Thirteen Days to Leave My Husband

I turned slowly, and there he was. Marcello. His face had gone pale, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him.

"What visa?" he asked, his voice low but trembling.

My heart skipped, but I forced a small smile. "Not mine. A friend of mine's planning to move abroad. She just called to ask me about it."

For a second, he just stared at me, like he didn't quite believe it. Then suddenly, he pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. His body was actually shaking. The silver ring on his right hand pressed cold against my spine where his fist clenched the fabric of my dress.

"Arianna," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw, "don't ever leave me. I thought for a moment you were going to disappear. I can't… I can't live without you."

I rested my hand lightly on his back, pretending to soothe him. On the outside, I smiled faintly, calm and steady. Inside, though, my heart was already somewhere else. I knew the truth. I was leaving soon.

That afternoon, while he was tied up with the Family's capos in the war room on the second floor, I slipped away. I went straight to the consulate office and signed the last of my papers. My hands were trembling, but my mind had never been clearer.

That night was the Castellano Family's annual gala. Everyone was there. Allied families, business fronts, politicians on the payroll, soldiers in tailored suits who looked almost civilized under the chandeliers. The grand ballroom of the Castellano hotel glittered with lights and champagne glasses.

I wore something simple. Quiet. I wanted no attention. Serafina, on the other hand, walked in wearing a blood-red dress that clung to every curve. All eyes followed her.

I caught Marcello choking a little on his drink when he saw men crowding around her. He smiled like a perfect host, but his jaw ticked. His rage was simmering under the surface.

Guests kept whispering about me, how lucky I was. How Marcello was "so obsessed" with me. Allied bosses toasted to his devotion, calling me the envy of every woman in the room.

When a man offered Serafina a drink, Marcello stepped in, took the glass, and downed it himself. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Can't risk my friend's sister being taken advantage of," he said smoothly.

Serafina chuckled, tilting her head. "Careful, Marcello. If you keep acting like this, Arianna might get jealous."

I smiled, my voice soft but firm. "No, I won't. I know Marcello loves me. He can't live without me."

He glanced at me then, like he didn't know whether to be flattered or afraid.

Then I noticed Serafina's wrist. She was twisting a bracelet identical to mine. The thin gold caught the chandelier light, and my stomach turned to ice.

Serafina noticed my stare. For a moment, her smile faltered. Then she quickly excused herself and slipped out of the ballroom.

I watched Marcello grow restless, pulling out his phone under the table. Moments later, he stood, putting on that fake polite smile. "Excuse me, urgent call," he muttered, before leaving too.

I knew exactly where he was going.

When I tried to follow, one of Marcello's business associates from the legitimate side of the hotel chain, married but notorious for wandering hands, blocked my way. He kept me in pointless conversation, smirking, stalling.

I forced a polite smile. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'll head home early. Don't trouble yourself with giving me a ride. I'll grab a car."

I slipped past, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. That's when I heard it. A door left slightly ajar. Voices, gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies colliding.

I froze, then leaned just enough to peek inside.

Serafina was straddling Marcello, riding him like she owned him. His hands gripped her thighs, his head thrown back, moaning.

Her eyes slid to mine. She saw me. And she smiled.

"Tell me, Marcello," she purred, loud enough for me to hear. "Do you really love me? If not, I'll go fuck your business partner right now."

Marcello groaned, desperate, breathless. "I fucking love you, Serafina."

Serafina's smirk deepened, her gaze locked on me like she knew I was there. "Then get me pregnant. Do it inside me."

His voice broke into a growl. "Yes, sweetheart," he groaned, slamming harder into her.

My vision blurred with tears. I held my phone at my side, the camera already recording. Every word, every filthy confession, every betrayal, I caught it all.

Before they noticed me, I turned and walked away, silent as a shadow.

Back at the compound, I pulled out my suitcase. My hands shook as I unzipped it, but my heart was steady. My thumb traced the scar on the inside of my left wrist, slow, deliberate. Remembering who I had been. Then I stopped, and I packed.

This time, I wasn't just thinking about leaving. This time, I really was.

I sat in the airport lounge, my passport and boarding pass tight in my hand, suitcase by my side. The terminal hummed with the anonymous noise of strangers who had no idea that the Don of the Castellano Family's wife was about to vanish. My phone buzzed. Of course, it was him. I took a breath and answered.

"Where are you, baby? Mateo said you weren't—"

"I wasn't feeling well," I said softly. "Bad headache. I went home to rest."

"I'll send Mateo over with some medicine."

"No need," I cut in, keeping my voice steady. "I'm done taking those. I just want to sleep." I let a small pause hang before adding, "But before you get home, there's a little present waiting for you in our room. Please open it."

I could picture it in my head. On the bedside table: the divorce papers, our wedding rings, and the USB with him and Serafina.

He let out a low chuckle. I heard a muffled sound on his end, a moan, and my blood ran cold.

"I will, sweetheart," he said, voice laced with something I already knew. "But I can't go home tonight. Got… important business."

And then I heard it. Serafina's laugh, right there, behind him.

"I'll be home tomorrow," he added like nothing was wrong.

I smiled faintly, my voice calm. "Yeah, sure."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Mm. Sleep well," I whispered, then ended the call before he could say another word. My hand trembled, but my chest felt lighter than it had in years.

When the boarding gate opened, I stood, clutching my passport like it was the only thing keeping me alive. My phone lit up again with his name. I didn't hesitate. I powered it off.

Stepping onto the plane, I finally felt free. I whispered under my breath, "Goodbye, Marcello. I'm not yours anymore."