Chapter 1

...Leah...

All the decorations, the carefully placed flowers, and the food you spent hours preparing with love were destroyed in seconds under the indifferent hands of Dante Marino, your husband of two years. It wasn’t a marriage built on love, but on convenience—to keep his grandfather from scolding him. He never loved you, but you’ve been in love with him since high school. You’ve loved him since high school, yet Dante’s heart has never been yours. Even in the university, you followed him into Business Administration, despite how much you hated it, just to stay close to him, even though you hated every second of it. ‘Aunt Marie, don’t help her. Let her clean it,’ Dante ordered coldly, his voice sharp as he glanced at you with disgust before heading upstairs, loosening his tie as if shaking off any connection to you. The sound of the door slamming echoed in the empty space between you. Slowly, you sank to the floor, your hands trembling as you began picking up the ruined cake and the food you’d so carefully made. Silent tears streamed down your face as the weight of your unreciprocated love bore down on you. You threw everything away, while Aunt Marie, the housemaid, watched with pity. ‘Lady Leah, let me help you. Master Dante must be exhausted from work. I’m sure he’ll realize all you’ve done for him one day.’ Her gentle voice offered comfort, but her words felt hollow. You looked up at her, eyes brimming with tears, and hugged her tightly, the only person who ever gave you a shoulder to cry on. She was the one who comforted you when the weight of Dante’s coldness became too much to bear.

But Dante rarely came home, and when he did, it was as if you were invisible. But tonight, after wiping away your tears, you forced yourself upstairs, trying to push aside the ache in your chest. Opening the bedroom door, you saw him sitting on the bed, working on his laptop with his glasses on, his strong, handsome features only making it harder to accept the truth. His muscular frame, his wealth, his polished charm—everyone praised you for having the perfect husband. They envied the life they thought you had, but behind closed doors, it was all an illusion. But behind the façade was a man who barely acknowledged your existence, a husband who only played the part in front of others to keep up appearances for his family.

As you stood there, the weight of the pretense you were both living felt unbearable. You loved him with all your heart, but Dante? He couldn’t even spare you a kind word. And the worst part? You kept hoping, praying that one day, he might see you, might love you back. But each passing day made it clear—you were just a convenience to him.

“Bring me coffee,” Dante ordered coldly, without even glancing in your direction, his tone more like that of a master speaking to a servant than a husband addressing his wife. But maybe that’s what you were to him now—a convenience, someone to order around. He didn’t care about you. Not your feelings, not your effort. You sighed quietly and went downstairs to make the coffee, just the way he liked it, because no matter how much he ignored or mistreated you, you still tried to be the good wife. But what did you get in return? Nothing but indifference and a cold shoulder.

Returning to the room, you masked your hurt behind a smile, as though the scene from moments ago hadn’t happened. “Here,” you said softly, handing him the mug. He took it without so much as a glance or a word of thanks, as if your presence was invisible, your efforts meaningless. Without complaint, you moved on to the next task, preparing and ironing his suit for the following day, making sure everything was perfect for him, because that’s what you did. You gave him everything, despite receiving nothing in return.

Afterward, you retreated to the bathroom, needing to wash away the weight of everything you had just endured. As you stood in front of the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was one you barely recognized. The sadness in your eyes, the hollow feeling in your chest. How pathetic you looked, still holding on to the tiny hope that someday things would change, that somehow he’d see you, love you the way you’d loved him for years.

Dressed in your pajamas, you left the bathroom and stepped back into the room, ready to slip into bed. “Come here,” Dante commanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. You obeyed, walking toward him, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you onto his lap. His lips were on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs in a way that felt more aggressive than loving. You flinched and tried to pull away, “I’m not feeling it today,” you whispered, hoping he’d stop, that he’d listen to you for once. But he didn’t. His grip tightened, his hands and mouth ignoring your pleas. You begged him softly, but Dante didn’t care. Just like everything else in this marriage, your feelings didn’t matter. You were trapped, powerless, as he continued, and once again, the reality of how little you meant to him crashed over you like a wave, leaving you drowning in despair.

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