She Was the Stain He Couldn't Erase

The rain slowly faded into a light drizzle.

Serafina wandered through the empty streets without direction.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She only followed the warmth glowing from the small shops along the road, drawn by the scent of freshly baked bread and the steam rising from the windows.

By the time she realized where she was standing, she was already in front of her father’s storefront.

This small shop had always been one of the Family’s quieter businesses.

On the surface, it sold ordinary bread and pastries.

Behind the scenes, it carried another purpose.

In the back kitchen, Carlo Colombo was kneading dough and preparing fillings.

When he heard footsteps outside, he didn’t turn around.

“It’s still too early. The pastries aren’t ready yet. Come back later.”

But the person outside didn’t leave.

After a few seconds of silence, Carlo finally looked up.

The moment he saw her, he froze.

Then disbelief and joy flashed across his face.

“Serafina…”

He quickly wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron and walked toward her.

He looked nervous, almost like a child who didn’t know what to do.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining so heavily. Come inside quickly. You’ll catch a cold.”

Serafina wanted to leave.

Her first instinct was still to turn around.

But her feet refused to move.

She stood there quietly.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Carlo lowered his head.

His thumb rubbed against the back of his hand, picking at his skin.

It was the same habit he had whenever guilt overwhelmed him.

Only then did Serafina notice how much he had changed.

The man who once seemed strong enough to protect the entire family now had silver mixed throughout his hair.

She remembered when she was young.

She had once owned a happy family.

But everything collapsed after her mother became seriously ill.

That rainy night had never left her.

The sound of the door being kicked open.

The debt collectors breaking into their home.

Her mother choosing to end her own life rather than continue carrying the unbearable pressure.

Her aunt dragging her away, demanding she become a bargaining piece for a marriage arrangement.

For years, hatred had lived inside Serafina.

Hatred toward her aunt.

Hatred toward her father.

And most of all, hatred toward the helpless girl she used to be.

But no matter how deep the resentment was, one truth remained.

The man standing before her was her last family.

The only person connected to her by blood.

In their world, blood was the only bond that could never be completely erased.

Serafina finally sighed.

A tired breath.

But to Carlo, it sounded like forgiveness was finally within reach.

He rubbed his hands nervously and looked at her carefully.

“I’m exhausted.”

Serafina’s voice was quiet.

“I just want to sleep.”

Carlo’s eyes immediately brightened.

“Of course. Of course.”

He stepped aside quickly.

“I’ve cleaned your room every day.”

“I always thought maybe one day you would come back.”

“I’ll wake you when your favorite pastries are ready.”

Serafina only responded with a soft hum.

She walked upstairs.

But before disappearing, she glanced back once.

She saw Carlo quickly wipe away the tears at the corner of his eyes.

She turned away.

She didn’t want to see anymore.

Her phone rang moments later.

Carlo noticed the sound and immediately lowered the volume, afraid it would disturb her.

Then he walked outside into the rain before answering.

By the time the call ended, his expression had changed.

Pain flashed across his face.

His lips moved slightly.

There were words he wanted to say.

But in the end, he swallowed them.

Only his heavy breathing remained.

Serafina woke to the sound of the old washing machine downstairs.

Her fingers unconsciously touched the card inside her pocket.

The card Dante had given her.

After lying there for a long time, she finally made a decision.

She called.

After applying a little makeup and changing into a pair of heels, Serafina walked downstairs.

Carlo stood by the door.

Dark circles showed beneath his eyes.

He hesitated before speaking softly.

“Be careful.”

Serafina opened her mouth.

But no words came.

After a moment, she simply nodded.

Carlo watched her leave.

He didn’t turn away until the car disappeared from sight.

At that exact moment, Augusto arrived.

He stepped out of his car, wiping his hands with a disinfectant cloth.

As usual, he carefully cleaned every finger.

A drop of sterilizing alcohol crossed each knuckle.

He walked past the vehicle leaving the street.

Separated by only a car window.

He never saw her.

“She just left?”

Augusto looked toward the disappearing car.

He covered his nose with a handkerchief, frowning at the dust left behind.

Dante’s message still lingered in his mind.

Something felt wrong.

In their world, survival depended on sensing danger before it arrived.

The silence before violence.

The calm before bloodshed.

Augusto was about to ask Carlo to pass a message to Serafina.

Then his phone rang.

Ceciliana.

“Arturo’s gallery is searching for a new curator again.”

Her voice carried excitement.

“I was so disappointed last time because I missed meeting him when he was sick.”

“This time, I can’t miss it.”

“You’ll come with me, right?”

Augusto answered without hesitation.

“Of course.”

With the Montanari family supporting her, obtaining the position would not be difficult.

But that was not the reason he agreed.

What he enjoyed was the feeling of being needed.

Meanwhile, inside the gallery.

The atmosphere was quiet and elegant.

This was one of the Ricci Family’s most important fronts.

Here, wealth moved through paintings instead of weapons.

Every brushstroke carried hidden value.

Dante sat across from Serafina, carefully reading her proposal.

“Bound by the cocoon, expressing a free soul.”

His finger tapped lightly against the table.

His voice was calm.

But the moment Serafina heard those words, her body froze.

Memories returned instantly.

The curator selection.

The competition between her and Ceciliana.

The final vote that had ended in a tie.

The final decision had belonged to the silent investor.

Augusto.

She remembered the day she handed him her proposal.

She had spent countless nights studying Arturo’s work.

Every painting.

Every hidden meaning.

Every possible interpretation.

She had rewritten the proposal again and again, hoping to create something perfect.

She knew she was being selfish.

She hoped that even if Augusto tried to remain fair, a small part of him would still choose her.

But he didn’t.

He chose Ceciliana.

His cold announcement destroyed everything.

Ceciliana’s laughter.

The whispers around them.

The mocking voices.

“So fair-minded.”

“You just don’t want your precious Ceciliana to work too hard, right?”

Augusto accepted those praises calmly.

His eyes never left Ceciliana.

That was the first time Serafina walked away without caring about his feelings.

Later, when Augusto found her, he didn’t apologize.

He didn’t comfort her.

He only said:

“She’s more suitable than you.”

The memory still burned.

Her anger surged.

And just as a cup of hot coffee nearly spilled onto her clothes, Dante reached out and steadied it.

“Careful.”

He handed her a tissue.

Serafina quickly thanked him.

She looked down at the stain and frowned at herself.

Dante noticed her discomfort.

“Someone will clean it soon.”

“Don’t worry.”

Then he returned to the proposal.

“Your interpretation of Arturo’s work is different.”

“But it is also the closest to what he wanted to express.”

“I believe this exhibition is in capable hands.”

Serafina’s eyes stung slightly.

So this was what genuine recognition felt like.

Not because of her relationship with someone.

Not because of her family name.

Simply because of her ability.

During the gallery tour, the pain in her feet gradually worsened.

The heels had already rubbed her skin raw.

When no one noticed, she quietly bent down and pressed her swollen ankle.

At the end of the hall stood the final piece.

A painting hidden behind a deep red curtain.

Dante slowly pulled the curtain aside.

Serafina noticed a faint scar on his wrist.

A thin mark left by a sharp object.

His thumb brushed over it once.

Then stopped.

“This is the centerpiece of the exhibition.”

“Arturo’s unreleased work.”

“Breaking Net.”

The canvas revealed golden-white roses blooming across the surface.

Fine golden threads extended from the petals, spreading outward like a beautiful cage.

In the corner was a single unbroken brushstroke.

The signature only the Family recognized.

The only proof of Arturo’s identity.

“Why is it called Breaking Net?”

Serafina asked.

Dante didn’t answer.

He only smiled.

“Look closer.”

Serafina frowned and stepped forward.

She adjusted the angle of the spotlight.

When the light shifted, dark green vines slowly emerged from beneath the roses.

They wrapped around the flowers.

Hidden branches stretched through the gaps.

A trapped beauty.

A struggle for freedom.

Dante looked at her with admiration.

“It seems choosing you for Arturo’s exhibition was the right decision.”

Before Serafina could answer, a cold voice suddenly cut through the quiet room.

“Serafina?”