After Prison I’m Done Playing Second

Rosabella's POV

A bet? What bet?

My hand gripped the doorframe, my knuckles white.

In the study, Reginald was silent for a long time.

"That's all in the past," he finally said, his voice quiet.

"The past?" Felicia's voice cracked. "Reginald, how can you say that?"

Suddenly, she launched herself at him.

I watched her stand on her toes and press her lips to his.

My heart stopped beating. Reginald took a step back.

"Felicia, don't."

"Why not?" She clung to him. "Back then, I said I liked the Moretti heir. You got jealous. You made a bet with me—"

"Enough."

"You bet me," she purred, her voice laced with venomous triumph. "You said if you could make the untouchable Rosabella Rossi fall in love with you, I would be yours for a night. And you won! You made her fall."

"We got together after that. The bet was off," Reginald said calmly. "Felicia, you don't have to—"

"It was off?" she cut him off. "What about now?"

She kissed him again.

This time, Reginald didn't pull away.

For a terrible, stretched-out second, he was still. Then, I watched in horror as he closed his eyes and his mouth met hers. He didn't just accept the kiss. He returned it.

It felt like an eternity. Long enough for the last ember of hope in my chest to turn to ash.

I turned and walked away. The two in the study never even noticed.

They were lost in each other's arms.

Just like three years ago.

I drove. The engine of my Maserati was a scream in the night, matching the one trapped in my own throat. I was heading back to the Rossi estate. Not for a fight. Just to retrieve the last pieces of a girl who no longer existed.

An hour later, I was standing at the gates of my childhood home.

The guards recognized me.

"Miss Rosabella? It's so late, are you—"

"I'm here to get something."

They didn't stop me.

I was still a Rossi, after all.

At least in name.

I went straight to the second floor.

I pushed open the door to my old room.

And I froze.

It wasn't my room anymore.

The walls were covered in oil paintings, all of them Felicia's.

A painter's easel and palette stood in the corner.

My bed was gone, replaced by a marble sculpting stand.

It was Felicia's art studio now.

All my childhood memories. Erased.

I searched the room and finally found my things in a cardboard box.

The hand-knit scarf from my grandmother, my old camera, some photos.

All of it just tossed in a corner, covered in dust.

I carefully picked up my grandmother's scarf.

She made it for me right before she died, with beautiful, embroidered flowers.

Now it was crumpled and creased.

"Still holding on to old things, I see."

I turned. My father was standing in the doorway.

"Why are you still keeping all this junk?"

Junk?

These were the only good memories I had left.

"I came to get my things," I said calmly.

"Your things?" Magnus scoffed. "Rosabella, this isn't your room anymore. Felicia needed a studio, so I gave it to her."

"I know."

I continued packing my grandmother's things.

Once I was done, I carried the box downstairs.

Magnus was in the living room, talking with a few of his men.

They stopped when they saw me.

"Rosabella." Magnus looked at the box in my arms. "You're taking that with you?"

"Yes."

"Good." Magnus gave a curt nod. "It's for the best. For the family. Let Reginald go. Give him to Felicia. She has the temperament to be a proper Donna."

Give him to Felicia?

I looked at this man.

The man who was supposed to love and protect me.

"If I am your daughter, why do you always make me give way to Felicia?" My voice was quiet. "My whole life, in every fight, you always took her side."

"Rosabella—"

Magnus opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The room was silent.

His men all looked at the floor, not daring to speak.

"Answer me," my voice was dangerously quiet. "Am I even your blood?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. His face went dark, a mask of pure fury.

"I wish to God I'd never had you!" he finally bellowed.

The words hit me like a slap across the face.

My fingers stroked the soft wool of my grandmother's scarf.

It reminded me of her warm hugs when I was a child.

The only warmth I'd ever known.

And now that was gone, too.

"Fine," I said softly, my voice so calm it surprised even me. "I'll leave. You can pretend you never had a daughter."