Chapter 23 #3
“You promised... you’d do anything... anything to make me happy... to keep me alive.”
A pause.
Her gaze sharpened just slightly, tears gathering in her eyes.
“Yes... you actually took her to the lab to have her heart removed for me... but at the last minute, you changed your mind... just as the doctor was about to do it.”
The accusation was soft.
But it landed.
“Do you...” Her voice shook, cracking at the edges. “Do you hate me now, Vin? Do you love her instead?”
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.
Vincenzo swallowed hard.
I saw it.
That small movement in his throat. The tightening in his jaw.
The conflict.
But only for a moment.
Then—
“Elena is my wife,” he said softly, voice steady, eyes distant.
“She’s the kind of woman who makes you believe in goodness again... patient, gentle, endlessly kind. When she smiles, it feels like the world is lighter.”
My breath caught slightly.
“I hated her at first—because of what her father did to me.”
“But I don’t hate her anymore.”
A beat.
“I’ve watched her. Studied her when she thought no one was looking.”
My stomach tightened.
“She has a beautiful heart.”
The words were calm.
Certain.
“And how could I kill a woman like that?”
He shook his head slightly, almost as if the thought itself was unbearable.
“I can’t let her give you her heart, Violet. I won’t.”
The finality in his voice was absolute.
Violet’s face crumpled instantly.
The strength that had been holding her together—however fragile—collapsed.
Tears slipped down her temples, disappearing into the pillow beneath her.
Her breath hitched unevenly.
“So... she means more to you than I do now?” she whispered.
Her voice rose slightly, thin and shaking.
“After... everything... you love her... now?”
Her fingers tightened weakly around his.
“She charmed you...”
A sob broke through. “She stole my wedding...”
Her voice cracked harder now, unraveling.
“And now she’s stolen your heart too...”
The accusation hung in the air.
Vincenzo exhaled slowly.
His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, a small, absent motion that felt more like habit than comfort.
“I didn’t give her a chance to steal my heart. I... may have given it willingly to her. What I feel for Elena... it’s close to love, though I don’t know how to love properly—or how to show it.”
“With you, Violet... I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying to show it all these years.”
His voice carried a quiet weight, the kind that made the room feel smaller, as if the air itself had shifted around his words.
“Die peacefully, Violet,” he said, voice steady, unyielding.
“I’ll see to it that your burial is the grandest this city has ever known.”
Violet shivered.
“You will never be forgotten.”
The words lingered.
Permanent.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
Violet sobbed.
The sound came out harsh, broken, jagged—like something tearing from deep inside her.
Her entire body shook with it, her grip on his hand tightening weakly, fingers trembling against his.
“Just... leave me,” she choked out between sobs.
Her voice cracked, fraying at the edges.
“Let me be. You’ve made it clear I don’t matter anymore. Just go.”
“No.”
The response was immediate.
Vincenzo shook his head, just once.
Small.
But decisive.
“Let me stay with you a little longer—”
“Leave!”
Her voice shot up suddenly—raw, sharp, full of something deeper than pain.
Anger.
“Just... leave!”
The words echoed faintly in the room, heavy with emotion.
“You’ve already chosen her!” she cried, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
“Go!”
Vincenzo exhaled slowly.
Then nodded.
Once.
“Call me if you need me,” he murmured.
He released her hand and rose to his feet.
But before he could take a step—
Violet’s hand shot out.
Weak. Trembling.
But desperate enough to catch the fabric of his sleeve.
“Are you really going to leave me?” she whispered.
Her voice had softened again.
Fragile.
“You know I didn’t mean it...”
Her fingers tightened slightly against his sleeve.
“The doctors... they say I don’t have much time. Please... stay with me until my very last breath.”
Vincenzo paused.
Looked down at her. Not immediately responding.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold still again.
Then—
“I left my wife standing alone in the garage just to come to you,” he said quietly.
“I don’t even know if she can drive... or if she even remembers the way home.”
His gaze stayed on Violet, but something had shifted.
“I have to make sure she’s safe. Take care of yourself, Violet.”
The sentence landed differently this time.
Less like devotion. More like... duty.
“I’ll come back later... if I have time.”
And then—
He turned.
And walked away.
Toward me.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I ducked behind the heavy privacy curtain just outside the ward, pressing myself into the narrow space between fabric and wall.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs, each beat louder than the last, threatening to give me away.
Footsteps approached.
Steady. Unhurried.
But still—
Purposeful.
I held my breath.
Through the narrow gap in the curtain, I watched him pass.
Shoulders tense.
Jaw locked. Eyes forward.
Focused entirely on the path ahead.
He didn’t glance sideways.
Just kept walking.
As if the room behind him—and the woman inside it—had already been placed exactly where she belonged.
Behind him.
I stayed frozen until his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Only then did I slowly peek back into the room.
What I saw made my stomach twist violently.
Violet was no longer lying down.
She was sitting upright.
Her posture was rigid—too rigid for someone who had just been on the verge of death.
Color had returned to her cheeks.
A faint flush.
Her breathing was steady.
No tremors. No coughing. No weakness.
Her fists clenched the bedsheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
And her eyes—
Those same eyes that had been glassy, fragile, and tear-filled—were now sharp.
Cold.
Burning with something entirely different.
“Paolo,” she snapped.
Her voice was clear, strong, and ommanding.
“Bring me that table water.”
The young man hesitated for only a second before scrambling to obey, rushing to hand her the glass.
Violet snatched it from him and drank deeply—quick, angry gulps, like she was trying to swallow down something far more dangerous than thirst.
Rage.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing harder now, her earlier vulnerability completely gone.
“I swear I’ll kill that bitch Elena myself,” she hissed under her breath.
The words were sharp.
Personal. Calculated.
Paolo shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door before speaking cautiously.
“Aren’t you worried Vincenzo will question the heart failure?” he asked.
“Four weeks ago, we told him you had only hours left—and that Elena’s heart was the only one that could save you. That’s why he tried to take it. Now... you’ve lived these four weeks, and we’ve warned him again that your time is running out.”
He hesitated.
“If you keep surviving... won’t he question it?”
My blood ran cold.
Violet didn’t look the least bit afraid.
She exhaled slowly.
Then leaned back slightly, her lips curling into something that wasn’t a smile.
It was crueler.
“Let him question it,” she said. ““He’ll never discover I don’t have a single heart problem—every doctor in Lombardy works for my family. And Vincenzo trusts them completely.”
My fingers tightened around my phone.
Because now—
I understood.
Violet wasn’t sick. She had never been dying.
She had faked a fatal illness, using guilt to bend Vincenzo to her will.
Just like that—everything clicked into place.
My chest tightened.
Nausea rose in my throat.
I pulled my phone out with shaking hands, quickly swiping to the camera, pressing record before I could second-guess myself.
I angled it carefully through the gap in the curtain.
I needed proof. Something undeniable.
But before I could capture more than a few seconds of her furious face—
A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
Hard.
I jolted violently, nearly dropping my phone as a sharp breath tore from my throat.