Denied Divorce? The Donna Widows Herself

That night, the manor was weighed down by a suffocating tension.

Luigi mobilized half of the family forces, ordering dozens of armed men in black to surround the main building.

For the first time, these guns were aimed at the Donna's bedroom.

Luigi sat at the end of the long table in the living room, his face dark and unreadable.

"Apologize." His knuckles rapped against the table. "Apologize to Irina. I need to appease my men. She got hurt for the family, and I don't want to shake their loyalty."

He was willing to undermine the foundation of the family and turn the guns on his wife, all for a pathetic stand-in?

I pulled out a bullet from my pocket.

Luigi had gifted it to me seven years ago when he first taught me how to fire a gun. Our initials were engraved on the casing. It signified the days we faced dangerous moments together.

I tossed the bullet onto the table in front of him with a clang.

"You want an explanation?" I gave him a mocking look. "Here you go."

This single bullet marked the point of no return.

After staring at it for a long time, Luigi picked it up and clenched it in his palm. "Okay."

He suddenly got up and threw the bullet into the fireplace.

"I'll send her away." His voice began to tremble. "I'll send Irina away to recuperate. She will never appear in front of you again."

I said nothing, my head splitting with pain.

That night, it became unbearable. I knew the old injury from the explosion seven years ago was flaring up again.

Years ago, my foster father had broken three of my ribs just to tame me because I hadn't learned how to wag my tail like a dog before the auction.

After that, even though Luigi hired the best doctors to treat my condition, the fractures still ached sometimes. It was a constant reminder of the time I was treated like an animal.

I chose to drive to a private clinic alone.

Thunder rolled as rain lashed the windshield. Lightning tore across the night sky.

It was just like the very night that changed my fate seven years ago.

When I arrived at the VIP floor of the clinic, the door was ajar. I was about to push it open when I saw a suffocating scene playing out through the gap of the door.

Irina was holding a sharp surgical knife to her own throat.

"Luigi, swear on your life!" she screamed hysterically, blood trickling down her neck. "Swear that you'll kill Isabella! Or, I'll die right in front of you!"

Luigi was standing right across from her. He never flinched amid gunfire but now wore a face full of panic.

"Irina, don't act rashly!"

He rushed toward her recklessly, snatching the sharp knife from her with his own hands. The blade cut through his palm, causing blood to drip everywhere. However, he couldn't care less about that.

He pulled Irina into his arms and hugged her tightly, as though he never wanted to let her go. "You're safe now…"

This scene felt painfully familiar, like a replay of the past. Only this time, the woman in his arms was someone else.

The door remained slightly open. In his arms, Irina raised her head slowly. Through the mirror on the opposite wall, she cast me a triumphant smile.