Chapter 5
“Your husband–to–be,” the voice said.
My eyes widened in shock. “Y–You came yourself?”
The man, masked and unyielding, looked down at me with eyes that softened ever so slightly–eyes that told me he wasn’t about to trust anyone else with my safety.
Meanwhile, Ryan returned to the theater, his panic mounting as he frantically searched for me. His gaze darted across the room, scanning the crowd for any sign of me. But I was already gone.
All that remained was the crushed pendant -the symbol of our marriage–trampled beneath the stampede of panicked
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theatergoers.
“Helena? Where’s Helena?!” Ryan’s voice cracked with desperation. “Fuck, find my wife!”
His bodyguards scrambled to obey, but they were met with nothing. The chaos had swallowed me whole.
Half an hour later, the haze of smoke still clouding my mind, I awoke to find myself aboard a private jet. The faint hum of the engines was the only sound that registered as I slowly tried to sit up, my head spinning. In my disoriented state, I stumbled and collapsed into someone’s lap.
I blinked, startled, and immediately pulled away, my face flushing red. Nikolai, his expression bemused, met my gaze.
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“Careful, Helena,” he said, his tone both teasing and concerned.
I took a moment to orient myself, my eyes scanning the interior of the plane. We were already high in the sky. I tried to steady myself, but my phone buzzed in my hand, snapping me back to reality. I glanced at the screen. Dozens of missed calls from Ryan, along with several messages from my father, made my stomach tighten with worry.
“My father must be really worried, I muttered to no one in particular.
Nikolai glanced over, his gaze steady. “Yes, he is waiting for you.”
I looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry,” he replied calmly. “I’ve
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explained everything to him. He was angry, but not at you. Right now, there’s no one who wants to destroy Ryan Quartz more than he does–and me.”
“Why you?” I asked, genuinely curious. Nikolai’s smile grew darker, and his fingers brushed over my cheek in a soft but deliberate motion.
“The woman I couldn’t even touch, no matter how much I tried, was treated like this. It makes me want to kill him,” he said, his voice dangerously low. His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promises.
I could see the vein in his temple throbbing, his anger barely contained.
“Don’t, I said quickly, a sense of urgency rising within me. I pulled out my phone and began typing, my fingers moving quickly
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across the screen. As I did, I felt his eyes on me, watching intently.
The message I sent was short, but every word felt like a final declaration:
**I regret ever knowing you. Congratulations to you and Catherine.**
Once the message was sent, I yanked the SIM card from my phone and crushed it between my fingers, throwing the remnants into the trash.
“I don’t know a man named Ryan Quartz anymore,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t kill him. He’s not worth it.”
Nikolai’s expression softened for a moment, his gaze growing unexpectedly gentle. I was taken aback, but his words were reassuring.
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“As you say, Helena.”
By the time the plane touched down in Italy, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the evening air was cool against my skin. As I stepped off the plane, flanked by Nikolai’s bodyguards, a long row of black cars stretched out before me. At the front of the line stood a couple–my parents.
I couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. My legs carried me toward them as my eyes filled with tears. I rushed into their arms, seeking comfort from the only people who had ever truly understood me.
“Mom! Dad!” I cried, burying my face in their embrace, unable to stop the tears that flowed freely.
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“Sir Alexander Durand, Madam Alexandria Durand, Nikolai said respectfully, his voice distant as he stood off to the side, watching.
My mother’s face softened when she saw me, and without another word, she took my hand and guided me to their estate. My father remained behind with Nikolai, no doubt to discuss matters that would require his attention.
Back at the estate, my mother made all my favorite dishes–food that had always comforted me during difficult times. I barely tasted the meal, my mind elsewhere, worn down by everything that had happened. The exhaustion weighed heavily on me, and soon, I found myself retreating to my room to sleep.
But as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, a ping from my phone caught my attention.
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It was an email, from Tony, my trusted aide in the mafia. Although he had always been loyal to the American Mafia, our five years of friendship had forged a bond that went beyond mere business. I opened the email, my heart racing in anticipation.
The subject line read: “The Mafia Regime Is In A Mess.””
I hesitated, then clicked on the first video attachment.
The footage was from the theater where Ryan and I had been earlier that day. It showed Ryan searching frantically for me after I had disappeared, his eyes scanning the crowd in panic. Then, he spotted something–our marital locket pendant. The camera zoomed in on it as Ryan picked it up, his hand shaking. The pendant opened to reveal the photo of us from our wedding day.
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It was something I had never taken off in all the years we had been married.
Ryan’s face went pale as he clutched the pendant tightly, his emotions spilling over. He trembled as he shouted at his bodyguards, demanding they find me.
The sight of him–so broken, so desperate- stirred something inside me, a strange mix of sadness and relief. Ryan might have been my husband once, but that man was now a ghost in my past.
The second video began to play, showing the diner I had visited the day before. It was a small, quiet spot near the theater. I watched as Ryan interrogated the owner, who seemed nervous and evasive. After a few moments of pressure, the owner admitted that he had found something unusual: a diamond ring in the trash. Ryan’s face twisted into a
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dangerous scowl, and I could almost hear the fury in his silence.
The third video was more chilling. It showed a scene in a private room, where only three people were present: Ryan, Catherine, and Tony. The footage was silent, so I couldn’t hear the conversation, but the contents of Tony’s hand were unmistakable–a divorce paper, something I recognized instantly.
Ryan’s expression darkened as Tony handed over the documents. Just as Tony did, Ryan’s phone buzzed. I could tell immediately–it was my message.
Ryan’s face went white as he read. His body seemed to stiffen, his gaze locked on the screen as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For what felt like an eternity, he remained frozen, unable to move. Then, without warning, he tore through the divorce
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papers, his hands shaking with barely contained rage.
When his fist slammed down onto the glass table, it shattered into a thousand pieces, sending shards flying. His hand bled, but he barely seemed to notice, consumed by his fury.
Catherine rushed to him, her face a mix of concern and confusion. She reached out to tend to his wound, but before she could touch him, Ryan swung around violently, shoving her away. She staggered back, her eyes wide with shock and hurt, unable to comprehend his reaction.
Ryan continued to pace, his body trembling with anger. I could feel the tension building even through the video. He shouted something at Tony–no doubt an order to leave–before Tony hastily exited the room.
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Moments later, Tony returned, holding my personal briefcase. It was the one that only Ryan and I knew the combination to, filled with documents and files that were deeply personal. Ryan snatched the case from Tony and dumped it onto the floor. Papers scattered everywhere.
I watched as he combed through the files, his movements erratic. Then, he found it. A black folder with my ultrasound inside. His fingers shook as he flipped through the contents. More ultrasounds followed, and then–my anniversary gift to him. The gift I had carefully stored in his wardrobe, waiting for a time we could share it. Now it was nothing but a painful reminder of what I had lost.
Ryan opened the small box inside. Three watches. A men’s, a women’s, and a tiny one
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for a child. It was my way of telling him that I was pregnant–before I miscarried. I had hoped to surprise him, but now that was all in the past. A symbol of what could have been.
Ryan stared at the watches, his eyes wide in disbelief. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Behind him, Catherine stood, her hands awkwardly placed on his shoulders, her expression one of discomfort, as if unsure of how to comfort him.
The video ended, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what came next. I had made my decision. I was leaving Ryan behind, just as I had promised myself. Nikolai Federico was waiting for me, and my life with Ryan
was over.
I leaned back, lost in my thoughts, when my mother’s voice suddenly echoed up from
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