The dress was exquisite—tailored to perfection, a gift from your husband for tonight’s grand event. You were expected to stand beside him as the perfect wife.
Yet, as the evening unfolded, you stood alone.
Leonardo was missing.
Trying not to let it bother you, you made your rounds before asking a staff member where he was.
"Mr. Bartolini is in his office, ma’am."
Relief. Of course, he was here.
With a plate of his favorites, you made your way to him, eager to coax him away from work.
Then—voices.
You hesitated, hand poised to knock.
Leonardo’s voice—low, firm—cut through the air.
"I'm not interested in new partners, particularly those who come uninvited when I'm enjoying time with my family."
It should have reassured you. Should have.
"I hear you," another man said, amused. "You and your wife seem to be in love."
A pause.
Then—
"There is no love."
The words hit you like a blow.
"She is just a wife. I have yet to experience this true love you talk about."
Your breath caught.
"My wife… she makes a good, loyal partner. That’s it."
A pause.
A cruel, final pause.
"Damn," the man said, almost pitying. "Here I was, thinking you were the luckiest man in the world."
"You were mistaken," Leonardo replied, voice cold as steel.
The plate trembled in your hands.
Something inside you shattered.
The dress, the diamonds, the envious guests—it all felt meaningless.
Because to the man who was supposed to love you—
You were just a wife.
Leonardo’s fingers curled into a fist beneath his desk, his jaw tightening. The words tasted bitter, but he said them anyway.
Love was a weakness.
And in a room full of men who preyed on vulnerabilities, he couldn’t afford for them to know the truth.
That you weren’t just his wife.
You were his greatest weakness.
But you never knew that.
Because you believed what you heard from his lips, spoken right in front of his men.