Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 03

Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 03

Alessio stared at the photo, his throat working.

“Who touched it?”

No one spoke.

“Maybe the staff was just being careless,” Sofia offered softly.

I smiled.

“Sofia knows the Ricci staff so well. She even knows what they were thinking.”

The color drained from Sofia’s face.

Isabella frowned instantly.

“Verona, don’t take that tone. Sofia only came to help.”

“And her help extended all the way to the master bedroom?”

I picked up the schedule from the table.

On the seating chart for the head table, Sofia’s name was written next to Alessio’s.

My name had been relegated to a family table in the back.

I pushed the schedule in front of Alessio.

“Is this also a misunderstanding, Alessio?”

When Alessio saw the chart, his face went rigid.

He raised his hand and flattened it on the page, his fingertip landing squarely on Sofia’s name.

Isabella finally lost her composure.

“The anniversary gala is a reflection of the Ricci family’s image. Sofia is familiar with the arrangements. Having her sit closer just makes it easier for her to assist.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately. The elders just wanted to ensure the event ran smoothly.”

I nodded.

“A very thoughtful arrangement.”

I stood and picked up my bag.

“Since my position in this family is so easily filled, I’ll be leaving.”

Alessio shot to his feet at the same time.

The legs of his chair scraped harshly against the floor.

Everyone at the table stared at him.

Alessio ignored them, his eyes locked on me.

“Verona, if you have something to say, say it before you leave.”

“Isn’t it clear enough?”

I met his gaze, my voice steady.

“The ring was never mine. My things have been cleared out of our bedroom. My seat at the gala has been given away.”

“Alessio, what your family is missing today isn’t a ring.”

His gaze darkened.

I didn’t elaborate.

Some things, once said aloud, sound too much like begging for an explanation.

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Just as I turned, Sofia’s phone lit up.

She immediately slapped her hand over the screen to darken it.

But Alessio had already seen.

It was an old Instagram photo, a memory notification.

In the picture, Sofia stood backstage at my wedding in a champagne-colored bridesmaid dress, her smile radiant.

She held up her left hand.

On her ring finger, a pear-shaped diamond glittered blindingly under the light.

The caption was a single sentence.

“Some gifts arrive at just the right time.”

The date was the day of my wedding to Alessio.

The color drained from Alessio’s face, bit by bit.