When She Blooms, They All Wither

Marco didn't come home until noon the next day. When he pushed open the door, I was wearing gloves, tidying up. He rubbed his brow and gestured at the pile of black bags by the door.

"Do we have this much trash at home?" he asked.

"Yeah, we do."

They were, after all, everything he had given me over the past five years.

I had spent the whole night scrolling through Sofia's Instagram. Every single thing Marco had gifted me was something she had mentioned, bought, or liked. He had poured all his devotion for her onto me.

Meanwhile, I had been a fool to treat his false affection like it was treasure. Now, the trash had to go into the bin.

He didn't press on or linger, just went straight past. It wasn't until he saw the half-eaten cake on the table that he stopped and dabbed a little cream onto the tip of my nose.

Seeing me freeze, he raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Look at you, little glutton. Suddenly craving cake, huh?"

Marco had beautiful and intense eyes. Over the past five years, those eyes had smiled at me countless times. However, this was the first time I looked deeply into them, and I still couldn't see a trace of deceit.

What a top-tier actor he was.

A few seconds of silence passed before I answered softly, "It was my birthday yesterday."

His smile froze instantly. He smacked his forehead, frustration written all over him, and pulled me into a tight hug. "Sorry, amore. I've been too busy and completely forgot. Enzo's throwing a party tonight. Let me take you there to celebrate, alright?"

Enzo Ferrari was the Underboss from the night before, the one who had gotten drunk and run his mouth freely.

I was about to refuse when Marco's phone rang. He glanced down, eyes flickering, and forced a smile at me. "It's my Consigliere. I need to take this. I'll come for you tonight, okay? Ti amo."

I pretended not to see Sofia's name flashing on his screen and nodded quietly.

It had been five years. Even if we were separating, I wanted us to part amicably. This dinner would be our last farewell.

When the agreed time came, Marco didn't show. Instead, a young family member arrived. He had just turned 18, wide-eyed and eager, rambling on about his admiration for Marco.

"Mr. Rossi is amazing. He's the Don, yet he's still so thoughtful toward his woman."

Meeting my eyes, he got even more excited. "Last night, Sofia had a headache, and Mr. Rossi was freaking out, rushing her to Dr. Giacchi. I've been following him for two months—never seen him so flustered.

"He stayed with her all night, giving her medicine, pouring her water, doing everything. He's so devoted and considerate… If I were Sofia, I'd be the happiest woman alive. I heard they're getting married next week.

"Well, at least Mr. Rossi and his true love are getting their happy ending.

He jabbered on until he noticed my silence was… deafening. "Signorina, you're… Mr. Rossi's younger sister, right?"

I turned away. My hollow reflection in the glass was shattered by the streetlights outside. I lifted the corners of my mouth faintly and whispered, "Yeah, I am."

Near the party, I sat in the car as a ruckus rose inside. "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

The young man opened the car door for me. As soon as I stepped out, two figures were standing in the middle of the spotlight, face to face, just inches apart.

Marco saw me and jerked his head away. When Sofia's lips landed on his cheek, I caught the flash of regret in his eyes that vanished almost instantly.