Seven Years as His Hidden Wife

I did not answer. I only smiled.

Niccolò watched me for a moment, impatience settling into his face.

“So now you won’t even speak properly?”

I lowered my eyes to the documents.

“Elena, I’ve explained this. Lia is temporary. The Vitales are watching her, and if I don’t step in, they will take her.”

“Have I treated you so badly these seven years? How long do you plan to keep this up?”

Before he could finish, his phone lit up again.

Lia.

Niccolò glanced at the screen, answered, listened for less than half a minute, then picked up his coat.

At the door, he looked back at me.

“Think whatever you want. If you’re so determined, have your lawyer send the separation papers.”

The door closed behind him.

I looked at the document sleeve on the table and almost laughed.

Not again.

I would not send him another set of separation papers, and I would not leave him another chance to undo them. The real divorce agreement was already in escrow with my Zurich lawyer.

Not long after, San Carlo Club called.

“Mrs. Romano, should we still prepare the private room for your birthday tonight?”

Only then did I remember.

Today was my birthday.

For seven years, Niccolò had always taken me to San Carlo on this day. Our marriage could not be seen in public, but that private room had belonged to us: no council members, no guards by the table, no one reminding me to stay invisible.

Every year, he poured the first glass of wine himself and told me that one day he would celebrate me in front of everyone.

I had believed him once.

Because he had once made it easy to believe. After the Palermo ambush, I spent weeks waking from nightmares, unable to sleep unless the lights stayed on. He moved his work into my room, changed my bandages himself, and sat beside the bed every night until I stopped shaking.

That was the man I had waited for.

“Prepare it,” I said.

When I arrived, the table was already set. Dark red roses, silver candlesticks, wine breathing in crystal. A small cake sat beside the flowers, untouched and perfect.

Later, Niccolò sent a message.

I’m checking on Lia. I’ll come later.

I replied with one word.

All right.

I waited until deep into the night.

The food was taken away cold. The candle burned low. The waiter came in several times to ask whether I wanted to keep waiting. In the end, I cut the cake myself and took one bite.

It tasted sweet.

It simply meant nothing now.

Close to midnight, Adrian called.

“Elena, have you seen the statement from the Romano family?”

Before I could answer, the news appeared on my screen.

Niccolò Romano publicly acknowledges Lia Bellini as his fiancée at the Bellini Foundation gala.

In the photo, Niccolò stood beneath the lights, pinning the Romano black-gold brooch to Lia’s dress while guests raised their glasses around them, as if witnessing a match that should have happened long ago.

So he had not been unable to come tonight.

He had gone to the more important celebration.

Adrian’s voice dropped. “There’s another statement.”

I opened it.

Regarding the old harbor ledger, the Romano family formally clarifies that Ms. Lia Bellini never misused or stole any documents. The person who altered the ledger and misled the council was Elena Voss.

The words were brief.

They were enough to bury me.

The private-room door opened then.

A waiter came in with the last glass of wine. His eyes moved from my face to his phone, and his expression changed.

“Miss Voss?”

He no longer called me Mrs. Romano.

Someone in the next room heard the name. A young woman in a black dress walked in soon after.

“So you’re the woman who altered the ledger and tried to blame Miss Lia.”

She stopped in front of me, her face full of disgust.

“How dare you sit here?”

The next second, champagne splashed across my skirt.

Cold wine soaked into the fabric.

I did not move. I did not explain.

I paid for the untouched room, stood, and walked out with champagne drying on my skirt.

No one stopped me. By then, everyone had already decided what I was.