When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. Mom—wrapped in bandages—sat at my bedside, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She held me tight and kept apologizing, blaming herself for the pain I'd suffered.
But Mom was the one who had suffered the most, yet she never once complained.
That night she told me to sleep early because she had to go out to handle something. I felt uneasy and quietly followed her.
She went to the villa Dad had bought for Bella. With a group of bodyguards, she smashed the place, throwing everything into pieces, and then bound Bella.
When Dad arrived, windblown and furious, his face was ashen with rage.
“Gianna, must you push me to the grave to feel satisfied?” Mom sneered, toying the dagger between her fingers.
“I’m only treating you the way you treat others—how does that become forcing you to death when it’s you?” she snapped.
She pressed the blade to Bella's throat, and blood oozed out quickly.
Dad dropped to his knees without hesitation. "Gianna, please—please don't hurt Bella. She's innocent. If you let her go, I'll do whatever you want."
"You're doing this to force a divorce, aren't you?" he begged. "Fine—I'll sign."
He barked the words out, then had someone fetch the papers. With shaking hands he signed and pushed the agreement toward her.
Mom didn't even look at it—she ripped the page to shreds.
"You said when we got married, there's no divorce, only death. Today I must kill you both," she said, calm as a blade.
