Chapter 1
I was Luca Castellano's contract wife for three years. He once said I was the only woman who could calm the demons in his blood.
That was before his childhood sweetheart returned — and he ripped the oxygen mask off my dying mother to give her hospital bed to his ex.
"Mr. Castellano, please! Serena's condition is critical — she needs the VIP ward immediately!"
Bianca's assistant rushed into the hospital corridor, her heels clicking with manufactured urgency. Behind her, Bianca Laurent herself leaned delicately against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, looking like a porcelain doll about to shatter.
I was sitting beside my mother's bed in that very VIP ward when Luca's men stormed in.
"What are you doing?!" I threw myself over my mother's frail body as a nurse reached for her IV line. "She just had surgery — you can't move her!"
My mother's eyes fluttered open, confused and afraid. She was sixty-three, with a failing heart and lungs that barely functioned. This ward, this equipment — it was keeping her alive.
Luca appeared in the doorway. Tall, devastatingly handsome, and utterly cold. His dark eyes swept over me as if I were an obstacle — not his wife.
"Evelyn." His voice carried that low, commanding tone that once made me feel safe. "Bianca needs this room. Her respiratory condition can't handle the general ward."
"And my mother can?" My voice cracked. "Luca, she'll die if you move her!"
"The general ward has adequate equipment." He didn't even look at my mother. "I've already made arrangements."
"Arrangements?" I grabbed his sleeve, my fingers trembling. "She's on life support! The general ward doesn't have the cardiac monitors she needs—"
"Evelyn." His gaze cut to me with barely concealed impatience. "Don't make a scene. Bianca's family is watching. I need their support for the merger."
Bianca floated into the doorway behind him, her eyes wide and innocent. "Luca, if it's too much trouble, I can manage downstairs. I don't want to cause problems between you and your... wife."
The way she said "wife" — like the word tasted sour on her tongue.
Luca's expression softened instantly for her. "You're not causing problems. This is already done."
He nodded to his men.
They disconnected my mother's monitors. Unhooked her IV. Lifted her frail body onto a cold transfer gurney like she was cargo.
"NO!" I shoved one of them, but a bodyguard caught my arms and pinned them behind my back. "Luca! Luca, please — she can't breathe without the ventilator assist!"
He was already guiding Bianca into the room, his hand gentle on her lower back. He didn't turn around.
The general ward was a nightmare. Overcrowded, understaffed, with outdated equipment that beeped and groaned. They parked my mother's gurney in a corner, hooked her up to a basic monitor, and left.
Her oxygen levels started dropping within the hour.
I called Luca sixteen times. Sixteen times, it rang until voicemail.
On the seventeenth call, someone answered — but it wasn't him.
"Hello?" Bianca's breathy voice. "Oh, Evelyn. Luca's in the shower. Is it urgent? We're having a late dinner..."
I heard clinking glasses. Soft music. Laughter.
"My mother is coding—" I choked.
"I'll let him know," she said sweetly. Then the line went dead.
At 11:47 PM, my mother's heart stopped.
The doctors tried for twenty-three minutes. I watched them pump her chest, watched her body jolt, watched the flat line on the screen refuse to change.
When they finally pulled the sheet over her face, my phone lit up.
A text from Luca: [Come home. We need to discuss the gala seating tomorrow. Bianca will be sitting beside me — I need you to handle the press.]
My mother's hand was still warm when I read it.
I looked at her face — peaceful now, free from the pain he'd caused.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered. "I won't stay one more day."
That was before his childhood sweetheart returned — and he ripped the oxygen mask off my dying mother to give her hospital bed to his ex.
"Mr. Castellano, please! Serena's condition is critical — she needs the VIP ward immediately!"
Bianca's assistant rushed into the hospital corridor, her heels clicking with manufactured urgency. Behind her, Bianca Laurent herself leaned delicately against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest, looking like a porcelain doll about to shatter.
I was sitting beside my mother's bed in that very VIP ward when Luca's men stormed in.
"What are you doing?!" I threw myself over my mother's frail body as a nurse reached for her IV line. "She just had surgery — you can't move her!"
My mother's eyes fluttered open, confused and afraid. She was sixty-three, with a failing heart and lungs that barely functioned. This ward, this equipment — it was keeping her alive.
Luca appeared in the doorway. Tall, devastatingly handsome, and utterly cold. His dark eyes swept over me as if I were an obstacle — not his wife.
"Evelyn." His voice carried that low, commanding tone that once made me feel safe. "Bianca needs this room. Her respiratory condition can't handle the general ward."
"And my mother can?" My voice cracked. "Luca, she'll die if you move her!"
"The general ward has adequate equipment." He didn't even look at my mother. "I've already made arrangements."
"Arrangements?" I grabbed his sleeve, my fingers trembling. "She's on life support! The general ward doesn't have the cardiac monitors she needs—"
"Evelyn." His gaze cut to me with barely concealed impatience. "Don't make a scene. Bianca's family is watching. I need their support for the merger."
Bianca floated into the doorway behind him, her eyes wide and innocent. "Luca, if it's too much trouble, I can manage downstairs. I don't want to cause problems between you and your... wife."
The way she said "wife" — like the word tasted sour on her tongue.
Luca's expression softened instantly for her. "You're not causing problems. This is already done."
He nodded to his men.
They disconnected my mother's monitors. Unhooked her IV. Lifted her frail body onto a cold transfer gurney like she was cargo.
"NO!" I shoved one of them, but a bodyguard caught my arms and pinned them behind my back. "Luca! Luca, please — she can't breathe without the ventilator assist!"
He was already guiding Bianca into the room, his hand gentle on her lower back. He didn't turn around.
The general ward was a nightmare. Overcrowded, understaffed, with outdated equipment that beeped and groaned. They parked my mother's gurney in a corner, hooked her up to a basic monitor, and left.
Her oxygen levels started dropping within the hour.
I called Luca sixteen times. Sixteen times, it rang until voicemail.
On the seventeenth call, someone answered — but it wasn't him.
"Hello?" Bianca's breathy voice. "Oh, Evelyn. Luca's in the shower. Is it urgent? We're having a late dinner..."
I heard clinking glasses. Soft music. Laughter.
"My mother is coding—" I choked.
"I'll let him know," she said sweetly. Then the line went dead.
At 11:47 PM, my mother's heart stopped.
The doctors tried for twenty-three minutes. I watched them pump her chest, watched her body jolt, watched the flat line on the screen refuse to change.
When they finally pulled the sheet over her face, my phone lit up.
A text from Luca: [Come home. We need to discuss the gala seating tomorrow. Bianca will be sitting beside me — I need you to handle the press.]
My mother's hand was still warm when I read it.
I looked at her face — peaceful now, free from the pain he'd caused.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered. "I won't stay one more day."