Chapter 4
“Where will you go?”
“My apartment.”
“You sold your apartment.”
“I found another one.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You planned this?”
“No.”
She picked up the suitcase handle.
“I prepared for the possibility that I would need to.”
That hurt him.
She saw it.
Good.
Not because she wanted him to suffer.
Because she wanted him to finally understand.
“Isabella, you think I would let you walk away?”
She stared at him.
“That is exactly the problem.”
Dante went silent.
“You still think this is something you control.”
The words were quiet.
But they broke something.
Marco looked away.
Because even he understood.
The woman standing in front of Dante Moretti was not threatening him.
She was releasing herself from him.
And somehow, that was more frightening.
“I love you,” Dante said.
It was the first time he had said it like a confession instead of a statement.
Isabella closed her eyes briefly.
“I know.”
“Then stay.”
“I loved you enough to stay through things I should have questioned.”
He stepped closer.
“I can fix this.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Then start by letting me leave.”
He stopped.
That was the first thing he had not expected.
Not anger.
Not tears.
Not a fight.
A choice.
She walked past him.
And Dante Moretti, the man whose name made people afraid, did not stop her.
Valentina left the house before noon.
Not because Dante asked her to.
Because Isabella had.
The conversation happened in the guest suite.
Valentina stood by the window, looking exhausted.
“I owe you an apology.”
Isabella crossed her arms.
“For what?”
“For letting you believe something that wasn’t true.”
The answer surprised her.
Valentina looked down.
“I didn’t tell you Dante gave me the shirt because I wanted to hurt you.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was angry.”
“At me?”
“No.”
Valentina sighed.
“At him.”
The room became quieter.
“My father forced our engagement years ago,” Valentina said. “Everyone thought Dante and I were perfect because our families benefited from it.”
Isabella listened.
“But Dante ended it.”
“I know.”
“He ended it because he realized he didn’t love me.”
That sentence was unexpected.
“He chose you.”
Isabella looked away.
“Choosing me does not excuse making me feel like second place.”
“No,” Valentina agreed.
For the first time, Isabella saw her clearly.
Not as a rival.
Not as a ghost from Dante’s past.
Just a woman who had been caught in the same world of powerful families and impossible expectations.