Chapter 3

I used to dream about my life with Damian after the wedding. I'd decorated our home with my own hands, shaping it into everything I'd ever imagined.

But when I returned to the villa from the hospital and pushed open the door, I stopped dead.

Everything had changed.

The paintings I'd carefully chosen were replaced with photos of Lillian and Damian. The vase on the mantel had been swapped for her scented candles. The Venetian crystal chandelier was gone, replaced by something modern and stark.

The air was thick with her perfume.

And there was Lillian herself, draped across the sofa in a silk robe, cradling one of my treasured bone china teacups.

She crossed her legs like a victor surveying her conquest.

"Back already? The way you looked—half-dead—I figured you'd be in the hospital for a while."

I stared at her, ice in my voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Damian invited me to move in." She smirked. "He said I was too fragile and needed looking after."

So while I was lying in a hospital bed, they'd already been messing around in my home.

"By the way," Lillian rose and sauntered toward me, "I had your things moved to the guest room. The master bedroom is mine now. After all, Damian did say he needed to take care of me personally."

"What happened on the mountain should've made things clear." Her mocking smile sharpened. "To Damian and me, you're just a guest passing through."

She emphasized the words "passing through" like a needle sliding under my skin.

"You knew Damian and I were—"

"Stop fooling yourself, Natalia. Damian has always loved me. You were just a placeholder. Now that the real thing's back, you should know when to step aside."

"What?" Lillian tilted her head, baiting me. "Thinking about getting physical? You know whose side Damian will take."

My fists clenched tight.

I forced myself to stay calm. There was no point wasting energy on her.

I turned and headed upstairs.

When I opened the guest room door, I found my belongings scattered across the floor. Clothes spilled from suitcases, my jewelry box was smashed on the ground, necklaces strewn everywhere.

I took a deep breath and knelt to sort through the mess.

Then I realized something was missing.

My mother's photograph.

I tore through every box, checked every corner.

Gone.

I stormed downstairs. Lillian was taking selfies on the sofa.

"Where's my mother's photo?" My voice shook with fury.

"What photo?" She didn't even look up.

"Silver frame. On the nightstand in the master bedroom!"

"Oh, that old thing." Lillian shrugged. "I had it thrown out."

"You what?"

"I said I had it thrown out. Seeing a dead person's picture before bed every night? Bad luck. Besides, it's not like she's my mother."

Heat surged to my head.

"Where did you throw it?"

"The trash, I suppose. Probably already collected. Honestly, it's just a photo—why make such a big deal?"

"That was my mother's memorial photo!" I was nearly screaming.

"So?" Lillian stood. "What's the point of keeping pictures of dead people?"

I couldn't hold back anymore. I stepped forward, my hand rising.

Just then, a vicious bark erupted.

A massive Doberman came hurtling toward me.

Its teeth sank into my calf. Searing pain shot through me.

I screamed and crumpled to the floor. Warm blood ran down my leg.

"Rex!" Lillian shrieked—but her movements were deliberately slow.

The dog kept tearing at me. I tried desperately to push it away, only to have my arm raked open with fresh gashes.

"Stop! Rex!" Lillian finally grabbed the collar and yanked it back.

I clutched my bleeding calf, the pain too intense for words.

Lillian looked down at me, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Sorry about that. He's just protective of me. Your tone was a little aggressive."

At that moment, the front door opened.

Damian walked in and froze at the sight of the blood.

"What happened?"

I thought he might actually show concern for me—but he went straight to Lillian.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lillian said, playing the victim. "Natalia charged at me and scared Rex."

Only then did Damian glance at me, brow furrowed. "You just got back and you're already causing problems? Can't you just behave?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "Her dog bit me, and you're blaming me?"

"You must have done something." He sounded impatient. "Rex is usually gentle."

I watched him shield Lillian with his body, and suddenly I laughed.

"I'm going to the hospital." I struggled to my feet.

"Wait." Damian pulled a few bills from his wallet. "Take a cab. I need to look after Lillian."

He tossed the money on the coffee table. I stared at those bills and felt a hole rip open in my chest.

I flung the cash in his face and limped out the door.

...

In the emergency room, the doctor examined my wounds while scrolling through the computer records, his frown deepening.

"This Doberman again?"

"What do you mean?"

"This dog has multiple bite incidents on file. Six people over the past three years—including a mail carrier, a nanny, and a child. We recommended that Miss Hayes have the dog quarantined at the time. We suspected it might be carrying something."

My fingers tightened on the edge of the bed. "And then?"

"She refused." The doctor sighed. "Vance Technologies' lawyers handled everything."

While the nurse prepared the rabies vaccine, she murmured, "Every time Miss Hayes comes in, she asks with a smile whether there'll be scarring. Like she's looking forward to it."

I closed my eyes as a chill crept up my spine.

Lillian knew exactly what that dog was capable of—and she kept it anyway.

Those "accidents" were no accidents at all.

And Damian knew everything. He'd chosen to cover it up for her.

After the injection, I sat on a bench outside the ER and pulled out my phone.

I dialed an encrypted number.

The contact label was simple: "Father."

Victor Rossi. The name that ruled the East Coast underworld. A part of my life Damian knew nothing about.

"Natalia?" His voice was exactly as I remembered—cold, dangerous, commanding.

"Father." I took a deep breath. "I've made my decision. Please begin preparations for the succession ceremony."

A long pause. Then: "What happened?"

"Everything," I said softly. "Everything happened."

"I'll send people to help clean things up." His voice turned cold as iron. "Then come back where you belong."

I hung up and stared at my reflection in the hospital window.

Natalia Rossi—the girl who lowered herself for love, who swallowed her pride and bent to please—died tonight.

I was about to be reborn as the heir to the Rossi family.