Page 79 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

The words sound pathetic.

“You’re sorry? You humiliate me in front of all of Paris, and you’re sorry?”

Part of me still wants to comfort her.

Reach for her hand. Find words that might soften the blow.

But that would be even crueler—offering tenderness while taking everything else away.

So I stay still.

I look directly at the pain I’m causing instead of looking away.

I accept being the villain in her story, because it’s the only honest thing left I can give her.

She’s beautiful, even while crying.

And that’s precisely why I can’t back down.

I can’t offer her something that no longer belongs to me.

I tried to love her. Truly.

I convinced myself tenderness would be enough. That habit would eventually turn into something solid.

I was wrong.

And she deserves better than being the consolation prize of a man whose heart has always belonged somewhere else.

“How can you abandon me two days before our wedding? Does my love mean nothing to you? I love you, Dante. I love you, do you hear me? You can’t do this to me!”

My heart breaks seeing her like this. I never wanted to hurt her so badly.

She didn’t deserve this.

“You have to marry me. You at least owe me enough to keep your promise.”

“You really want to chain yourself to a man who doesn’t love you?” I ask softly.

“Yes! Yes! You’re mine, Dante! Do you hear me? You committed yourself to me.”

I freeze.

Those words land wrong.

What am I to her? A possession? A trophy?

“How can you leave me for that bitch?” she continues bitterly. “I gave you everything. Everything. And this is how you repay me?”

The more she speaks, the more certainty settles inside me—calm and merciless.

We were never meant to be together.

Even without Valeria, we would’ve eventually destroyed each other.

Demands, accumulated frustrations and impossible expectations.

A relationship that would’ve slowly turned toxic.