When Love Had Reached Its End

In the year I believed in pure love, Matteo Bianchi broke into the hotel and crippled the man who tried to rape me. Although he wasn’t heavily punished, the act left a mark on his life. The heir of a rich family was then driven from home and fell into a life of street thugs.

At the worst moments, I held Matteo and cried, asking if he regretted what he had done. He only smiled with affection.

His response was, "How could I regret it? Your innocence matters more than my life!"

He continued, promising, "I will be loyal to you for the rest of my life. If you're safe, all the suffering will be worth it!"

Matteo continued to fight fiercely to protect me. In doing so, he also rose to power. Everyone knew I was Mr. Bianchi’s favored one, untouchable and safe from harm.

On our wedding anniversary, I opened his safe and found a thick stack of papers. It was pregnancy test results, kindergarten admission notices. It turned out that he had fathered a child without telling me.

Matteo did not try to explain. He cut off the hand of the bodyguard right in front of me, threw the severed hand at my feet and raised an eyebrow.

"If you can't even keep your things safe, this hand is useless!" he shouted coldly.

I laughed coldly and slammed a divorce agreement in his face.

"Stop talking and sign it."

He only laughed back in response.

"I told you. We'll never divorce!"

"You can leave, do whatever you want. But I'll see if you dare to kill me!"

——

"In this life, we'll belong to each other and be buried together," he said.

That was the promise both Matteo and I had made at eighteen. But on that day, I understood that even pure love could rot and even the most beautiful vows could expire. And when things expired, they should be ended.

I pulled a knife hidden under the sofa and stabbed at his neck. Matteo did not dodge. Instead, he stepped forward and met the blade. At the last moment I twisted my wrist and the knife sank into his shoulder.

He smiled, but the hand holding the knife trembled.

"What? Can't you bring yourself to do it?" he asked.

"Victoria, we've come this far. There is no reason to end like this over something small," he continued.

He said, "That child was an accident. If you don't want him, I'll have him sent abroad in a few days."

An accident, he said?

Five years earlier, enemies had attacked him. I took three of the strikes meant for him. One to my chest, one to my thigh and one that went through my uterus. It took the baby I carried at one month.

The doctor said I might never bear a child again. I did not cry when I read the test results, but Matteo’s eyes had gone red with grief. He knelt before me, weeping, slapping his face until it was swollen.

"Victoria, it's my fault. I couldn't protect you!" he cried.

He held me tightly, blood from his forehead dripping onto my face. Even as he shook from pain, he refused to let my hand go.

"Victoria, I don't want the child. I don't want anything. I only want you!" he shouted.

"We will never be apart in this life. I will never let you down, even if I die!"

Each word had sounded certain. But that careless certainty broke the last piece of my dignity. I sneered, pulled out a photograph and shoved it into his face.

"Don't bother. I've already fixed your 'accident.' I had gone to the kindergarten. It was a nice place, but the security was weak."

Matteo’s bastard had tears running down his face. He had knelt there with a gun to his head. I watched the veins stand out on my husband’s forehead. In ten years together, he had never shown anger toward me. Now, because of another woman and a child, his eyes held the intent to kill.