Darling, I Remember

And Marian?

She’s not just my half-sister. She’s the daughter of my father’s mistress—the woman who destroyed my parents’ marriage. The woman my mother caught him with in their bed the night before she jumped off that tower.

They said she was crazy. That she had an affair with our driver. That she couldn’t handle the divorce.

But I remember the bruises she tried to hide with silk scarves. I remember the day she locked herself in her room and cried for hours after finding out about Marian.

Chris told me once, in a moment of guilt, that it wasn’t the fall that killed her—it was the years of betrayal that pushed her to the edge. But even he swallowed Matteo’s version of events in the end. They all did.

"Your mother was unstable," Matteo used to say, voice heavy with mock sorrow. "She couldn't live with the shame. I tried to help her."

No. He didn’t try to help her. He drove her mad and handed her the reason—Marian.

And now that same bastard-child was wearing my wedding dress. Claiming my future. Smiling like she hadn’t been born from a lie soaked in blood.

Chris sliced open the bloodied fabric of my pants with a scalpel, quick and clean, revealing deep bruises and torn skin stretched across my abdomen. His hands hesitated, trembled.

The damage was bad. Ribcage mottled in purple and green. Lacerations crusted over with dried blood. My breathing was shallow, ragged. Chris moved automatically—pressure, gauze, more pressure. Painkillers came next, sharp relief flooding my veins, dulling the edges but not enough to forget.

No one said it, but they were shaken. I could feel it in how Chris lingered over every step, in how Matteo paced like a caged animal behind him. Chris didn’t prep for surgery. Didn’t call anyone. Just kept me stable. Kept stalling.

Later, in the shadows of the ER room, I heard them whispering near the supply cabinet.

Chris lowered his voice. “Dad… she’s barely hanging on. Are we really going through with posting that footage?”

Matteo lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly. “Rupert’s still head over heels for her. The wounds alone won’t push him away. We need to make her look dirty, like a liability to the family’s reputation.”

Chris looked horrified. “You’re gonna frame your own daughter as bait?”

Matteo’s eyes were steel. “We leak it now, right before the wedding. Just enough to make her untouchable to the Kaufmans. And once Marian’s locked in, we’ll scrub it all. Clean her name later.”

I stared at the ceiling, biting back the scream in my throat.

They were burying me alive.

All I had done was go for a jog along the river last night. The Rosetti bastards snatched me up, dragging me behind an abandoned warehouse. Now my own blood was using that to kill my name.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed weakly beside me. I winced, grabbed it with my unbandaged hand.

It was a message from Mela—my best friend.

“Ivanna. You need to see this. It’s blowing up.”

She sent a link. I tapped it.

A Facebook video opened. My face.

But it wasn’t me.

A girl who looked like me was laughing, leaning into the Rosetti men, whispering something into one of their ears before walking off with them into the dark.

The caption?

"Mafia heiress caught sneaking off with enemy thugs before wedding to Kaufman heir???"

My stomach twisted.

The comment section was a hellscape.

“Wow. That’s Ivanna Rossi? What a trashy move.”

“Rupert’s dodging a bullet. She belongs in the Rossi basement, not at a wedding.”

“If I were Rupert, I’d dump her and break her legs for good measure.”

“This is what happens when you let mafia princesses think they’re invincible.”

Tears stung my eyes. My body was already screaming in pain—but this? This was betrayal on another level.

Chris rushed over, yanked the phone from my hand. “Don’t look at that, Ivanna. I know it’s not you. I know.”

Matteo glanced at the screen. His eyes narrowed.

Then, in a dramatic show, he slammed the phone onto the ground, shattering it.

“This is disgusting!” he snarled. “Who the hell spread this garbage? I’m getting it taken down now!”

He marched out, muttering about lawyers and hacking contacts.

Chris stroked my hair gently. “Don’t worry. Dad’s got this. It’ll all disappear by tomorrow.”

I didn’t say a word. My eyes were wide open now. They were playing both sides—releasing the video, then pretending to save me from it.

After ten minutes, Matteo returned with a triumphant look. “Gone. I’ve got my men scrubbing every trace. No one talks about my daughter like that.”

Chris chimed in, “You’re safe now, Ivanna. We’ve got your back.”

I almost laughed. My body trembled—not from fear, but from rage.

Too late. The video already had hundreds of thousands of views. It had spread into the Kaufman inner circles.

Even if Rupert had doubts, this… this sealed the deal. By tomorrow, Marian would be walking down the aisle. And I'd be rotting in this hospital bed.

Chris grew uneasy. He called in his assistant, who performed a full scan and handed him a sealed envelope afterward.

Chris opened it, skimmed, and his face darkened.

He pulled Matteo aside.

“Her internal bleeding’s worse than we thought,” he said quietly. “Her organs—some of them are ruptured. If we don’t operate tonight, she might not survive. And if she does… she’ll never be able to have kids again.”

I closed my eyes.

That was it. They had destroyed my body, my name, and my future.

But they made one mistake.

They didn’t kill me.

And now? I’d make them regret that.