Enzo’s recoveryis much too swift. In less than a week, he’s out of the hospital and attending his father’s funeral.
With her.
I pull my cap lower to hide my face as I mingle through the crowd, finding a good spot to study them.
She’s hanging onto his arm, crocodile tears falling down her face in what I can only say is a masterclass in acting.
Fucking bitch.
Enzo’s features are composed but somber. He’s at the front of the funeral ensemble, right next to the coffin being lowered into the ground.
His hand taps on her arm in comforting gestures, and something twists inside of me at the sight.
Oh, how quickly you forgot about me, I think bitterly.
Even recently out of death’s grasp, he looks as dashing as ever. He is a bit more pale than usual, but his features are just as striking, just as beautiful. And it’s that beauty that I resent most of all. What should have been a warning to me all those years ago ended up being my undoing.
I chastise myself for the girl I was, for believing his wickedwords even when I knew he was lying. But he was always good at that, at making me disregard all the red flags for scraps of his attention.
I would have thought that after everything I’ve been through, I would have been wiser, more careful. Instead, all that distrust I’d built over the years had dissipated the moment he’d smiled at me, the moment he kissed me and told me I was his.
I may have been his, for a moment, but he was never mine. He couldneverbelong to just one woman, and this nauseating display is proof of that. He replaced me the moment I was gone, the moment I couldn’t fulfill my role anymore.
My lips tremble with anger the more I look at them. They’re the picture of the perfect family, grieving for the fallen Agosti patriarch. But he was always good at playing a role, wasn’t he? Didn’t he play the role ofhusbandto perfection? Even as I knew his flaws, even as I knew about all of his betrayals, I still bought into his act. I still fell for those beautiful green eyes.
My hands tighten into fists as I imagine just how he’s playing the role of doting husband right now, how he’s kissingher, how he’s fucking…
A stab of pain cracks my heart open. As much as I’d love to simply forget about him, I cannot.
I cannot pretend that the betrayal didn’t hurt, that the mere thought of him sleeping with her every night doesn’t make me want to go mad. But I take that pain in. I savor it and allow it to fuel my thirst for revenge.
They willallfall. They willallpay.
My husband—or should I say my ex-husband—will be the last. And his death will be the most excruciating of all.
The coffin is in the ground, covered by dirt.
The funeral is soon over, and people start dispersing.
I move slowly to the back, blending in with the crowd, but I don’t take my eyes off him. He takes his wife to the car, helpingher inside, but he doesn’t join her. A procession of cars leaves the cemetery, but he stays behind.
With more and more people leaving, I find another spot to shield my presence.
He looks around as if lost in thought. Minutes turn into hours as he just stays there, staring into the distance. At last, he sighs and turns back, hailing a taxi and leaving just as my legs are threatening to buckle under me. I may be up and walking right now, but my muscles still suffer from years of atrophy.
Once he’s gone, I can finally return to my room. Lia greets me and asks how it all went, but I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.
"May I have a moment alone, please?”
She wants to protest, but eventually leaves.
Finally, I’m alone. With great difficulty, I lower myself to my knees and pull a big box from under the bed.
Taking the lid off, I place it aside and gaze at the contents: newspaper scraps I’ve saved over the years, all abouthim.
With trembling hands, I take them out and spread them all over the floor. The evidence is all there, right in front of me.
Photos of Enzo with other women attending high-society events; rumors about his latest conquests. He might be married, but the whole world knows that doesn’t stop him.
