I smiled, my voice soft but firm. "No, I won't. I know Marcello loves me. He can't live without me."

He glanced at me then, like he didn't know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Then I noticed Serafina's wrist. She was twisting a bracelet identical to mine. The thin gold caught the chandelier light, and my stomach turned to ice.

Serafina noticed my stare. For a moment, her smile faltered. Then she quickly excused herself and slipped out of the ballroom.

I watched Marcello grow restless, pulling out his phone under the table. Moments later, he stood, putting on that fake polite smile. "Excuse me, urgent call," he muttered, before leaving too.

I knew exactly where he was going.

When I tried to follow, one of Marcello's business associates from the legitimate side of the hotel chain, married but notorious for wandering hands, blocked my way. He kept me in pointless conversation, smirking, stalling.

I forced a polite smile. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'll head home early. Don't trouble yourself with giving me a ride. I'll grab a car."

I slipped past, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. That's when I heard it. A door left slightly ajar. Voices, gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies colliding.

I froze, then leaned just enough to peek inside.

Serafina was straddling Marcello, riding him like she owned him. His hands gripped her thighs, his head thrown back, moaning.

Her eyes slid to mine. She saw me. And she smiled.

"Tell me, Marcello," she purred, loud enough for me to hear. "Do you really love me? If not, I'll go fuck your business partner right now."

Marcello groaned, desperate, breathless. "I fucking love you, Serafina."

Serafina's smirk deepened, her gaze locked on me like she knew I was there. "Then get me pregnant. Do it inside me."

His voice broke into a growl. "Yes, sweetheart," he groaned, slamming harder into her.

My vision blurred with tears. I held my phone at my side, the camera already recording. Every word, every filthy confession, every betrayal, I caught it all.

Before they noticed me, I turned and walked away, silent as a shadow.

Back at the compound, I pulled out my suitcase. My hands shook as I unzipped it, but my heart was steady. My thumb traced the scar on the inside of my left wrist, slow, deliberate. Remembering who I had been. Then I stopped, and I packed.

This time, I wasn't just thinking about leaving. This time, I really was.