Page 26 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
“She’s my wife—”
“Who left, signore. Of her own free will.”
The implication hangs between us. That I drove her away. That this is my fault.
“Where. Is. She.”
A long pause. “With Adriano. Your lawyer friend. His wife is taking care of her.”
Ah.
I trust Adriano and Shayla. She really is safe then. But why doesn’t that feel enough?
“How long has she been there?”
“Since that first night,signore. She needed somewhere safe to go.”
Because I threw her out.
I end the call without another word.
Day Five.
The investigator I hire confirms it. She’s been at Adriano’s villa this entire time. Playing victim. Turning my friends against me. Making me look like some kind of monster who drove his perfect wife away.
The narrative writes itself. Poor Sienah, married to the heartless champion who wouldn’t say he loved her. Such a tragedy. Such a waste.
I bet she cries pretty tears on Shayla’s shoulder. I bet she tells them how hard she tried, how long she waited, how much she gave up.
Does she mention the cars? The jewels? The life of luxury I provided?
Does she mention ten years of fidelity when I could have anyone?
Does she mention the hours I spent between her thighs, making her scream my name?
Of course not. That doesn’t fit her victim narrative.
The rage builds with each passing hour. She wants to paint me as the villain? She wants to destroy what we built over three words?
So be it.
Day Six.
I see it clearly now. The manipulation. The emotional blackmail. Ten years of playing the perfect wife, all building to this moment. This ultimatum.
Say you love me or lose me.
She overplayed her hand.
I don’t respond to ultimatums. I don’t negotiate with emotional terrorists. And I certainly don’t chase after women who think they can control me with theatrical exits.
If she wants to leave, let her leave.
If she wants to play victim, let her play.
But she’ll learn what it means to cross me. What it means to humiliate me in front of my city, my friends, my family.
Day Seven.
