Chapter 2

Even after she made the decision, the truth still hurt like salt ground into bone.

Elena was shaking. She didn’t even know what face to wear in front of anyone.

Then her phone buzzed.

Sender: Bianca Caruso.

“Sis… I heard my brother got in a car crash. Can I come see him?”

The screen’s reflection showed Elena’s eyes red and swollen—like some sick joke with a hand around her throat.

She remembered being fourteen, when she and Dante first got close.

He’d frowned and complained his family suddenly dumped a little girl on him—crybaby, clingy, annoying as hell.

Elena had even defended Bianca back then.

“She’s in a new place. She’s scared. Be patient. Be a good brother.”

Later, on Elena’s seventeenth birthday, Dante confessed to her.

That same day, Bianca said she wanted to “try dating,” and brought some random boy home.

Dante went nuclear. He beat the boy so badly he landed in the hospital—then forbade Bianca from dating without his permission.

He guarded her like she was his eyeball.

Elena had laughed at him.

“You’re a psycho-level doting brother.”

At twenty-two, Dante proposed to Elena.

But Bianca never once called her “sister-in-law.”

Whenever people teased her about it, Bianca would just smile, loop her arm through Elena’s, and act cute.

“Calling you sister-in-law feels so distant. You’re my real sister. I don’t want to call you that.”

Elena believed her.

She forced herself to ignore the way their “sibling” closeness sometimes crossed a line.

She told herself: Family.

Until three years ago—when Bianca, who hated going out, suddenly wanted to travel abroad.

And around that time, Dante also “happened” to be on a business trip.

He still called Elena three times a day like clockwork. Video-called her every night until both of them could barely keep their eyes open.

He acted like he couldn’t live without her.

Looking back now—

Every crack was there.

Every detail snapped into place the moment she heard: Bianca is his legal spouse.

Dante… had your heart already gone to her?

Tears dripped onto the screen.

Elena sniffed hard and typed back four words:

“Sure. Come.”

She put her phone away, took a breath, and walked into the hospital room.

The second the people inside saw her, their conversation died like someone hit mute.

“W—wife… you scared us. You walk too quietly.”

Elena smiled. Soft. Sharp.

“Really? Or were you just talking so hard you got nervous I might hear something I’m not supposed to?”

Their faces went weird. They glanced at each other. No one dared to answer.

Dante spoke first. He lifted a hand toward her, weakly motioning her closer.

“Don’t listen to their nonsense. Come here. Let me see you.”

His eyes locked on her.

When he saw how exhausted she looked, his expression actually wavered—like he might cry.

“I’m sorry, Elena. I made you worry.”

“I wanted to hurry back for our anniversary. I didn’t expect—”

“I’m sorry I ruined it. When I’m out of here, I’ll make it up to you. Bigger. Better. Okay?”

Three sentences. Two apologies.

He didn’t even ask about his own injuries first.

He went straight to her anniversary.

Like she was still the most important thing.

But Elena knew.

The important thing was the image. Not her.

She tugged her mouth into a thin smile and avoided his reaching hand.

“It’s fine. It’s just an anniversary. Not like it’s the first one.”

Then she looked up, calm to the point of cold.

“Oh—Bianca said she wanted to visit you. She seems really worried, so I said yes.”

Dante’s expression changed instantly.

His brows crashed together. His voice shot up without him meaning to.

“Why would you let her come?! Hospitals are full of germs. She’s always been fragile and you—”

He met Elena’s calm eyes and choked on the rest.

Like someone grabbed his throat.

He swallowed, lowered his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just—”

“It’s fine.” Elena handed him the excuse like she’d done a thousand times in six years. “You’re worried. You’re her brother. That’s normal.”

Her tone was polite.

So polite it was brutal.

And somehow… Dante felt something was wrong.

He tried to read her face for a crack—anger, tears, anything.

There was nothing.

No rage. No hurt. No breakdown.

Just still water.

His friends joked from the side, saying Caruso was ruthless outside—but turned into a house cat the second Elena showed up.

Elena smiled along.

Didn’t respond.

Yeah.

A very obedient house cat.

Too bad—

no matter what kind of cat it is…

it still cheats.