He Faked Amnesia To Abandon His Wife

Elena Vitiello POV

The diamond on my finger felt heavy, like a shackle made of cold starlight and lies. It was a family heirloom, the Rizzoli grandmother's ring, a symbol of eternal loyalty. Now, it was just a stone.

I walked into the penthouse the next morning. The elevator ride up felt like an ascent to the gallows, but I wasn't the one being executed today. My love was.

I carried a small wooden box. I had carved our initials into the lid myself, three years ago. It was meant to hold keepsakes. Today, it would hold the wreckage of my marriage.

The butler, Marco, opened the door. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He knew. Everyone knew. The staff always knows before the wife does.

"He is in the living room, Signora," Marco murmured, stepping aside.

I walked in.

The morning sun flooded the room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and the couple on the leather sofa.

Gia was draped over Dante like a silk sheet. She was wearing one of his shirts, the buttons undone low enough to show the lace of her bra. She held a glass of mimosa, tipping it toward Dante's lips. Her laugh was a sharp chime of victory.

Dante took a sip, his hand resting casually on her thigh.

He looked up as I entered. He didn't jump. He didn't look guilty. He just looked annoyed. The boredom in his eyes was more painful than hate.

"Elena," he said. "I thought you were visiting your mother."

"I was," I lied. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Flat. "I'm here to return something."

Gia swirled her drink, looking me up and down. "Oh, honey. You look tired. Doesn't she look tired, Dante?"

Dante didn't answer her. He kept his eyes on me. "What is it?"

I remembered the day he gave me the ring. He had knelt in the snow in Central Park, ignoring the cold, telling me I was the only thing that made sense in his violent life. He had painted me as his Madonna. Now, I was just a piece of furniture he wanted to rearrange.

I pulled the ring off my finger. It left a pale band of skin, a ghost of where it had been.

I placed the ring inside the wooden box and slid it across the coffee table toward him.

"I'm done waiting for your memory to come back," I said. "Because we both know it never left."

Dante's eyes narrowed. A flicker of danger crossed his face, but he masked it quickly. He picked up the box, opened it, and glanced at the ring.

He scoffed. A short, dismissive sound.

He flicked the box away, sending it skittering across the polished marble. "Don't be dramatic, Elena. Keep the trinket. It's worth a fortune."

He was buying me off. He was treating the symbol of our vows like a severance package.

The rage hit me then. Not hot and fiery, but cold and precise.

I picked up the box. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the monster beneath the handsome face.

I raised my arm and smashed the box onto the floor.

The wood splintered. The heavy diamond ring bounced, rolling across the marble with a metallic clink, clink, clink, until it stopped at Gia's bare feet.

Dante didn't flinch. He just smiled, a cruel twist of his lips. "Temper, temper."

Gia giggled. She reached down and picked up the ring. She held it up to the light, admiring the stone.

"It is a nice rock," she purred. She slid it onto her own finger. It was too big, spinning loosely, but the insult landed with the weight of a hammer. "Dante, baby, you should get me one that actually fits. And maybe bigger."

She looked at me, her eyes glittering with malice. "You know, you were always too plain for this diamond anyway."

My body went numb. It was a survival instinct. If I let myself feel this, I would crumble. So I chose to feel nothing.

I looked at Gia. "Take it. It's cursed."

"You bitch," Gia hissed. She stood up and walked toward me, her face twisting. "You think you're better than me because of your last name? You're nothing. You're ancient history."

She shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my heel catching on the rug.

Something snapped.

My hand moved before my brain registered the command. I slapped her. The sound was a sharp crack that echoed through the penthouse.

Gia gasped. She threw herself backward, knocking over the coffee table, sending the mimosas crashing down. She landed in the mess, coffee and orange juice soaking into the rug and my dress.

"Dante!" she screamed, squeezing out fake tears instantly. "She attacked me!"

Dante was on his feet in a second. He didn't look at the red mark on Gia's face. He looked at me with pure, unadulterated fury.

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "Get out."

"Dante, she-"

"I said get out!" he roared, shoving me toward the door. "Marco! Escort Mrs. Rizzoli out. If she comes back, throw her out."

I stumbled into the hallway. Marco looked apologetic, but he did his job. He guided me to the elevator.

I walked out of the building, my dress stained, my finger bare, my heart a crater.

I stood on the sidewalk, the city rushing past me. My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number. It was a photo. Dante kissing Gia's neck, the ring visible on her hand.

Caption: You're out.

I stared at the screen. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I opened my contacts. I found 'Dante'.

Delete.

I found every mutual friend. Every connection.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

The screen went black. And so did my heart.