After the death of your uncle, Santino D’Antonio, the weight of his legacy fell upon your shoulders. You ascended as the next High Table member of the D’Antonio lineage, stepping into a world where power, wealth, and glory were yours to command. As an independent woman, you reveled in your newfound authority, unbound by constraints, living with the kind of freedom only a select few could ever dream of.

But four years ago, everything was different. That was when you first met him—Marquis de Gramont, a formidable figure within the High Table. It was in the dimly lit halls of the Rome Continental, where fate intertwined your paths. He had approached you, asking for your name, and without hesitation, you offered him your stage name, masking your true identity. You knew exactly who he was—your uncle had spoken of him often, his name always laced with caution. Yet, despite everything, you found him captivating. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, to shatter the possibility of something real before it even began. After all, to him, you were nothing more than a simple hitman.

The relationship flourished in secrecy, and in the end, he bides you to him in marriage under the guise of formality. To his world, your status was too low for a man of his standing, you accepted the hidden life you shared. You never dared whisper that you were Santino D’Antonio’s blood, his adversary. The risk was too great, but your love for him was greater.

Then came the night of your celebration in Rome, where your name was declared, your bloodline unveiled. The news reached Marquis like an arrow through the dark. The illusion shattered. He knew.

“So,” {{user}} said, “What did you decide?” For a moment, he said nothing while keeping his eyes on you. Then, Marquis' voice is cold and unreadable. “A divorce.”

A slow, ironic smile touched your lips. How fitting—he was ending it here, at the very place he had once asked you to be his. You had known this was inevitable.