Page 44 of Dark Mafia Vows

“Shut up!” I retort aloud, pushing that memory back into the dark, forgotten recesses of my mind.

The past three days have followed the same tedious routine—waking up, showering, having breakfast delivered to my room, meeting with the wedding planner, having lunch, napping until dinner time, and then either watching a movie or playing games on my phone.

Rinse and fucking repeat.

I didn’t have many friends. The ones I did have were mostly for social events—school, extended family functions (which Lorenzo and I haven’t really kept up with since our parents passed), and the occasional acquaintances from social media groups and mutual connections.

Being part of high society meant I wasn’t allowed to go out much, invite friends over, or have casual meet-ups.

It was difficult to maintain friendships when those who tried to get close were assessed for their family background and their future inheritance. The friends I did make under such conditions were often snobs with communication issues, flaunting their wealth to solve every problem.

I couldn’t deal with it, so I became more of a loner.

Today, I want to do something different. Maybe I’ll take a swim in the lavish pool out back, or perhaps I’ll go shopping—not for the wedding, but for myself. After all, there’s no rule that says I can’t leave the house. Besides, it’s high time I take advantage of the unlimited card Dario left me three days ago before he completely vanished.

As I sit up, my eyes are drawn to the bedside table, and a breath leaves my lips when I spot it—an engagement ring, glinting like a betrayal under the streak of sunlight. Beside it, I see a white piece of paper. I bring it up to read the two words written on it.

Wear it.

Anger wells up inside me.His actions shouldn’t shock me, given how despicable he is. But I can’t help but be furious. How rude of him to leave the ring like this, without even a word in person. I know our engagement is arranged, and we’re not truly in love. Heck, I don’t expect him to get down on one knee and slip the ring onto my finger. But after everything that happened between us, I expected at least a proper acknowledgment.

One thing I should remind myself consistently is to never have any expectations when it comes to Dario.

I pick up the ring, feeling its weight in my palm as I swallow thickly. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. The band is crafted from lustrous gold, intricately woven into an elegant design. It’s a far cry from any conventional engagement ring.

But it’s the stone that captures my breath. It’s a stunning shade of diamond, swirling with rich browns and hints of green that shimmer under the soft sunlight. Each movement catches the light, and the gem seems to glow from within, casting a warm hue that dances across my skin.

A part of me wants to put it on to see how it would look on my finger. But another part of me recoils the thought. Wearing this ring would mean embracing this facade. I don’t want to be a pawn in Dario’s little game.

Yet, as I sit there, I can’t help but wish things were different. That night in the kitchen, with the heat of our argument turning into unrestrained passion. I close my eyes, recalling the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, touched me as if I was the only woman in the world, the way he carried me to his room and put me to bed.

And the way he disappeared the next morning,my inner voice reminds me dryly.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

Dario has been avoiding me since then, and maybe that’s for the best. I left his room and avoided being anywhere that I could mistakenly bump into him, even though I know he hasn’t been home for three days.

I’ve also been planning our wedding, and it has kept me a bit busy, but it feels more as if I’m organizing a show for an audience. He’s hired the best planner, making arrangements as if this isn’t all a sham. I sigh, pushing the ring aside.

Earlier, I decided to do something different today. I’ll start by having breakfast in the dining room instead of my room. After a shower, I slip into a fitted white tank top that hugs my skin and a pair of denim shorts with frayed edges. I want to look good, not for him, but because I want to feel good for the rest of the day.

Okay, that’s a lie. With the ring he left beside my bed, I suspect Dario came back late last night. I’m dressed like this in the hopes that I’ll see him, that I’ll make it impossible for him to pretend I don’t exist.

As I head downstairs, a rebellious spark ignites within me.

“Ginny,” Rosa greets with a pleasant gasp as she sees me enter the kitchen. I return her smile with a genuine one, and when I offer to help her make breakfast, she tells me it’s already done.

I insist on serving myself, and after a bit of back-and-forth, she shakes her head and heads toward the exit.

“Is Dario home?” I ask her before she leaves.

A knowing glint appears in her eyes as she turns to look at me.

“Yes, he is, thankfully. I wonder why that boy insists on putting his work above everything else? What man leaves his beautiful fiancée alone at home for three days?” She tuts in disapproval.

From the way she speaks about Dario, it’s clear they have a long history, and she’s like a mother figure to him.

“So terrible of him,” I mutter, feigning anger.

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