My Husband's Leaving Letter

Vito’s smirk widened as he leaned against the marble wall, crossing his arms. “Celia, do I look like Marco to you?” he teased, his voice amused.

“I don’t lie, scheme, or plot behind the people I care about. That’s his game, not mine.”

I narrowed my eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Then stop acting like him. Just tell me the truth.”

He laughed, the sound rich and disarming. “The truth? You’re acting like a jealous wife, and we’re not even married.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I refused to back down. “I’m serious, Vito. I heard you mention my name and a plan. What are you hiding?”

His grin softened, a flicker of sincerity breaking through his teasing demeanor. “Relax, Celia. It was just my sister. She worries too much about me, that’s all.”

I crossed my arms, not letting him off so easily. “Your sister? Then why did you say my name? And what plan were you talking about?”

Vito straightened, his teasing demeanor slipping into something more serious. “You’ve got sharp ears,” he said, stepping closer. His tone dropped, low and steady.

“But you need to trust me. Everything I do is for us. For the bigger picture.”

I didn’t flinch, holding his gaze. “You told me I was ready for this. If that’s true, then stop keeping me in the dark.”

The tension between us thickened. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might snap. But instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. You want the truth?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, my heart racing.

Vito sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if he were surrendering to a lost cause. “You’re impossible, you know that?” He muttered before finally meeting my gaze. “Fine, you win. The plan I mentioned? It’s a proposal plan.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “A what?”

“A proposal plan, Celia,” he repeated, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “The kind where I get down on one knee and ask you to be stuck with me forever.”

My mouth felt open, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the words. “You’re joking,” I managed.

Vito chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I was trying to make it special. Something you’d never forget. But it seems you’ve ruined the surprise.”

“Wait,” I said, still stunned. “You’re serious? You were planning to propose?”

He nodded, his teasing glint giving way to something earnest. “Yes, Celia. I’m not Marco. I don’t lie to you, and I don’t play games. I wanted to do this right, but here we are.”

I hesitated, his sincerity pulling at the walls I’d carefully built around myself. But I couldn’t forget why this started in the first place.

“Vito,” I began, my voice firm despite the tremor in my chest.

“You know this—us—it’s not real. This is about revenge. About making Marco pay for what he did to me. To us.”

His jaw tightened before he exhaled slowly. “Maybe that’s how it started, Celia. But it’s not what it is anymore. At least, not for me.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, my heart pounding as I searched his gaze for answers.

He dropped his hand, taking a small step back, as if giving me space. “I’m saying that I want this to be real. That I love the idea of being your husband. Not for the plan, not for revenge, but because I care about you. I want a future with you.”

The air seemed to leave the room all at once. I stared at him, unable to reconcile the Vito I knew—the cunning strategist with the raw vulnerability in front of me now.

“Vito,” I said slowly, “you know I don’t feel the same way.”

Vito’s expression didn’t waver, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, maybe, or resignation. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“I’m not asking you to love me, Celia. I’m asking you to let me love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. My pulse thundered in my ears as I searched his face, trying to understand why he would willingly walk into this knowing I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

I shook my head, the weight of his confession pressing down on me. “Vito, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to tie yourself to someone who—”

He cut me off with a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with determination and amusement.

“You think I don’t know what I’m getting into? Celia, I’ve seen every side of you—the fire, the fury, the vulnerability you try so hard to hide. And I still choose you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. But before I could respond, his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, shattering the moment.

Vito glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing as his jaw tightened. “Damn it,” he muttered, hitting decline.

“Who was it?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.