Reborn As Phoenix: The Fake Wife's Revenge

Elara Moretti POV:

The line picked up on the third ring. I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were swallowed by a wave of sound from the other end. It wasn't the quiet hum of an office. It was the clink of silverware against porcelain, the delicate chime of crystal glasses, and the low thrum of a jazz piano.

“Dante?” I asked, my voice small. A cold stone settled in the pit of my stomach.

A woman’s voice, husky and playful, purred in the background. “Oh, Dante, forget about work for a minute. You have to try this…”

I knew that voice. Seraphina Gallo. A model whose entire Instagram feed was a curated shrine to the gifts Dante bought her. His “business partner.”

Dante’s voice finally came through the line, sharp with impatience. “What is it? I’m in a meeting.”

His tone was cold, impersonal. Like I was a telemarketer who had gotten a wrong number. *A meeting.* It was his go-to excuse, the one he used whenever he didn’t want to be bothered. For three years, I had chosen to believe it. A wave of humiliation washed over me, hot and bitter, but I shoved it down. There was no time.

“Dante, it’s Luca.” My voice trembled, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He’s dying. The doctor said he needs ECMO, he needs your team. Now!”

I fell silent, clutching the phone so tightly my knuckles were white. I waited, listening to the blood roar in my ears.

The silence on his end was broken only by Seraphina’s soft giggle. I heard a rustling sound, as if he’d moved the phone away from his mouth. I could just make out his muffled words to her. “It’s nothing. A small issue.”

He came back on the line, his voice even colder than before. “I told you not to bother me with these things.”

“This isn’t a ‘thing’!” My voice cracked, rising in pitch. “He is dying! Dante, you promised me! You promised!”

My plea echoed in the sterile hallway. A passing nurse shot me a concerned look.

A humorless huff of air came through the phone. “The hospital will handle it. Don’t call me again.”

I could picture him perfectly. The slight furrow of his brow, the dismissive wave of his hand. Annoyed that his evening was being interrupted.

“No! They can’t handle it!” I was crying now, hot tears streaming down my face. “Only you can. Please, Dante. I’m begging you.”

It was the first time in my life I had ever begged anyone for anything.

In the background, Seraphina’s voice floated through, clearer this time. “Darling, who is being so dramatic?”

Dante didn’t answer her. He gave me his final verdict. “I said, I’m busy.”

I tried to say his name again, to plead one last time, but the only sound was the flat, final tone of a disconnected line.

He hung up on me.

While I was on my knees, begging for my brother’s life, he just… hung up.

I stood frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear, my mind a complete blank. The tiny flame of hope that had flickered to life was gone, extinguished by a tidal wave of ice-cold water. All that was left was the dead tone buzzing in my ear.

And then, from inside the ICU, the monitor screamed a single, piercing, continuous note, a blade of sound that severed the silence left by the disconnected call.