged today. He'd made sure everything was arranged before leaving. Luca briefed him on several business matters during the drive. He listened, nodding occasionally, but his mind was elsewhere.

Elena's leg had been injured.

That night on the terrace, when the pillar fell, he'd only focused on Serena. Marco was dead. She was his childhood friend and his brother's widow. He couldn't neglect her. He had to take care of her. He had to.

But Elena had been hurt too.

He'd sent Michael to check on her twice. He should have gone himself, but Serena's situation kept him occupied—the infection kept recurring, doctors came in waves.

Now that Serena was settled, he needed to see Elena.

When he entered, the living room lights were off.

"Elena?"

No answer.

He climbed the stairs and pushed open the master bedroom door.

The closet stood open.

Her clothes were gone. All her things were gone. The book she always kept on the nightstand was missing. In the bathroom, her toothbrush, her shampoo, her towel—all gone.

He stood there, staring at the empty closet.

Then he pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

It went straight to voicemail.

Elena never turned off her phone.

He called Michael. "Where is my wife?"

"Mrs. Castro took a car to the airport this afternoon. She said you knew—"

Riccardo hung up and turned toward the study. He pushed the door open.

On the desk lay the divorce papers. The ring sat on top of them.