Seven Years. Not One Proof I Was Ever Loved

Dominic's POV

For seven years I had kept a hidden liaison with the daughter of the Falcone bloodline, my sister's sworn friend of the house.

One night, after too many glasses of red, she looked at me and said in that light, joking tone, "Dominic, I'll find you a better woman. So, can you stop clinging to me from now on?"

I stayed calm, my expression unreadable.

In my past life, I hadn't agreed to her proposal. I insisted on being with her instead. But long after, she avoided me, ignored me, and deliberately pushed me away.

When there was a matter on the road, a car folding around me and my blood running out onto the asphalt while I fought to stay breathing, she was chasing the Northern Lights with her first love, an ocean and a continent away.

It was then I finally understood that sincerity could shatter in an instant and love couldn't be forced.

——

So, now, I simply said, "Alright."

Nora Falcone froze, clearly caught off guard by how quickly I responded.

The private room of the club sat dim, the low lights flickering faintly against the dark wood and the crystal on the table. Her face, bare of any makeup, carried an unusual flush, but her eyes were clear and sober. There wasn't even a trace of drunkenness in them.

I sat up straight, meeting her gaze with a faint smile.

Her usual laziness was gone, replaced by a serious expression. "Dominic, did you even hear what I just said?"

I nodded. "I heard you."

In the past, if she'd said something like that, I would've pretended to be annoyed and cut her off, telling her to stop joking around.

But now, I remained indifferent, as if she'd said something completely trivial.

"Dominic, you—"

Before she could finish, my sister Adriana, who had stepped out for air, came back through the door. Conversation in this world tends to still when Adriana Valente enters a room, and even Nora sat a little straighter.

She glanced at Nora and let a playful edge into her voice. "Guess who I just saw down the hall?"

Without waiting for an answer, Adriana went on, "I saw your first love. Drunk out of his mind, being hauled into another room by a few women dripping in enough jewelry to fund a shipment."

She hadn't even finished the sentence before Nora shot to her feet. Her hand had been twisting the thin gold bracelet at her wrist; the instant Lorenzo's name hung in the air, her hand went still and her whole body angled toward the door before she knew she'd moved. Then she stormed out.

Not long after, the sound of arguing and breaking glass carried down the hallway.

Despite that, I stayed in my seat, calmly peeling an orange from the fruit platter and eating it slice by slice.

Nora loved fruit but hated peeling it. Every time, I'd carefully peel it and set it in front of her. Only then would she take a few bites.

Adriana used to tease me about it. "You treat her like a saint's relic. Why don't I ever see you handle your own blood this gently? Don't tell me you've got feelings for her."

There were so many times I wanted to name what Nora and I were to each other, but she'd always link her arm through mine and cut me off with a grin.

"Maybe Dominic thinks I'm more of a real sister to him than you are. Little brothers ought to spoil their older sisters. Any objections?"

Over time, I understood what she truly wanted: to keep us hidden. A Falcone daughter did not let it be known she'd bound herself to a man ranked beneath her. So I stopped trying to tell anyone.

For seven years, no one in our lives knew we were together.

Now Adriana lingered by the door, reading the hallway, waiting for the right moment to step in. She turned back to me, still eating fruit, and toyed with the heavy signet ring on her thumb the way she did when she hadn't decided yet whether something was worth her trouble. "Dominic, your Nora's out there throwing hands with someone. Aren't you going to help her?"

I swallowed the last slice of orange and shook my head. "It's a fight between women. Why would a man put himself in the middle of it?"

She raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Then she slid the ring back into place, folded her hands, and stepped out to handle it herself.

Meanwhile, I stayed in the room a long time, long enough for the noise outside to die down. Only then did I stand and walk out.

The first thing I saw was Nora holding tightly to a man's arm.

It was her first love, the one she could never cut ties with. Lorenzo Bianchi.

He was drunk, sagging against her as though his body had no bones left in it.

She didn't push him away. She held him closer, her arms wrapped around him like something she meant to protect.

Her dark, bright eyes were filled with anger, and with something else she hadn't yet named for herself: heartbreak.