Divorced by Mistake, Claimed by the Billionaire He Hates

But this Serena Bellucci had already lasted three months, and he still hadn't grown tired of her.

Perhaps it was that unusual longevity that gave her the nerve. She stopped playing quiet the way the others had. She even added me on my private line, testing, prodding, in that careful way of hers that looked like nothing and meant everything.

I didn't let it bother me.

I had already decided to dissolve the alliance. Why waste energy on petty games.

Over the next few days, with nothing else to occupy my time, I cleaned the estate from top to bottom.

The straight razors I'd chosen for him at a custom shop in Milan. The suits he wore every day, the ones I'd pressed with my own hands and hung in garment bags before each sit-down. The limited-edition Patek Philippe I'd stayed up half the night outbidding three other buyers to secure.

It didn't matter what it was worth. If I had given it to him, I boxed it up and threw it out.

What I threw out with it was every humiliation this marriage had asked me to swallow, and every piece of my heart I had handed over without holding anything back.

I had made up my mind. A clean break from the past. A fresh start.

Two more days passed before he finally came back.

He stood in the main room of the estate, scanning the shelves and surfaces that were visibly emptier than before, and his brow creased. "Vera, you threw out my things?"

I kept turning the pages of the magazine in my lap, didn't look up. "I did."

"I bought them. I can throw them away if I want. Is there a problem? Besides, you're never home. No point keeping things that collect dust."

He clearly assumed I was still angry about the last incident. Took it for spite, nothing more.

He walked over and sat down beside me, his tone carrying that careless, half-hearted reassurance he always reached for. "Didn't we agree a long time ago? We each do what we want outside these walls, and neither of us catches feelings for anyone else. Why are you making an issue of it again?"

The same speech. Always the same speech.

No matter what he did, he could always find a way to excuse himself. And I, his wife in name, was supposed to absorb every wound he inflicted in silence, as though even voicing a grievance was excessive.

But now, I had no interest in tangling with him over things that no longer mattered.

I closed the magazine, stood, and headed for the stairs. My voice was cold enough to freeze the air between us. "You're overthinking it. I don't care."

He took that for a mask. Thought I was pretending not to feel anything. He was on his feet instantly, catching my hand.

Under my gaze, which held nothing but impatience, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an invitation, pressing it into my palm.

"Stop being angry. Tomorrow I'll take you to the auction. Whatever catches your eye, bid on it. Relax a little, all right?"

My first instinct was to refuse.

But when my eyes landed on the Sotheby's crest embossed on the card, I changed my mind.

We were getting a dissolution anyway. Spending his money on something that made me happy wasn't a loss.

So I nodded.

At five o'clock the next afternoon, his car pulled up to the estate gates right on time.

I carried my bag downstairs and was reaching for the door handle when I saw a familiar face.

Serena Bellucci.

She sat in the passenger seat clutching a large bag of snacks and bottled water, settled in as though she belonged there, and smiled at me with that wide, innocent expression of hers.

"Signora, I get a little carsick. Would you mind sitting in the back today?"

The flash of triumph in her eyes didn't escape me. I lowered my gaze, and in my peripheral vision I caught the small ornament mounted on the dashboard.

A custom Hello Kitty figurine. The tiny bow on its head bore a line of cursive lettering.

Princess Serena's seat.

I didn't speak. I didn't step aside.

Dante seemed to sense the shift in my mood. Once again, that low, impatient coaxing. "Serena's never been to an auction. I'm just showing her how the other half lives. She's delicate, Vera. Let her have the seat."

Let her?

Of course I could.