Roses never fade

Elena Rossi's POV:

I moved through the penthouse like a ghost, quietly packing my things into boxes whenever Dante wasn't paying attention.

He interpreted my silence as sulking. He thought I had finally "accepted my place."

I was in the hallway, my hand hovering over the study door, when I suddenly heard his voice and froze.

"She's calmed down, Mother," Dante said, his tone casual. "Yes, I know she's going on a trip. She thinks it's a vacation."

I froze.

"Isabella," he continued, "Elena has agreed to stay at the villa in Tuscany for a few weeks. Just until the wedding fever dies down."

He was lying to his mother. Or maybe, Isabella had lied to him.

"She signed the papers, Dante," Isabella's voice came through the speakerphone. "She's taking the money and leaving forever..."

My heart hammered violently in my chest.

If he knew I had already signed the agreement...

Dante laughed. "She signed an NDA for pocket change, Mom. She isn't going anywhere. She's obsessed with me. She'll never leave."

He actually believed that.

His arrogance became my shield.

I retreated into the shadows, dead silent.

That night, he hosted a gala.

"For you," he said, shoving a velvet box into my hands. It held a pair of diamond earrings. "A birthday present. I know I missed it."

My birthday was last week—the exact day he left me stranded on the side of the road.

The estate's ballroom was suffocating.

When I walked in, people whispered.

The mistress. The kept woman. The charity case.

Dante kept his hand pressed to the small of my back, as if branding me.

Then, the double doors swung open.

Sofia walked in.

She wore a light blue silk gown embroidered with delicate silver vines that shimmered under the chandeliers.

It was a custom design.

I knew that because I had seen Dante sketch it.

Three years ago, when his sight was just starting to return—when he couldn't see anything but me—he drew it on a cocktail napkin.

"For you," he promised as he traced the lines. "When I can see again, I want to see you in this."

Now, Sofia was wearing it.

She glided across the room, the crowd parting for her like the Red Sea.

She walked straight toward us.

"Happy birthday, Elena," she chirped, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Dante told me he designed this dress. It's beautiful, isn't it? A bit tight around the bust, but I pull it off quite well."

She flashed a smile.

Dante shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes.

"I brought a gift, too," Sofia announced.

She snapped her manicured fingers.

A servant stepped forward, carrying a wicker basket.

Inside was a puppy—a German Shepherd.

Its ears perked up, its teeth sharp and white.

I jerked backward, gasping.

When I was ten, the head of security's dogs got into the servants' quarters. One of them tore open my calf. I still bore the scars to this day.

I was terrified of dogs.

Dante knew this.

He knew.

"His name is Ali," Sofia said, shoving the basket against my chest. "Take him. He's a protector."

The puppy barked, a sharp, piercing sound.

I flinched violently, bumping into a passing waiter.

"Take it, Elena," Sofia urged, her eyes gleaming. "Don't be rude."

"I... I can't," I stammered, my palms sweating.

"Dante," Sofia pouted, turning to look at him. "She's rejecting my gift."

Dante looked around. The crowd was watching, waiting to see if the mistress would defy the future Donna.

"Elena," Dante said, a tense warning in his tone. "Take the dog. It's a peace offering."

"Dante, please," I whispered, begging him to remember. "You know."

"Take the damn dog!" he snapped.

Trembling, I reached out my hands.

Sensing my fear, the puppy lunged.

It didn't bite, but it scrambled frantically out of the basket.

It bolted.

It crashed straight into a towering pyramid of champagne glasses.

Crash.

The sound of hundreds of shattering glasses was deafening.

Dante sprang into action instantly.

He threw himself over Sofia, shielding her from the falling shards.

Glass rained down like hail.

A large shard sliced my forearm. Another grazed my cheek.

I stood there, blood welling up on my skin, watching him hold her.

He checked her face, her arms, her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asked her anxiously.

"I'm scared," she whimpered, burying her face in his chest.

Only then did he look at me.

He saw the blood running down my arm, dripping onto the marble floor.

For a fleeting second, a flash of regret crossed his eyes.

But then the crowd began to murmur.

"Get her to the ER!" Dante barked at a nearby soldier. "And clean this mess up."

He turned his attention back to Sofia.

"Come on," he said softly to her. "Let's get you out of here."

He escorted her out.

Again.

I stood amid the ruins of the party, covered in blood, while the guests covered their mouths to hide their laughter.

"Miss Rossi," the soldier said quietly. "The car is out front."

I looked at the blood pooling at my feet. It was the exact same color as the wine Dante drank when he was blind.

"I don't need the car," I said.

I turned and walked toward the exit.

I didn't need stitches.

I needed a plane ticket.

Seven days left.