Betrayed Bride, Mafia Don's Wife

03

“Victoria, how can you be so heartless?!”

Arthur demanded, his neck flushed red, Amelia nestled against his side, their fingers laced together.

“Do you have any idea? Amelia and I had to max out every credit card just to pay for that room!”

“You two stayed at a hotel,” I looked at him, “why should I be the one paying for it?”

His lips moved, his gaze sliding away, then suddenly landing on the gift boxes Gabriel had sent.

A smug smile spread across his face：“Victoria, stop pretending. You say you don't want to marry me, but here you are secretly buying wedding supplies. In this place, who else could you marry but me?”

Amelia took over, her tone as if she'd suffered some enormous injustice：

“Victoria, as the saying goes, brothers are like limbs, women are like clothes. Even though I matter more to Arthur than you do, I can't bear to see him put in a difficult spot.”

“So I'm willing to be gracious and accept you. But no matter what, I'm the one who married Arthur first.”

“I can wrong myself for Arthur's sake and share him with you. But to make up for it, you'll cover the expenses for all three of us, and do the housework.”

I almost thought I'd heard wrong.

“Victoria, I know you have no other choice. I'm willing to take a step back and show you mercy.” She reached out to grab my hand. “I hope you'll quit while you're ahead.”

The diamond ring on her outstretched finger stabbed at my eyes.

I stepped back, my throat tight, and pressed Arthur：“The matching ring on her hand—did you give it to her?”

A flicker of awkwardness crossed Arthur's face.

He paused two seconds, then opened his mouth：“Victoria, stop fixating on little things. Amelia is my wife now. She's been gracious enough to accept you. You should be grateful.”

I said：“Just answer me. Did you give her the matching ring or not?”

Things had come this far. I no longer cared about Arthur, the man.

But those rings were another matter.

The ruby cabochons on them had been cut and polished from the only ruby necklace I'd had on me when I lost my memory.

Had he ever once thought—if I were deported, those rings would be the only thing I'd be allowed to take with me out of the country, my last safety net?

“Take it off.” I stared at Amelia. “Give it back to me.”

She cradled her hand and stepped back：“Victoria, don't push it. I've already agreed to share Arthur with you, and now you want to snatch my ring too……”

Arthur frowned and stepped in front of Amelia, sighing softly, his tone softening as if coaxing a misbehaving child：

“Just let Amelia keep it. I've already taken a bride; not even a matching ring to show for it—how does that look? In two days when we marry, you can just buy another pair. There's no harm in me wearing one on each hand.”

I let out a scornful laugh, baffled at where, even now, he found this confidence.

“Not just hers.” I looked at him. “The one on your hand, give that back too.”

His pupils contracted, and he ground his back teeth：

“In two days I'll be your husband. How can you treat me like this? Victoria, I spoiled you too much before. That's why you keep pushing further and further.”

I ignored his words and reached out to pull the ring off Amelia's hand.

The instant my fingers touched her, her body lost its balance, exaggeratedly, and she dropped to the floor.

She lifted her reddened eyes and spoke, pitiful and pathetic：“I said I'd give the ring back. Why did you have to shove me?”

At that, Arthur shoved me hard. I crashed into the corner of the table, a sharp ache spreading up my spine from my back.

He carefully helped Amelia up, gathering her tenderly into his arms, and looked down at me：“Victoria, we're not giving the rings back. What are you going to do about it?”

His gaze swept the tabletop. He picked up the diamond necklace Gabriel had sent and placed it in Amelia's palm：“This one's nice quality. Consider it your apology gift to Amelia.”

Holding Amelia, he didn't even look back：“Victoria, I'll keep my promise and marry you. But that temper of yours—you'd better fix it.”

I gave a cold laugh.

Bracing on the table's edge, I stood up, slid my hand into my pocket, and felt the gun.

I raised it and clicked off the safety.

“Arthur.” I heard my own voice, cold as ice. “Give me back what's mine. Or I'll shoot.”