Shattering the Gold Locket

The next morning, I went to the manor that was supposed to be our marital home. Movers were already carrying things into my main restoration studio. My specialized restoration tools had been tossed into a trash bag in the hallway.

Lorenzo emerged from the room, guilt flickering across his face. "Alessia, the doctor said Bianca's old wound needs rest, and she needs a quiet environment to 'create.' I let her move into the main studio for now. You'll have to use the assistant's studio. Don't get me wrong, this is only temporary. After we're married, I'll renovate a bigger studio for you."

I gazed at the mess. The scent of another woman had already invaded my space.

In the past, I might have cried or demanded to know why he hadn't consulted me. Now, I just felt dead inside.

"She can stay as long as she wants," I said. "I don't care." I walked past him to retrieve my boxes from the study.

Lorenzo stood there, shocked by how "reasonable" I was. It seemed to unnerve him. As I walked away, he reached out as if to help me.

"Alessia, are you upset? I promise, it's only for a week..."

I sidestepped his touch. "No need. I'll do it myself."

Lorenzo's hand froze in mid-air. He pressed his lips together, his expression tight. "Let the manor staff do it," he said softly. "Listen, if you're still angry, I can—"

Before he could finish, his Consigliere appeared, reporting an urgent family matter.

Lorenzo hesitated, then tossed a quick word over his shoulder. "I have to handle business in the study. We'll talk later." He turned and left in a hurry.

Not long after he was gone, Bianca appeared at the end of the hall. She was wearing my custom-made silk robe, and I could smell the faint but unmistakable scent of Lorenzo's cologne on the collar.

She drifted toward me, a challenge glinting in her eyes, though her voice remained deceptively soft. "Moving out so soon? You must be exhausted. Lorenzo stayed with me all night, massaging the old wound on my shoulder... I feel so much better now."

A cruel, triumphant smile spread across her face as she lowered her voice. "See this? The Argento family tattoo on Lorenzo's chest will soon have my name added to it."

Just then, I heard Lorenzo's footsteps thundering down the stairs.

The malice on Bianca's face vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of sheer terror. She had just reached the priceless painting I was restoring when she violently slashed the canvas with a palette knife, then sliced her own arm and let out a piercing scream.

"Alessia! Please, don't hurt me!"

Lorenzo arrived like a whirlwind. He looked at Bianca's bleeding arm and the ruined painting, and his composure completely shattered.

He spun on me, his eyes blazing with betrayal and rage. "Alessia! I thought you were better than this. How could you be so vicious?"

I said nothing, just stared at him coldly.

He didn't wait for an explanation. He swept Bianca into his arms and rushed toward the family doctor, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

In that moment, I remembered a family conflict from two years ago. I had pulled several all-nighters to restore an oil painting damaged by a rival family, a piece of great significance to us. The exhaustion was so intense that the blood vessels in my eyes had burst. Trembling, I had begged him to stay with me.

But he had just looked at me coldly. "The family has a lot to deal with," he'd told me. "As the future Donna, you need to be stronger. Your skills are unparalleled; you'll solve this little problem in no time."

So, he wasn't incapable of gentleness. He just saved it for someone else.

In our world, a scratch like that was nothing, yet he acted as if Bianca were on death's door. That blatant double standard finally extinguished the last spark of affection I had for him.

I watched them go, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping my lips. My phone vibrated.

It was a message from Julian Sterling.

[Alessia, your extraction team is on standby. We can move whenever you're ready.]

Without hesitation, I replied: [See you in two hours.]

I returned to my room to pack the last of my restoration notes and my mother's belongings.

However, when I opened the hidden compartment in my jewelry box, my mind went blank.

It was gone. The antique gold locket my mother had left me was missing. Inside was a miniature self-portrait she had painted by hand—the only memento I had of her.

I knew exactly who had taken it. At that moment, my rage finally boiled over.

Blind with a killing rage, I stormed toward the infirmary.

I kicked the door open.

Bianca was in the room alone, sitting on the bed. She was casually prying at the gold locket with a small knife, a malicious smirk on her face.

"Looking for this?" She saw me, but there was no fear in her eyes, only a crazed defiance. "Something this shabby doesn't belong in this mansion. It's bad luck, and I don't want it dirtying the bedroom Lorenzo and I will share."

With that, she hurled the locket onto the hard marble floor in front of me.

There was a sharp, cracking sound. The casing buckled on impact. The miniature self-portrait my mother had painted, now mixed with shattered glass and metal, scattered across the floor.

I lost all ability to think. All that was left was pure, burning hatred.

I lunged. Before Bianca could react, I backhanded her across the face. I put all my strength into the blow, and her cheek immediately swelled.

She fell onto the pile of fragments, letting out a heart-wrenching scream. But just as she fell, her eyes darted over my shoulder toward the door.

Heavy footsteps were approaching. Bianca looked toward the door and flashed me a triumphant, mocking smile.