A Heart in Ruins

I woke up in the hospital to a blinding, rhythmic throbbing in my skull.

My head felt heavy, wrapped in thick gauze that was already seeping with a faint, metallic scent. Groggily, I fumbled on the bedside table for my phone. My fingertips barely grazed the screen when a social media notification popped up.

It was Silvia. [Vittorio is still willing to coax me.]

My thumb hovered over the screen as I tapped the video. In it, Silvia was sitting on a plush velvet sofa, pouting and extending her index finger toward the camera. "Look, I scratched my finger when I smashed that bottle." she whined playfully.

The camera panned slightly to reveal Vittorio. He was kneeling on his heels in front of her, his usually aloof face softened by an expression I had never seen. His slender fingers delicately held a pastel band-aid, carefully wrapping it around her tiny scratch. Then, he lowered his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her fingertip.

I stared fixedly at the glowing screen, the blue light reflecting in my hollow eyes. Suddenly, the stitches on my head felt as though they were being ripped open all over again, raw flesh rubbed with coarse salt. The agony was so suffocating it made my fingertips go completely numb.

Taking a shaky, ragged breath, I dialed 911.

“I would like to file a police report.”

As the night fell, the heavy silence of the ward was violently shattered. Vittorio pushed the ward door open with a brutal force. Dressed in a sharp black trench coat, he brought the chill of the night air in with him. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes dark and stern as he struggled to contain his fury.

“Did you call the police? You accuse Silvia of intentional injury?”

“Yes.” I met his furious gaze directly, refusing to look away.

“Intentional injury. What she did is more than enough to press criminal charges.”

He let out a breath, his expression hardening with displeasure. “She was in the wrong for smashing a bottle over your head, but I've already punished her. Just let it go.”

“Punished?” I sneered, he word tasting like ash in my mouth. “Tell me how exactly did you punish her?”

“You know she is impulsive. I've banned her from leaving the house for a day.”

I froze for a second before bursting into a hollow, echoing laugh. The movement pulled at my scalp, and my wound throbbed violently, but I couldn't stop.

“I got thirty-odd stitches and you banned her from going out for a single day! I stared at him, my voice dripping with venom.

“Vittori, are you punishing her by keeping her indoors? Or, are you protecting her under the guise of discipline because you’re afraid I’ll go and trouble her?”

Vittorio’s eyes darkened dangerously, “What nonsense are you spouting? What I did is absolutely a punishment!”

He took a step forward, trying to force a calm facade. “I’ve already withdrawn your file. Just save your breath. No one in the entire city will take this case.”

I gripped the sheet tightly, my nails digging so hard into the fabric. I wanted to scream, to hurl every curse at him, but in the end, only one broken word managed to escape my lips.

“Vittorio…what exactly do I mean to you? If you don't care about me at all, why did you marry me?”

Vittorio frowned even deeper， a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.. “I do care about you. How could I marry a woman I don't love?”

He paused slightly, “Alright. Just let it go. I'll take care of you these days. Stop making a fuss.”

He spoke as if he were bestowing upon me some monumental, earth-shattering favor. Standing there in my hospital gown, I suddenly found it all quite ridiculous. I truly wondered what his love even looked like.

For the next few days, Vittorio stayed home to nurse me.

He showed up punctually every day, bringing light porridge, changing dressings, and silently holding my hand whenever I woke up in pain during the middle of the night.

If this had happened in my previous life, I would have been ecstatic, mistaking his fleeting guilt for genuine affection. But now, there was nothing left in my heart but desolation.

One afternoon, I woke up from afternoon nap and reached back to my hair. My fingers met empty air.

I rushed out of the bedroom, only to stop dead in my tracks. My long hair had been hacked off as if it had been gnawed on by a rabid dog.

I stormed into the living room and found Silvia sitting comfortably on the sofa. She was holding thick strands of my black hair, cheerfully braiding them into a messy knot.

In a flash, the horrifying reality clicked into place.

“Did you have my hair cut?” I questioned her, my voice trembling with a mixture of shock and rage.

Silvia looked up at me, an open smile playing on her lips. “Yes, it’s me. Our school makes us do handicrafts.”

She waved the strands of my hair in the air like a trophy, “I decided to make a wig. Your hair is so black and shiny, it’s perfect.”

A bone-deep chill ran through my entire body. I was unable to hold back any longer, I lunged forward and slapped her fiercely across the face.

Smack!

The sharp, resounding crack echoed through the living room.

Silvia covered her reddening cheek, her eyes instantly turning icy and malicious, “How dare you hit me? My brother treasures me more than anything. He wouldn't even lay a finger on me. Who the hell do you think you are?”

She raised her voice, commanding the room. “Hold her down!”

The bodyguards hesitated, glancing uncertainly between her and me.

Silvia narrowed her eyes, her tone dripping with absolute authority. “You're all my brother's men. Can't you tell who is more important to him?

After a brief moment of silence, they stepped forward and pinned my arms tightly behind my back. I helplessly laughed, tears streaming down my face.

Everyone in the villa clearly knew the role Silvia played in Vittorio’s heart. Only I could be so foolish. It took me two lifetimes to finally uncover this secret I had thought was earth-shattering.

Before I could get on my feet, Silvia had already raised her hand, her eyes gleaming with vindictive triumph.