Chapter 3

"You know what happened to the last person who pretended to be the Donna?"

Marco stepped closer.

"Her head was chopped off and hung on her front door for seven days and nights. By the third day, the crows had pecked out her eyes."

"Elena, the Vancetti family isn't something trash like you can touch."

Marco sneered. "I'm warning you, don't drag me down with you. If you dare keep up this act, I'll be the first to feed you to the fish."

This man was telling the actual Donna—that she was impersonating herself.

"Got it?" Marco lifted his chin. "I'm saving you."

Marco suddenly seemed to remember something, switching to a "kind" tone.

"Oh right, there's a business summit next week. The Vancetti family will be there. I'm attending as a partner."

Claire immediately chimed in. "You're not thinking of bringing her, are you?"

Marco replied, "Of course. But—"

"I'll let her come as a server. She can pour tea and water for me."

Claire feigned concern. "Elena, remember to dress like a proper server."

A server?

I was the guest of honor at that summit.

Marco continued digging his own grave. "Then you can see for yourself how I negotiate with the real Vancetti family."

I felt nothing inside. Instead, I became more certain of one thing:

This man had to witness his world collapse with his own eyes.

Seeing me stare at him silently, Marco suddenly changed his tone.

"You don't need to look at me like I wronged you. I had no choice back then."

"You couldn't have children. I had to think about the family."

Five years ago, Marco told me his mother needed three hundred thousand for surgery. I believed him.

I worked myself to the bone saving money, but it was never enough.

An hour before the wedding, he sent me a message: "I'm not coming," without even bothering to give a reason.

Later I learned the so-called "medical expenses" were just an excuse to string me along.

And Claire—she was already five months pregnant.

The truth was brutal—I was the backup plan. He was just waiting for someone who could give him a son.

I suddenly found my past self, the one who believed Marco, laughable.

Marco froze for a moment, clearly not expecting me to laugh. "Elena, you can't blame me for this."

Five years ago, my family arranged a marriage for me. The match was Dante Vancetti.

I refused. I said I wanted to choose my own life.

My father warned me sternly: "You're making a mistake."

I didn't listen. I met Marco. I thought he was the answer.

The result? Betrayal, abandonment, humiliation. My world felt hollow.

That's when I finally understood the cost of my choice, so I agreed and married Dante.

I never imagined that would be what truly changed my fate.

I married the most dangerous man in San Valero.

And Marco still thought I was beneath him today.

Ironic to the point of absurdity.

I didn't bother responding, not even giving them the courtesy of an expression.

Marco, provoked by my silence, snapped "Let's go" and dragged Claire away.

On the day of the summit, I took my seat at the main table as planned.

Then, Marco and Claire appeared.

Claire's eyes widened. "You actually came? Did you sneak in? Or steal someone's badge?"

I didn't respond.

I didn't need to.

Seeing my silence, Claire picked up a glass of red wine from her table and slowly walked toward me.

"Since you love pretending, why don't we help you play the part more convincingly?"

She raised her hand.

The wine came down.

All over my head, my face, my dress.

Gasps rippled through the hall, but no one stopped her.

After all, in their eyes—I was just a stray dog with no one to protect her.

Marco stood to the side, gripping his glass, like he was enjoying a show.

Claire grew more excited and kicked me.

Hard enough to knock me backward.

The chair hit the floor with a sharp crack.

She grabbed my hair and shoved my head toward the ground.

She cursed as she did it. "How dare someone like you show up at an event like this?!"

Marco offered fake concern. "Easy, Claire. It looks bad."

The entire banquet hall fell silent except for their laughter.

A group of socialites and young businessmen held up their phones, filming.

Marco crouched down and patted my wine-soaked face.

"Now you know who you really are, don't you?"

Just then, a commotion started at the entrance.

Dante walked into the hall, followed by fully armed guards, the family crest gleaming coldly on their chests. He held the hand of a boy.

Marco immediately straightened, his face full of eager flattery.

He quickly turned to me, voice low and commanding:

"Elena, get lost. Don't embarrass me."

Marco was practically shaking with excitement as he stepped forward.

"Donna."

One of the guards suddenly broke formation and strode straight toward me, his voice respectful and urgent.

Marco's smile froze on his face.

"He... what did he call her?" his voice sounded strangled.

The entire hall fell dead silent.

Everyone stared at the guard kneeling beside me, then back at Dante at the entrance, their minds frantically piecing together the fatal answer.

Marco stumbled backward, knocking over a chair, his voice completely distorted:

"Donna?"