Dante’s face turned deathly pale.

“Juliana, what are you talking about?”

“A divorce,” I repeated, word by word. “We are getting a divorce.”

“Impossible.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he was going to crush my bones. “Juliana, what happened tonight was a mistake. I can explain.”

“A mistake?” I sneered. “A mistake that had you two in my home, in a nightgown I bought, doing the most intimate things on my sofa? Does the entire Moretti family know about this?”

Dante opened his mouth but couldn’t say a word.

“What else is there to explain?” I pulled my hand away. “Dante, it’s been three years. I’m tired.”

The rain continued to pour down on us.

Dante suddenly pulled me into a hug. “Juliana, just give me one more chance, okay? I’ll handle things with Isabella.”

“Handle them?” I pushed him away. “How are you going to handle them? Make her disappear from the city? Or have her dumped in the Hudson River?”

“I…”

“Forget it.” I turned to leave. “Dante, some words can’t be taken back. Some things, once done, are done.”

He chased after me. “Juliana, you can’t do this to me.”

I stopped and looked back at him.

Even in the rainy night, he was still so handsome, exuding an undeniable aura of control.

Three years ago, I fell madly in love with this face. I thought I would love it for a lifetime.

“Dante, do you know what my biggest regret is?”

He shook his head.

“Marrying you.”

After saying that, I walked away without a second glance.

Behind me, I heard his heartbroken shout. “Juliana Rossi, you can’t leave me!”

But my mind was made up.

Three years of love, three years of effort, three years of my youth.

All wasted on a dog.

I went back to my own studio.

It was a small loft in SoHo I’d bought before we were married. Dante always wanted me to sell it, saying the matriarch of the Moretti family didn't need such an "unsafe" place.

Thinking about it now, I'm glad I didn't listen to him.

At least I still had a place to hide.

I took a hot shower and changed into clean clothes.

The woman in the mirror was a wreck, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

I made myself a cup of coffee and sat by the window, watching the rain.

I had turned my phone back on but had set it to reject Dante’s calls.

Dozens of messages had come through.

All from him.

“Juliana, come home. Let’s talk properly.”

“I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”

“Please, just give me one more chance.”

“Juliana, I love you.”

I scoffed when I read the last one.

Loves me?

If he loved me, would he sleep with another woman?

If he loved me, would he let me walk in on a scene like that in my own home?

I deleted all the messages and blocked his number.

The bitter taste of coffee filled my mouth, just like the bitterness in my heart.

As dawn approached, I finally started to feel sleepy.

I lay in bed, but when I closed my eyes, the image from tonight replayed in my mind.

Isabella, wearing my nightgown, wrapped around my husband on my sofa.

So natural, so practiced.

It obviously wasn't the first time.

I thought about how Dante had been saying he was busy with "business" these past few months, constantly having to "meet clients."

And his increasingly cold attitude toward me.

The signs were all there. I was just too stupid, selectively ignoring them.

The doorbell rang.

I checked the time. Six in the morning.

Who could it be?

I looked through the peephole. It was Dante.

He was sitting on the steps outside my door, still wearing the same wet clothes from last night.

I didn’t open the door.

I let him ring the bell.

He kept ringing it until I couldn't stand it anymore.

Around noon, I ordered takeout.

When I opened the door to get the food, Dante was gone.

But on the ground was a huge bouquet of red roses and a card.

“Juliana, I’ll wait for you to forgive me. — Dante”

I kicked the flowers into the trash and tore up the card.

In the afternoon, Sloane came over.

She saw my swollen eyes and hugged me tightly, her heart aching for me.

“Juliana, it’s all over now.”

“Sloane, am I an idiot?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Three years, and I never noticed he was cheating.”

Sloane sighed. “When a man wants to hide a secret, even the smartest woman can be fooled. Especially when that man is Dante Moretti.”

“But I’m his wife.”

“That's exactly why you’re the easiest to deceive.”

We sat on the sofa, and Sloane made me tea.

“Juliana, are you really set on a divorce?”

“Yes.”

“But Dante loves you so much…”

“Loves me?” I cut her off. “Sloane, you didn't see what I saw last night. You didn't hear what Isabella said.”

Sloane fell silent.

“He won’t even admit to cheating to my face. He still wants to ‘explain’,” I said with a bitter laugh. “But he was caught red-handed. What is there to explain?”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“Find a lawyer. File the papers.”