Antonio's POV:

The silence in my world was deafening. After Isabella walked away from me, leaving nothing but the hollow echo of her absence, the days stretched on like a slow death. I thought I had known heartbreak before, had tasted loss in small, bitter doses. But nothing could have prepared me for this.

A week later:

The first week without her was unbearable. The initial shock kept me numb, unable to process the fact that she was truly gone. I spent most of my time in the empty rooms of the estate, surrounded by memories that haunted every corner. Each space held some trace of her—a soft laugh shared by the windows, her scent lingering on the pillows, her warmth woven into every inch of this place.

I couldn't escape her, no matter how hard I tried. Her ghost followed me everywhere. I stayed up late, nursing whiskey until dawn, hoping the burn of alcohol would somehow dull the ache. But it never did. Each sip only seemed to deepen the emptiness, sharpening the edges of my despair.

Sofia hovered in the background, a silent figure watching from afar. The sight of her filled me with a dark, simmering rage, but even that wasn't enough to fuel me. I barely spoke to anyone, barely ate. My life, once filled with purpose and drive, felt pointless. My mind was consumed with thoughts of Isabella. 

Where was she now? 

Did she think of me? 

Did she miss me, even a little?

The nights were the hardest. The bed felt too big, too empty without her by my side. I would reach for her in the darkness, only to find nothing but cold sheets. And each time, the loneliness grew deeper, carving its way into my bones.

A month later:

As the weeks slipped by, the numbness gave way to something darker—a relentless, gnawing despair that colored every moment. The days blurred together in an endless cycle of hollow routines. I went through the motions, handling business, meeting with the men, but my heart wasn't in it. My focus was gone, my thoughts always drifting back to her.

I'd catch myself staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over her number, wondering if I should call. But I knew better. She had made her choice. She needed space, needed time, and I had to respect that, even if it tore me apart. But the temptation was always there, gnawing at the edges of my mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, she was waiting for me to reach out.

The nights became unbearable, filled with dreams that left me shattered. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, her name on my lips, only to find myself alone in the dark. The pain was relentless, a constant reminder of what I had lost. And with each passing day, the realization sank in deeper: she might never come back.

Three months later:

By the third month, the anger set in. I was angry at her, angry at myself, and furious with Sofia. She had stolen everything from me, manipulated Isabella, poisoned her mind against me. And I had let it happen. I had been too blind, too careless, to see what was right in front of me.

The anger gave me a new kind of energy, one that fueled me in ways the grief never could. I threw myself into work, taking on every task, every deal, as though I could somehow bury my pain beneath the weight of responsibility. I worked late into the night, often falling asleep at my desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork and empty glasses.

I became harsher, colder, a version of myself that I barely recognized. I was relentless, pushing my men harder, driving myself to exhaustion in a desperate attempt to keep the memories at bay. But no matter how hard I tried, she was always there, lingering in the corners of my mind, a ghost that refused to leave.

Every once in a while, I would hear her laugh in the silence, a soft, haunting echo that made my heart twist. I would close my eyes and imagine her standing beside me, her hand on my shoulder, her warmth chasing away the darkness. But it was only an illusion, a cruel trick of my mind that left me feeling emptier than before.

Six months later:

Six months passed, and the world had moved on, but I hadn't. The anger had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache that felt like it would never heal. I had come to accept the reality that she was gone, that I might never see her again. But the pain was still there, buried deep, a part of me now, woven into the very fabric of my being.

Life became a routine, a series of empty moments strung together by the faint hope that one day, the pain would lessen. I kept going, kept moving forward, but it felt like I was only going through the motions. Nothing mattered anymore, not really. Without her, everything felt dull, colorless.

I rarely smiled, rarely laughed. The men noticed the change, but no one dared to mention it. I had become a ghost of myself, a shadow of the man I used to be. I didn't care about the power, the money, the respect—all the things that had once defined me. None of it mattered without her.

But in the quiet moments, when the world fell away and I was left alone with my thoughts, I still found myself wondering. Wondering if she was happy, if she had found peace. Wondering if, somewhere out there, she thought of me too.

And in those moments, I would close my eyes and imagine her face, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. And for just a brief, fleeting second, it felt like she was still with me, like she had never left. But then the moment would pass, and I would be left with nothing but the emptiness.

Six months, and she was still the only thing that mattered.

Six months, and I still couldn't let her go.

Isabella's POV:

It's strange how pain transforms over time, how it softens and morphs, no longer a sharp edge but a dull ache that finds a home in the background. Each day since I left Antonio has been a study in healing, in rediscovering the pieces of myself that had felt so lost, so bound to him. At first, it was agonizing. The emptiness. The lack of him in my life. But eventually, that emptiness began to feel more like space—room to breathe, to grow, to remember who I was before him.

A month later:

I hadn't known what to expect, moving back to my father's estate. I felt like a ghost in my own life, drifting through rooms that held echoes of my past. The staff tiptoed around me, as though afraid that any sudden movement might break me, and honestly, I wasn't sure it wouldn't. I spent most of my days hiding, retreating to my room, unwilling to let anyone see the raw edges of my grief.

But as the days passed, a sense of restlessness settled over me, like an itch I couldn't quite scratch. I began spending more time outside, walking through the gardens, letting the fresh air fill my lungs and clear my mind. At first, it was only a few minutes here and there, but soon I found myself wandering further, exploring the estate grounds with a curiosity I hadn't felt in years. It was as though I were seeing everything through new eyes, noticing details I had once overlooked.

One morning, I found myself by the lake on the edge of the property. It was a place I had visited often as a child, a small haven where I used to sit and dream of escaping, of carving out a life beyond the confines of my family's legacy. Sitting by the water, I felt a strange sense of peace, as though that young girl was still somewhere inside me, waiting to be found.

I began bringing a journal with me on my walks, filling the pages with thoughts and memories, letting my mind unravel in a way that felt cathartic, freeing. Writing became my outlet, my way of processing everything I had been through. I wrote about Antonio, about the love and the heartbreak, the betrayal and the pain. But I also wrote about myself, about who I wanted to be, about the parts of me that had gotten lost in the chaos. It felt like a reclaiming of sorts, a way of taking back control over my life, over my identity.

The pain was still there, but it didn't consume me as it once had. 

Slowly, I was finding my way back to myself, piece by piece.

Two month later:

By the third month, I had settled into a routine. It was simple, nothing like the life I had led with Antonio, but it was mine. I would wake up early, go for a run around the estate, letting the steady rhythm of my feet on the ground clear my mind. It was a new habit, one I had started almost by accident, but it became a ritual, a way of grounding myself each day.

My father noticed the change in me, the way I had started to regain my strength, my independence. At first, he had kept his distance, giving me the space I needed to heal. But as the weeks passed, he began inviting me to join him in meetings, to sit in on discussions about the family business. It was his way of reaching out, of reminding me that I had a place here, a purpose.

I hesitated at first, unsure if I was ready to step back into that world. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe this was exactly what I needed. I had spent so long trying to escape my family, to distance myself from the Russo legacy. But now, it felt like an opportunity—not to be controlled by it, but to shape it in a way that aligned with who I was becoming.

I started small, taking on minor responsibilities, learning the ins and outs of the business from my father and his advisors. It was daunting, yes, but also exhilarating. I was reclaiming a part of myself that I had once rejected, embracing the strength and resilience that came with being a Russo.

And in doing so, I felt a newfound sense of power, a confidence that I hadn't felt in years. I was no longer defined by my relationship with Antonio, no longer just his lover, his partner. 

I was Isabella Russo, and I was beginning to understand what that meant.

Four Months later:

By the time six months had passed, the ache in my heart had dulled, a faded scar rather than an open wound. The memories of Antonio were still there, woven into the fabric of my being, but they no longer held the same power over me. I could think of him without falling apart, could remember the good times without drowning in regret.

I had grown in ways I hadn't thought possible. My work with the family business had become a source of purpose, a way of channeling my energy into something productive, something meaningful. I had taken on more responsibilities, earning the respect of the men who had once seen me only as Giovanni Russo's daughter. 

I was proving myself, not just to them, but to myself.

One afternoon, I found myself in my father's office, reviewing a stack of documents that had come in from one of our business partners. My father had entrusted me with this project, a significant deal that could shape the future of our operations. It was a test, one that I was determined to pass.

As I sat there, poring over the details, I felt a sense of satisfaction, a quiet pride in what I had accomplished. I was no longer the fragile, broken woman who had walked through those doors six months ago. I was stronger now, more resilient, and I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, I could face them.

My father walked into the room, watching me with a look of approval that he rarely showed. "You've done well, Isabella," he said, his voice filled with a quiet respect. "I'm proud of you."

The words warmed something inside me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing the work that felt right, that felt true to who I was.

As I left the office that evening, I took a moment to reflect on everything that had brought me to this point. The pain, the heartbreak, the struggle—it had all led me here, to a place of strength and self-assurance that I hadn't known I was capable of. 

I had grown, not just despite the challenges, but because of them.

And though I knew there would always be a part of me that would love Antonio, a part of me that would remember the man who had once held my heart, I was no longer bound to him. I was free, in a way I had never been before.

As I walked through the estate, the evening air cool against my skin, I felt a sense of hope, a quiet excitement for the future. There was still so much ahead of me, so much to discover, and for the first time in a long time, 

I was ready to embrace it.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter !

Things are going to get spicy ;)