What Real Heartbreak Feels Like

Marco didn't come home that night.

My stomach cramped with hunger, forcing me to drag my weakened body to the kitchen.

I opened the refrigerator, and the cold light illuminated my disappointment.

He had left me a bland salad and some stale bread. The top-grade wagyu and caviar were gone, obviously taken for Sofia.

I stood there, stunned for a moment, then let out a silent, bitter laugh.

What was I even expecting?

I poured a glass of water and picked up a piece of cold bread.

Just then, Marco returned.

He saw me at the dining table, nibbling on the dry, hard bread, and his brow furrowed.

"You're pregnant and you're eating this?" His tone was laced with reproach. "There's nothing in that for you or the baby."

He stepped forward, reaching for my shoulder, but I sidestepped him.

I glanced at him, my expression a mask of mock surprise. "Sorry, I guess I'm not the one who deserves the five-star treatment. I have to make do."

A flash of shame crossed Marco's face, and he cleared his throat.

"If you hadn't been saying things to upset me yesterday, I wouldn't have forgotten to bring you something decent."

He quickly regained his composure and sneered.

"Besides, Sofia got hurt for the family. Of course she's the priority."

"You donated some marrow. Must you act like you're at death's door?"

His words were a block of ice lodging in my chest.

Sofia… it was always Sofia.

In Marco's eyes, I and the Falcone heir in my womb were worth less than his precious Sofia.

I remembered my family's not-so-subtle attempts to push Sofia on Marco right after our wedding.

I had thought I was being paranoid, but now I saw the truth. Marco’s heart had probably been swayed long ago.

Seeing my silence and dazed expression, Marco couldn't help but soften his tone.

"Alright, Isabella, I know you've been through a lot."

He tried to pull me into his arms, but a rich, expensive perfume immediately wafted off his suit.

It was the custom-blended fragrance Sofia always wore.

My stomach churned. A wave of nausea crashed over me.

I couldn't hold it back. I shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom, retching violently.

The few bites of cold bread I’d managed to swallow came back up, burning with stomach acid.

When I finally recovered, I looked up and saw my own pathetic reflection in the mirror, and Marco standing at the door, an exasperated look on his face.

He reached for my arm, his voice laced with false concern. "Isabella, what's wrong? Should I call the doctor?"

I forcefully shook him off, my voice like ice.

"No need. Just stay away from me!"

Marco's placating expression froze, then curdled into a sullen scowl.

As I walked back to the bedroom, he muttered behind me.

"You don't know what's good for you. I try to be decent, and you throw it back in my face with this high-and-mighty act!"