He Married Her for a Game, So I Disappeared Chapter 07

He Married Her for a Game, So I Disappeared Chapter 07

Vincenzo had to clean up the mess Seraphina had made first.

He went back to the Manhattan apartment. Seraphina was there, sitting on the couch, watching TV. She had made herself at home.

When she saw Vincenzo, she stood up, smiling. “Vincenzo! You’re home! I was worried about you. You’ve been working so hard—”

“Pack your things,” Vincenzo said, cutting her off. His voice was cold and emotionless.

Seraphina’s smile faded. “What?”

“I said pack your things. You’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Where am I going?” She started to cry. “Vincenzo, what did I do? I’m sorry if I did something wrong. Please don’t send me away. Luca would never have wanted—”

“Don’t you dare say Luca’s name.” Vincenzo’s voice rose. “You have no right to say his name. He would be ashamed of you.”

He threw the manila folder on the coffee table. The contents spilled out. Seraphina stared at the bank statements and text messages, her face turning white.

“I kept my promise to Luca,” Vincenzo said. “I took care of you for three years. I gave you everything you wanted. But you lied to me. You made me hurt the only woman I have ever loved.”

He pulled out a checkbook and wrote a check for five million dollars. He slid it across the table to her.

“This is enough money for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Buy a house. Start a business. Do whatever you want. But if I ever see you in New York again, or if I ever hear that you have tried to contact Elena, I will make sure you regret it. Do you understand?”

Seraphina stared at the check, then at Vincenzo. She knew he meant every word.

“You can’t do this to me,” she whispered. “I’m carrying your baby.”

Vincenzo laughed. It was a cold, bitter sound.

“No, you’re not. I called the doctor. He told me you paid him fifty thousand dollars to fake the pregnancy test. I also know about the man you were seeing in the Hamptons. The married one.”

Seraphina’s face crumpled. She started to scream, throwing things at him. The TV. The coffee table. The vase of flowers.

Vincenzo did not move. He just stood there, watching her. His eyes were empty, as if he were looking at a stranger rather than the woman he had wasted three years of his life on. He felt nothing—not anger, not pity, just a hollow, aching emptiness where his heart used to be. Every scream, every broken object, only served to remind him how thoroughly he had been fooled.

When she finally collapsed on the floor, sobbing, he said, “I will have my men drive you to the airport. You have one hour to pack.”

He turned and walked out of the apartment. He never looked back.

That night, he sat in his private plane and looked at the only photo he had of me.

It was taken at our engagement party. I was wearing a blue dress, smiling at him. He had his arm around my waist.

He had never told me how beautiful I looked that night. He had never told me how much he loved me. He had been too busy playing the tough Don, too busy hiding his feelings behind a wall of arrogance and indifference.

He had taken everything for granted.

And now, he was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to me.

He did not know if I would see him. He did not know if I would forgive him.

But he had to try.