Divorced by Mistake, Claimed by the Billionaire He Hates

The air froze solid.

The smiles on their faces locked in place, and they scrambled to correct themselves, voices tripping over awkward apologies.

I said nothing. I did not acknowledge the glances thrown my way, some startled, some pitying.

They hadn't been wrong, really.

Soon enough, I wouldn't be Signora Moretti at all. With the way Dante lavished his attention on Serena Bellucci now, the ink on our dissolution papers would barely be dry before he brought her into the house for good.

Once the intermission ended, the lots shifted to antiques. I had no interest. I bid on a few of the most expensive pieces without looking twice, then rose from my seat and left.

I had just reached the elevator bank when a sugary voice drifted up behind me.

"Signora, do you have a moment to talk?"

I had barely stopped, hadn't even finished turning around, when I saw Serena raise her hand.

The next second.

A sharp crack.

A full, open-handed slap landed across my face.

For one instant my mind went completely blank. She had put everything she had behind it. Heat flared across my cheek in a bright, stinging wave, my ears rang, and the corridor tilted.

I pressed my hand to my face on instinct, nearly unable to react.

Then awareness flooded back, and the rage surged.

"Serena, what the hell are you doing!"

I raised my hand to strike back.

But before the blow could land, a hand caught mine.

Dante.

He seized my wrist, grip so tight my fingers went numb.

His tone carried open displeasure.

"Vera, Serena didn't do anything to you. Why would you hit her?"

I stared at him for one stunned beat, then wrenched my hand free, my voice shaking beyond my control.

"I hit her? Dante, ask anyone standing here who struck first!"

The words had barely left my mouth before Serena's eyes turned red, tears pooling fast, her entire expression crumpling into wounded innocence.

Her voice came out soft and trembling.

"Dante, you're the one who said I was too timid, that I should find a chance to toughen up. I thought about it for so long, and I decided that slapping the Don's wife in public would be the hardest thing I could do. Otherwise I'd never find the nerve."

Her voice grew smaller and more pitiful with every word.

"But the Signora just now was so fierce. She really frightened me…"

Tears fell one after another, like beads sliding off a broken string.

When she finished, Dante frowned.

"Toughening up doesn't mean putting your hands on someone."

Especially not on me.

But the reproach in his voice was so light it carried almost no weight at all.

Serena sniffled and cried harder.

"I'm sorry, I was stupid. You told me the Signora had a gentle temper. I thought even if I hit her, she wouldn't get angry. I didn't expect…"

She trailed off, voice hitching until it barely sounded human.

Dante's expression softened instantly.

The tenderness took over completely. He forgot any thought of blame, wiping her tears with his thumb, murmuring to her in a low voice.

"Alright, alright, no one's blaming you. Stop crying. Be good."

I stood there, watching, and felt my chest go cold in slow, spreading waves.

Rage and pain surged together. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Dante, I'm the one who was hit. What gives you the right to forgive her on my behalf? And Serena, what innocent act are you putting on? Who in the world decides to slap someone as a way to build courage!"

My voice climbed despite every effort to keep it level.

Serena flinched at my tone, crying so hard she could barely breathe, looking as if she might faint on the spot.

Dante's sympathy was total now.

He looked at me, and something harder settled behind his eyes. Impatience. His voice came out careless, dismissive.

"She's a girl. One slap. How much strength could she possibly have? Do you really need to make this much of it? She already feels so guilty she's about to cry herself unconscious. Vera, enough."