The Scapegoat Fiancée: I Am No Substitute

Alessia POV

The summons wasn't a request; it was a directive delivered by two soldiers I'd known since childhood.

These were men who had once pushed me on the swings, but now they carried Glocks to ensure I didn't bolt before getting into the car.

"The Council is gathered," one said stiffly.

They escorted me back to the Estate, into the drawing room where the air smelled thickly of lemon polish and old money.

My parents were there. Dante was there. And Giuliana, my cousin, sat in the corner, looking pale and nervous.

Chiara was conspicuously absent. Likely recovering from her "suicide attempt," which I knew was just her standing on the balcony with a glass of wine, waiting for an audience.

"Sit," my father commanded.

I sat. I didn't smooth my skirt. I didn't cross my ankles. I sat with the sprawling indifference of someone who had nothing left to lose.

"This behavior ends now," my mother began, her voice trembling with rage. "Washing dishes? Living in a hovel? You are embarrassing the family."

"I thought I was dead to you," I countered flatly.

"The situation has changed," Dante said. He wouldn't look at me. He was staring at a spot on the carpet as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "Chiara's health... it is deteriorating. The stress of your return... it's too much for her."

"So send me away," I said. "I'm ready to go."

"No," my father said. "We need stability. The Falcones are sniffing around. They sense weakness. We need a wedding to show strength."

"Great," I said, my gaze drilling into Dante. "Let's get married. That's what you wanted yesterday in the kitchen, right?"

Dante's jaw tightened visibly. "Not us."

The silence stretched, thin and sharp as a wire.

"What?" I whispered.

"You will break the engagement," my father said, his voice like a hammer striking an anvil. "Publicly. You will say you are unfit. You will say prison changed you, made you unstable."

"And then?" I asked, though I already knew. I felt the knife twisting in my gut before they even spoke the words.

"And then Dante will marry Chiara," my mother finished. "It is the only way. She needs him. He calms her. It stabilizes the alliance."

I looked at Dante. The man who had sworn he loved me. The man who had called seven years a mercy.

"You agreed to this?" I asked him.

He finally looked up. His eyes were dead. "It's a political necessity, Alessia. It's temporary. Just on paper. I don't love her."

"You don't love her," I repeated, testing the bitter taste of the lie. "But you will marry her. You will sleep in her bed. You will father her children."

"It's duty!" he roared, slamming his hand on the table. "Something you used to understand!"

I stood up. My legs felt shaky, but I locked my knees.

"Fine," I said.

My mother blinked. "Fine?"

"I will sign whatever you want. I will break the engagement."

Relief washed over the room. They thought they had won. They thought I was the obedient dog I had always been.

"But," I said, raising a finger.

"Name it," Dante said quickly, too eager. "Money? A house?"

"I want Chiara here. Now."

They hesitated, but my father nodded. A minute later, Chiara drifted in, wearing a silk robe, looking like a tragic angel.

"Alessia," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Cut the crap, Chiara," I said.

I turned to the room. "I will bless this union. I will step aside. But first, Chiara must kneel."

"Excuse me?" Chiara's mask slipped.

"Kneel," I said, pointing to the floor in front of me. "Kneel and thank me. Thank me for the seven years I sat in a cell for you. Thank me for giving you my fiancé. Thank me for your life."

"I will not," Chiara scoffed. "Dante, make her stop."

Dante looked at me. He saw the cold resolve in my eyes. He knew I would burn the city down if I didn't get this.

"Do it, Chiara," Dante said hoarsely.

Chiara gasped. "Dante!"

"Do it!" he roared.

Trembling with rage, not fear, Chiara slowly lowered herself to her knees. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with pure, unadulterated hate.

"Thank you," she spat.

"For everything," I prompted.

"For everything," she hissed.

I looked down at her. I felt nothing. No triumph. No vindication. Just a hollow emptiness.

"You're welcome," I said.

Then, with a sudden, jerky movement, Chiara reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a box cutter.

"I can't take this!" she screamed, holding the blade to her perfect, unblemished wrist. "She's torturing me!"

The room erupted into chaos. My mother screamed. Dante lunged for her.

"Chiara, no!"

I didn't move. I didn't flinch.

I watched them swarm around her, cooing, comforting, protecting the monster.

I turned around and walked out of the room, leaving them to their madness. I climbed the stairs to the attic, the sounds of their panic fading below me.

I was done.