Discarded Mafia Bride: My Empire Rises

Elara POV:

My parents' frantic pleas echoed in the suddenly quiet ballroom. "Dante, she's fragile! You have to go to her!"

But Dante didn't move. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes fixed on me. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "My Consigliere will handle it," he said-his voice a low, cold blade that sliced through my parents' hysteria.

For the rest of the night, he played the part of the devoted fiancé. He stood by my side, a formidable shield against the prying eyes of his rivals. He draped his jacket over my shoulders when a chill swept through the room. He even fed me a piece of my own birthday cake, his touch a ghost of the affection I once craved.

At precisely 9:09 PM, fireworks exploded across the night sky, spelling my name in glittering light that burned for an agonizing hour. A grand, spectacular lie for the whole city to see.

When the party finally ended, Dante dismissed his Capos. "Tonight belongs to Elara," he declared.

In the car, the silence was a crushing weight. His phone buzzed on the console between us. He glanced at it, and the charade shattered. He slammed on the brakes, the tires screaming as he swerved to the side of the road.

"I forgot a file at the office," he lied, his voice tight and unnatural. "You take a car home. I'll be back soon."

I climbed out without a word. I didn't need to see the caller ID this time. As his car sped away, my own phone lit up. A text. For a foolish second, my heart leaped, but the name on the screen wasn't his. It was Xu Tezhu, his Consigliere, and the message was clearly not meant for me.

We have located Ms. Vance at the waterfront parking garage.

A cold resolve settled deep in my bones. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.

I found them in a deserted corner of the parking garage. Their voices, carried on the damp air, reached me before they did. I heard her purring laugh, then his low murmur.

Then I saw them. He had her pressed against the side of his car, kissing her with a hunger he hadn't shown me since I woke up. His hands slid under her dress, pulling her closer.

"Are you happy now?" Sienna whispered, her voice triumphant.

He lifted her into the passenger seat, and the car began to rock with a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Something inside me didn't break. It disintegrated. The last ember of hope I'd been foolishly clutching was extinguished, leaving nothing but a cold void.

I walked away.

Back at the estate, I went to my room and began to pack the few things that truly belonged to me. A book of poetry. A faded photograph of me and Luca as a baby. I had no ID, no money, nowhere to go, but it didn't matter. I couldn't stay here another second.

The door burst open. Luca stood there, his small face contorted with a rage that was terrifying on a child. In his hands, he held a bucket.

"You're a bad woman!" he screamed, and he threw the contents of the bucket at me.

Thick, sticky red paint splattered across my white dress, my face, my hair. It felt like blood.

He then threw something at my feet. It was the small, hand-sewn doll I had made for him just before the accident. Its button eyes stared up at me, accusingly.

I looked at the boy I no longer recognized, the son whose love had been stolen from me. The pain was so immense it was almost a relief. There was nothing left to feel.

"Don't worry," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Sienna will be back soon. And I will be gone."

Elara POV:

Luca scoffed, his little face a mask of contempt. "Good. I hope you really leave this time." He turned and ran from the room, leaving me standing there, dripping in red paint.

I stood under the shower, scrubbing at my skin with a rough cloth until it was raw and close to bleeding, but I couldn't wash away the stain. I couldn't wash away the memory of my son's hatred; it felt seeped into my bones.

The next day, the city's filthiest tabloid splashed a video across its digital front page. Grainy footage of a car rocking in a darkened parking garage. The headline screamed: "Mysterious Tycoon's All-Night Tryst." The implication was clear. It was me and Dante. Another lie to protect his precious Sienna.

I emerged from my room to find Sienna kneeling at my door, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. Dante stood over her, his expression grim.

"I've already punished her for it," he said, his words meant to soothe me. They only made me feel sick.

I walked past them without a word. He followed, grabbing my arm. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured, his voice a low promise.

He took me to an illegal street race on the outskirts of the city. The air thrummed with the roar of engines and the shouts of the underworld's elite. Dante, dressed in a sleek black racing suit, gave an interview to a rogue reporter, mentioning his "wife" in every other sentence, painting a picture of a man devoted. A bitter memory surfaced of a time when that devotion had been real, when his love for me was the only truth in our violent world.

He dominated the race, his skill undeniable. But on the final lap, he suddenly slowed, allowing another driver to take first place. He came to me, his voice a low apology. "I'm sorry I didn't win the grand prize for you."

"What was the prize?" I asked, a cold certainty already settling in my stomach.

"Something worthless. I had them throw it away," he said.

Just then, I saw her. Sienna, standing near the prize table, discreetly placing a ruby necklace into the winner's collection. My breath caught. It wasn't just any necklace. It was the 'Crimson Tear,' the famed companion to 'The Heart of the City.' It was all a setup. He'd thrown the race for her.

"It's okay," I said, my voice strained, the lie catching in my throat. "As long as you're safe. I didn't need it anyway."

The betrayal coiled in my gut, twisting into a sharp, reckless need to make him see me, to feel something real. An impulse took hold. "I want to race."

Dante hesitated for a fraction of a second, then a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He helped me into a car, his hands lingering on my waist.

He went to confront Sienna, his voice low and angry-not for the setup, but for bringing Luca to such a dangerous place. Luca, of course, defended her. Dante relented, as he always did for her.

The race began. The world became a blur of speed and noise. On a sharp, hairpin turn, it happened. A car slammed into my side with brutal force. Through the chaos, I saw the driver. It was Sienna.

My car flipped, rolling over and over until it came to a screeching halt, upside down. Dazed, my head throbbing, I saw her car through the shattered windshield. She wasn't getting out. She wasn't checking to see if I was okay. She was reversing.

She floored the gas, ramming my car head-on.

My head slammed against the steering wheel. The world began to fade to black. But before the darkness took me completely, I saw two figures running across the track.

It was Dante and Luca. And they were running. Not to me. To her.