The gala glowed too brightly, like someone had lit a chandelier over a grave and called it beautiful.

Gold dripped from the ceiling in the form of chandeliers—too polished, too perfect. Like they were trying to distract from what the walls remembered.

Laughter floated like perfume—sweet, rehearsed, and a little too loud to be real.

Everywhere I looked, faces shimmered under low lighting, masks perched with practiced grace.

Some wore them for the theme. Most wore them for survival.

A woman in emerald passed me, smile razor-sharp beneath glittering lips. Her husband followed, laughing with someone he’d deny knowing by morning.

A waiter brushed by with champagne flutes, each one trembling slightly in his grip. He wasn’t nervous. The floor was just too slick with lies.

And at the center of it all—Dante.

He stood under the largest chandelier like he belonged there.

Black suit. Blacker eyes.

He held up his glass, and the room fell still.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice loud enough to command silence, “I announce a new beginning. I will marry Valentina De Luca. A modern match for the future.”

His words echoed inside me. Applause shattered the air.

I stood behind the ivory pillar, just far enough to be forgotten. Hidden behind floral arrangements and laughter that didn’t belong to me.

Not a single head turned. Not even his. Valentina leaned in, pressed a kiss to Dante’s cheek—soft, possessive, rehearsed.

The crowd clapped harder. Like they hadn’t just watched a man erase a wife with a toast.

Gianna’s slow, deliberate clap echoed louder than the rest.

“A modern match,” she said, her voice dipped in poison. “Finally, he’s thinking like a Morelli.”

Her diamonds sparkled on her wrist as if they too were mocking me.

Alessia turned to scan the crowd, spotted me in the shadows, and smirked. Her lips formed one word—

“Finally.”

I didn’t breathe.

But the shame? It was truly brutal.

I turned on my heel. The marble echoed with every step like thunder rolling through a church. Behind me, the music swelled again: lively, oblivious, soulless.

Servants avoided my eyes as I passed. Doors opened without being asked.

In my bedroom, the silence met me like an accomplice.

The divorce folder was already waiting—top drawer, center, untouched but not totally unexpected.

I opened it slowly, as if reading the death certificate of a life I’d been forced to fake.

Then I uncapped the pen. My hand didn’t shake. One signature. Not as a wife. As a woman reclaiming her goddamn name. Then I walked to my wardrobe.

They told me this red dress was “too bold.”

“Too loud.”

“Too much.”

Good.

I wore it anyway.

Silk like fire against my skin. A neckline that said “watch me,” a backline that said “you should’ve.”

I painted my lips the shade of vengeance. Let my hair flow down like a curtain falling on a lie.

And I walked back into that ballroom—slow, silent, unstoppable.

The chandeliers didn’t flicker. But the people did. Voices caught. Conversations clipped mid-sentence. Eyes turned. Gasps slipped between teeth. Gianna’s lips parted. Alessia choked on her champagne.

Even Valentina’s smile faltered, just slightly.

And Dante—

He froze.

His hand hovered in mid-air, still holding the champagne flute he’d raised to toast her.

I didn’t look at any of them. I walked straight toward him. Dante didn’t move.

I stopped a single breath away and held out the folder.

“Consider your freedom granted,” I said, voice calm, blade-sharp.

His fingers hovered near the papers but didn’t touch them.

“Aria—”

I tilted my head. “Let’s see what you do with it now.”

The silence was thick. Dense. Final.

Valentina’s hand twitched where it still clutched his arm. She looked at me like I had walked out of a grave.

Maybe I had.

I turned before he could speak again. My dress trailed behind me like fire.

I didn’t look back. Let them stare. Let them gasp. Let them choke.

At the double doors, I paused just long enough to hear the crack in Gianna’s voice.

“She’ll be forgotten by morning.”