My soul followed Bella to the family-controlled private clinic.

Not long after, my fiancé, Dante, rushed in. He was the underboss of another major family and the key to our alliance.

He stormed straight to Bella's side, grabbing her hand and anxiously examining the trivial wound on her fingertip. His eyes were full of pain.

"How did this happen? What did the doctor say? Will it scar?"

"Dante, don't be like this," Bella's voice carried a sob, yet she squeezed out a weak smile. "It's not Sister's fault. She probably just wanted to give me a surprise and forgot to clean the junk out of the box..."

The more "understanding" she acted, the darker Dante's face became.

He looked up, his voice suppressing rage: "Elena? Where is she hiding now? Bella, don't be sad. I will teach her a lesson for you! This kind of prank is too much!"

We hadn't even officially married, but his attitude toward me was already that of treating a tiresome burden. He had no idea I was right beside him, watching him silently.

After leaving the clinic, Dante dialed my number. When no one answered, he left a message.

"Elena, how can you be so vicious? Hiding razor blades in a gift to hurt your own sister? I always thought you were just withdrawn, I didn't expect you to do something so low out of jealousy!"

Dante's voice was filled with anger.

"I was on my way to give you an engagement anniversary gift. It was an antique necklace. But now, you don't deserve it. Consider this your punishment."

"You better pray Bella is okay. Otherwise, our engagement is void!"

I listened to his accusations, my heart too tired to feel anything.

I should have known.

We had argued many times before because of Bella. During a shooting practice, he focused entirely on teaching Bella her grip; when I injured my wrist from the recoil, he only called me delicate. When we attended banquets together, he never remembered my seafood allergy, yet could recall exactly which vintage of red wine Bella preferred.

I fought with him countless times over these things, only to receive the same response: "You're overthinking it. I only see Bella as a sister. We are a political union; you need to be sensible."

His coldness made me feel like a possessive lunatic.

But I had loved him so much. I thought his appearance was a gift from God, that he was my exclusive salvation.

I was wrong. Terribly wrong.

My parents loved Luca and Bella for their abilities. Why did Dante love her? Because she knew how to act spoiled, how to show weakness, how to satisfy a man's vanity.

And I would never have the chance to know the answer now.

Because now, whether I was wrongly accused or insulted, I could no longer feel pain.

Past midnight, Father, Mother, and Luca finally dragged their exhausted bodies back to the manor.

I floated in the corner of the living room and heard Mother sigh.

"It's a pity Dante is a Moretti. Although he's excellent, there is the prior engagement. Otherwise, how perfect would he and Bella be together."

"Look at how attentive he was at the clinic."

My soul froze.

Immediately after, I heard Father say: "Yes, Dante is very capable, and I can see Bella likes him too. If they could marry, the alliance between the two families would be more solid. But this matter depends on maximizing benefits."

"Don't think too much," Mother said. "Let him be with Elena. Elena's sullen personality is just right for being a housekeeper for the Morettis, saving us from having her act as an eyesore at home."

"Even if he marries Elena, he can still take care of Bella," she added casually, then looked up to find the room in total darkness.

The air was filled with a faint scent of rust—the smell of stale blood.

"What's going on? Is the ventilation system broken?" Father said irritably. "Luca, go check the wine cellar. See if a bottle of vintage wine exploded."

Luca muttered an agreement and strode toward the cellar.

The closer he got, the stronger the metallic smell became, now mixed with the sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh. His Mafia instincts made him frown, but he assumed it was just a rat that had died in the ventilation ducts.

"What is that smell?" Father and Mother followed him toward the heavy iron door of the cellar.

Luca pushed the door open.

A thick, nauseating stench of blood and death rushed out to meet them.

Under the dim emergency lights, a corpse lay in a pool of dried, blackened blood, eyes half-open, staring fixedly at the door.

Luca froze.

"Elena...?"