He sounded irritated, but there was something almost satisfied in his expression as he grabbed his coat and left. He didn’t even ask what he had signed.
I slowly opened the documents. He signed the divorce letter. He signed for my withdrawal from the Falcone Syndicate. I was finally walking out of his life and his last instructions were chores.
That’s right. In this house, everything was my responsibility. Not because he wanted a home—no. Because he wanted a maid. He said he didn’t need to hire staff since I existed. That was my role.
To him, I was just like my mother, who once served in my own birth family’s mansion. No matter how I dressed or carried myself, I would always be “the help.”
Even though I was born into one of the oldest founding syndicate in the country, my blood never counted. I was the only one born without the markers of power, and in this world, that made me a curse—a liability. My parents were the ones who suggested swapping me with their maid’s daughter. That girl was blessed with the right signs, the right blood. Born on the same day as me. The daughter they chose.
They always picked Dahlia.
And Reynold, my husband... chose her too.