I looked at him and said quietly, “Sign the divorce. Sofia won’t trouble you again. She doesn’t need forgiveness, because she never did anything wrong.”
Her only misfortune was being born into the Volkov crime family.
My refusal to back down darkened his expression.
“I’ve had enough,” he snapped. “I brought you a gift and you still want more? Sofia isn’t a toddler anymore, and you’re threatening divorce over discipline? Let me warn you now, if you leave, don’t even think about taking custody. I’ve been more than generous to you.”
Generous.
The word echoed mockingly in the room.
After venting his anger, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, as if this argument were nothing more than one of our usual quarrels. For ten years, whenever he lost his temper, I was the one who softened first. I would cook his favorite dishes, wait beside him, and allow the silence to dissolve on its own.
He likely believed this would be no different.
He would sleep, wake up, and find me in the kitchen like always.
But this time, there would be no reconciliation.
When he disappeared upstairs, I gathered the house keys and placed them neatly on the table beside the torn divorce papers. I signed my name again on a fresh copy and left it where he could not miss it.
Then I walked out of the mansion I had lived in for five years, leaving behind the empire, the title of Mrs. Volkov, and the man who never even realized his daughter had already gone to the grave.
I had loved Vincent Volkov in silence for five years before I ever became his wife, and I spent another five years married to him, believing that devotion could eventually turn into affection. To stand beside him openly as Mrs. Volkov, my mother paid the ultimate price. To walk away from him, I lost my daughter.
My mother had served the Volkov estate for most of her life. She was more than a housekeeper; she was practically a shadow to Catherine Marconi, the Don’s wife, tending to her needs day and night. The family trusted her, relied on her, and rewarded her loyalty with steady raises and quiet gratitude.
The night everything changed, she had accompanied Catherine to a private shopping district owned by one of the Volkov affiliates. On their way back, armed men ambushed their car. They were failed businessmen ruined by one of the syndicate’s deals, desperate enough to kidnap Catherine and demand ransom from the Volkov family.