Chapter 1

I was obsessed with Dante, my young uncle, and sacrificed everything for our forbidden love.

When we eloped seven years ago, his legs were broken, and my right hand was left with a permanent scar.

Now, he caresses my scar, only to call out another's name:

"Sophia, you're so beautiful."

When I discovered his mistress was a month pregnant, I thought that was the ultimate betrayal.

Until, hiding on the balcony, I heard his true feelings:

"I want a child with Lydia, not you! You're just a substitute!"

Seven years of mutual torment, and in his eyes, I was still nothing more than a possession.

This time, I refuse to be his prisoner.

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1

The day my relationship with Dante was exposed, my godfather shattered his leg.

To escape the family and elope with him, I slit open my right hand with a dagger.

We fled, battered and broken, yet it felt like the most passionate moment of our lives.

We lived through one tumultuous year after another.

Vowing to make everyone witness our revenge.

But in private, we tore each other apart.

He hated my godfather for crippling him, and I hated him for his cowardice and lack of backbone.

I forced him to say "I love you" over and over again, every single day.

He always chose my most vulnerable moments to possess me, time and time again.

Dante had always liked wild women, but suddenly, his tastes changed.

The family crest necklace he had worn for seven years, he gave to a sweet and innocent young woman.

He thought I would become hysterical, just like all the times before.

But I just replied calmly, "She's very pretty."

"You think I don't love you anymore? If the day ever comes that I don't love you, that I abandon you, that I leave you, may I, Dante, die a miserable death!"

Neither of us knew.

It was those very words that became a self-fulfilling prophecy, sealing Dante's fate for life.

Dante was ten years older than me.

During our seven years of pure hatred, his tastes had always been consistent.

He liked fiery women; the fierier they were, the more obsessed he became.We both shed a layer of skin to be with him.

He didn't even realize it himself, but he smiled more than once while looking at that photo.

I emerged from the dressing room, the black lace I'd prepared for the evening in my hand.

Apparently, things like that no longer held any excitement for him.

He pulled a long, pure white dress from a pile of packages.

"Wear this instead."

"Isn't it a bit too... innocent?"

"It suits you."

It was rare for us to have anything to talk about.

I changed into the dress, but the ill-fitting zipper wouldn't close, no matter how I tried.

The loose, floppy bow made me look like a ridiculous doll.

Yet Dante, deluding himself, called me beautiful.

Over the years, the scar on my right hand has grown deeper, so deep that even the lightest touch was a piercing pain.

Dante seized on this.

He gently stroked my injured right hand.

"Sophia, you are so beautiful."

He knew my right hand was my most sensitive spot.

I suffered hearing damage, but I'm not deaf. Those simple words made my blood run cold.

So, the girl's name was Sophia.

Our once-burning love now crushed me like the weight of ruins.

Dante went out to the balcony to light a cigar, just as he always did.

But unlike other times, tonight he brought his phone with him.

The blue light from the screen illuminated his half-smiling face.I sat down beside him and lit a cigar as well.

The smile on his face was blinding.

So I asked him the question he most detested.

"Dante, do you still love me?"

A frost instantly fell over his once-gentle eyes.

In the depths of his dark eyes, layers of impatience swirled.

Looking at his sullen face, the answer didn't matter anymore.

I gave a small laugh and stubbed out my cigar.

"I do."

I froze and looked up.

"Why did you stop asking?"

In the past, I'd always press the question until he grew irritated.

Dante cupped my face. "I love you."

"I love you."

"Lydia, I'm so damn in love with you."

We stared into each other's eyes.

In his eyes, I could no longer distinguish sincerity from falsehood.

I stood up, and Dante grabbed my hand.

"Why don't you keep asking?"

"I'm tired. I have a meeting with a business partner tomorrow."

"I have business at the docks tomorrow."

"Well."

We never questioned the truth in each other's words.