Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 02

Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 02

Sofia’s eyes flickered toward it—a quick, furtive glance she immediately retracted.

Alessio, however, remained motionless.

He sat ramrod straight, cufflinks perfectly aligned, his entire body rigid.

But his hand had tightened on his cup, knuckles turning white.

Isabella stared at the cheap ring, the first crack appearing in her perfect composure.

“What do you mean? You wore something like this to Ricci family galas?”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“The Ricci charity dinner the year before last, Grandfather’s birthday banquet last year, and Sofia’s welcome-home dinner at the start of this year. I wore it every time.”

I paused.

“No one noticed.”

A wave of discomfort rippled down both sides of the long table.

The Riccis were obsessed with their public image.

For the wife of Alessio Ricci to have worn a $29.99 ring to dozens of functions without anyone noticing… it could only mean one thing.

They had never really seen me at all.

They just needed a placeholder. Someone to sit quietly and not cause any trouble.

Alessio finally spoke.

“Verona.”

His voice was low.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He asked it so softly, as if he genuinely couldn’t comprehend it.

The sound was so absurd I almost laughed.

“Alessio, I sent you a message the morning after the wedding.”

Alessio frowned.

I opened my phone, scrolled back two years, and slid it across the table to him.

At 7:42 a.m., I had asked him:

“Is the ring with you?”

Five hours later, he replied with a single word.

“Busy.”

Below it was a screenshot of a wire transfer.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

The memo line contained one word.

“Expenses.”

Alessio stared at the screen, his face slowly darkening.

Marta coughed delicately.

“Alessio had just taken over the overseas project. It was normal for him to be busy.”

“Verona, you can’t use that as proof he didn’t give you the ring.”

Isabella jumped in.

“Exactly. For all we know, you lost it yourself.”

“Now that Sofia is back, you’re feeling insecure, so you’re using this to embarrass Alessio.”

Sofia feigned a gasp, waving her hands dismissively.

“Isabella, please don’t say that. Verona might have just misunderstood.”

Her voice was a soft murmur.

“I only came today to help you review the gala schedule. I shouldn’t get involved in anything between Alessio and Verona.”

By the time she finished, her eyes were already welling with tears.

The expressions of the Riccis around the table softened.

Isabella patted her hand.

“You’re always so considerate.”

Alessio tore his gaze from my phone and let it fall on Sofia.

She looked up at him, her voice a breathy whisper. “Alessio.”

I took my phone back.

“Since the Ricci family has made it clear I shouldn’t be wearing a ring, perhaps this is the perfect time to clear the air.”

I took a folded sheet of paper from my bag.

“I’ve made a list of my things. I won’t take a single item from the apartment that belongs to the Ricci family.”

“I’ll have my personal belongings collected tonight.”

Alessio lifted his head.

His cup made a soft clink against the saucer.

“Who told you to move?”

“Mrs. Ricci.”

I looked at Isabella.

“She had the butler inform me this morning that the master bedroom needed to be cleared out by tonight.”

“She said the room had to be reorganized for the anniversary gala.”

Alessio’s head snapped toward her.

Isabella’s expression faltered.

“I just told them to clean. I don’t know why you’d interpret that as an order to move out.”

“The walk-in closet has been emptied. My things on the vanity have been boxed up. Even the melatonin I keep on my nightstand was moved to the guest room.”

I placed a photo on the table.

In the picture, my suitcase had already been pushed into the hallway by a member of the staff.

“Mrs. Ricci, cleaning a room doesn’t typically involve turning my wedding photo facedown on the floor.”

Alessio picked up the photo.

His hand visibly froze.

The photo he held was the only decent one we had together.

Alessio stood ramrod straight, unsmiling.

I leaned against him, holding a bouquet of white roses.

He had rushed over from the office on the day of the shoot and stayed for all of twenty minutes.

When the photographer asked him to move a little closer, he’d frowned.

I was still young then. I thought a marriage would slowly get better with time.

So I put that photo on my nightstand.

And there it stayed for two years.