I Raised His Heirs, They Shot Me Off a Cliff

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered.

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips, yet feeling heavier than anything I had ever said in my life.

For a moment, he didn't react. He just stood there, blinking at me as if he hadn't heard correctly, as if his mind refused to process what I had just said. Then confusion crept across his face. "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm done," I said again, this time a little steadier, even though my chest felt like it was caving in on itself.

He stepped closer, his brows knitting together in annoyance more than concern. "Is this about the kids? They're just acting out, Seraphina. You know how they are."

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Acting out?" I repeated, my voice shaking with disbelief. "They almost killed me."

"They're just kids—"

"They're monsters, Enzo," I cut in sharply, my voice rising despite how exhausted I felt. "And you let them become this."

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, to dismiss me again like he always did, but I lifted my hand, stopping him before he could say another word.

"No more, Enzo," I said, my voice dropping into something cold, something final. "I gave you ten years. Ten years of my life. I gave you everything I had. And all you ever did was take, take, take…" My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep going. "You never once looked at me like I was your wife."

His expression hardened instantly, his eyes turning cold. The same face he wore across the table at sit-downs when a man owed tribute and came with excuses instead of cash. "Don't be dramatic. You know I had to marry you because of the kids. Catarina made me."

"And I stayed," I shot back, tears burning in my eyes. "For them. For you. I stayed when I should have left a long time ago. But not anymore."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I couldn't. If I did, I might break.

I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against his chest, my vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. "I'm leaving, Enzo. For good."

A sharp knock on the door startled both of us.

"Sir, it's time. Don Montecarlo's entrance," one of the household soldiers called from the hallway, his tone respectful but urgent.

Enzo exhaled, as if irritated by the interruption, and adjusted his tie, his expression smoothing over into that familiar mask of composure. That perfect, untouchable image he showed the world. His thumb ran along the edge of his jaw, slow, unconscious, as if the gesture could seal over whatever crack I'd just put in his armor.

"Come on, Seraphina," he said, as if nothing had just happened, as if I hadn't just told him I was leaving him. "Clean yourself up. You're still playing the piano for Don. We can discuss this nonsense later."

Nonsense.

That was all this was to him.

"No, Enzo," I said quietly, but firmly. "I said I'm done."

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to grab me, to stop me. But in the end, he didn't.

Instead, he gave me one last cold, dismissive look before turning away. Without another word, he walked out and closed the door behind him softly, as if sealing everything that had just happened inside this room.

Like it didn't matter.

Like I didn't matter.

That was Enzo Montecarlo. Always pretending. Always smoothing things over. Always pushing everything inconvenient out of sight, burying it under layers of silence and omertà, that code he wielded not to protect the family but to protect himself from having to feel anything at all.

I sank down slowly onto the edge of the bed, my body giving out beneath me. Exhaustion washed over me in waves, heavy and suffocating. I felt broken… completely shattered. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the compound hummed with preparations for Don Montecarlo's arrival. Silver being polished. Soldiers checking the perimeter. The whole estate performing its loyalty. And here I sat, in the silence they left behind, pressing two fingers against the inside of my left wrist where my mother's bracelet once sat. The press deepened into a grip.

But then something caught my eye.

A small slip of paper, barely visible, sticking out from beneath my pillow.

My brows furrowed. That hadn't been there before.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it and pulled it out.

Something else came with it.

Photos.

No… not just photos.

My photo.

The one I had kept hidden. The only picture I had left of my parents. The last piece of my old life I had managed to protect in this house that had taken everything else from me.

Or at least… it had been.

Now it was destroyed.

Shredded into countless tiny fragments, each piece torn cleanly, deliberately, like someone had taken their time to make sure it could never be whole again.