Chapter 3

Serafina

Walking back into the Verrelli estate feels like entering my own funeral. Except I’m still breathing, which honestly makes it worse.

“Anastasia, bella!” Viviana practically launches herself at the Russian princess, arms wide like she’s greeting her long-lost daughter. “Welcome to the family!”

I’m standing right fucking there. Three years of marriage, and I got a handshake and a lecture about posture on my first day.

“Thank you, Mrs. Verrelli,” Anastasia purrs, accepting the embrace like she deserves it. “Your home is magnificent.”

“Our home,” Viviana corrects, shooting me a look that could cut glass. “Serafina, take Anastasia’s coat.”

Take her coat. Like I’m the fucking help.

“I’ll get it,” Matteo says, stepping in before I can tell his mother exactly where she can stick that coat.

Small miracle. My husband defending me for approximately thirty seconds.

“Nonsense,” Bianca appears from nowhere, all fake smiles and predatory energy. “Sera doesn’t mind. Do you, sister?”

Sister. The word tastes like poison.

“Of course not,” I lie, taking Anastasia’s designer coat. It probably costs more than most people’s rent.

“Such a good sport,” Anastasia says, patting my cheek like I’m a pet. “I can already tell we’re going to be the best of friends.”

Friends. Right. Because nothing says friendship like fucking your friend’s husband.

Viviana links arms with Anastasia, leading her toward the sitting room. “Tell me everything about your family. The Ruffos are such a distinguished line.”

Distinguished. When they found out about my family, Viviana spent six months making jokes about my father’s plumbing business.

“Well,” Anastasia settles onto the good sofa—the one I’m not allowed to sit on because it’s “for special occasions”—“my great-grandfather was an advisor to the Don.”

“Fascinating!” Viviana claps her hands together. “Bianca, get the good wine. The Barolo.”

The good wine. For three years, I got the house white that tastes like disappointment.

“I’ll help,” I start to say.

“No need,” Bianca waves me off. “You just… stand there.”

Stand there. Like furniture. Got it.

Matteo’s phone buzzes. “I have to take this. Business call.”

And there it is. My thirty seconds of protection, gone.

The second he leaves the room, the temperature drops about twenty degrees.

“So,” Viviana turns to me, smile sharpening, “I trust you understand your new position in this household?”

“Crystal clear,” I mutter.

“Good. Because things are going to change around here.” She gestures to Anastasia like she’s presenting a prize. “Anastasia will be taking the master suite, obviously.”

Obviously. Because why would the actual wife get the master bedroom?

“Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?”

“The blue room should be perfectly adequate,” Viviana says. “It has a lovely view of the garden.”

The blue room. Also known as the smallest bedroom in the house, the one we use for storage.

“How cozy,” Anastasia adds, not even trying to hide her smirk. “Like a little servant’s quarters.”

“I’m not a servant.”

“Of course not,” Bianca returns with the wine, pouring generous glasses for everyone except me. “You’re family. Just… different family.”

Different family. Lower family. Disposable family.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Anastasia sips her wine, “but I’ve already ordered new linens for the master suite. Silk, from Italy. I prefer a softer touch.”

She’s talking about my bed. My sheets. My room.

“And I’ll need the walk-in closet cleared out,” she continues. “I have quite a bit more clothing than… well, than what’s currently in there.”

My clothes. She wants my clothes gone.

“This is insane,” I say.

“What’s insane,” Viviana’s voice goes ice-cold, “is thinking you could hold onto something that was never really yours.”

“I’m his wife.”

“You’re his first wife,” Anastasia corrects. “Past tense. I’m his future.”

Before I can respond, she stands and walks over to me, close enough that I can smell her expensive perfume.

“And speaking of the future,” she leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, “I’ll be joining Matteo in bed tonight. Just thought you should know.”

The words hit like a physical blow. “What?”

“Well, we can’t exactly waste time, can we? The family needs an heir, and I intend to deliver.” Her smile is pure venom. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep the noise down. Wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep in your little blue room.”

My hands are shaking. Actually shaking with rage.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m practical,” she says, returning to her seat. “Something you never learned.”

Viviana nods approvingly. “Finally, a woman who understands her duties.”

Duties. Like being a broodmare is some kind of honor.

“I think,” Anastasia says, settling back into my spot on the sofa, “this arrangement is going to work out beautifully. For everyone who matters.”

Everyone who matters. Message received.

I’m not even a person anymore. I’m just an obstacle they’re tolerating until they figure out how to get rid of me completely.