Page 35 of Porcelain Lies

“Let’s be practical about this,” he continues, reaching for his wallet on the side table. “I can make this… unpleasantness go away. Name your price.”

I stare at the leather wallet in his manicured hands, remembering how proud he was when he bought it in Milan. How he made sure everyone knew it was custom-made, cost a ridiculous amount.

The sight of it now, of him casually offering to buy my acceptance like I’m just another business transaction, crystallizes everything wrong with our relationship.

My voice comes out steady, cold. “You think you can just throw money at this?”

“Money solves most problems,tesoro. And let’s be honest — you’re not exactly in a position to walk away from what I offer. Your salary from that children’s thing you do—”

Something snaps inside me. How dare he belittle my career? Just last night, a man with more power in his pinkie than Gianni could dream of was telling me how important my work is.

“Don’t!” I cut him off, waving a finger in his face. “Don’t you bring my work into this, you… youspoiledlittle man!”

I stride past him into the apartment, heading straight for the master bedroom. My overnight bag still sits in his closet, half-unpacked from our planned weekend getaway. The cashmere sweater he bought me in Rome lies crumpled on his bed — probably knocked aside whenshewas here.

“Tesoro, please. We can work this out.” Gianni trails behind me as I yank open drawers. “Think about what you’rethrowing away. The villa in Tuscany, the connections I’ve given you—”

I stuff my clothes into the bag, not bothering to fold them. My hand brushes something silky — the La Perla lingerie he insisted on buying. I leave it there. Let her have it. I hope she gets a fucking yeast infection.

“Filthy bitch,”says Boyana.

“The board position at the foundation is still yours,” he continues, his voice taking on that persuasive tone he uses in business deals. “And the summer house in Positano—”

The bathroom yields more treasures — my expensive face creams, makeup, the silver-plated hairbrush he gave me for Christmas. Into the bag they go.

“What about the ring?” His voice rises slightly. “That diamond is flawless. It’s worth a fortune.”

I pause at my jewelry box on his dresser. The sapphire tennis bracelet, the diamond earrings, the Cartier watch — all his attempts to mark me as his property. I close the lid, leaving them behind.

“Cara, be reasonable.” His footsteps quicken to keep up as I move through the apartment. “We can renegotiate terms. Maybe a bigger prenup settlement?”

The living room holds more evidence of my almost-life here — photos of us at the beach, my favorite throw blanket, books I’ll never read again. I gather only what’s truly mine, what I brought into this relationship.

My silence seems to unnerve him more than any words could. His offers grow more desperate with each step I take toward the door.

“The penthouse in Manhattan? It could be yours. Just yours. And the Swiss account I set up — I’ll double it.”

I zip my bag closed with trembling fingers, the sound cutting through Gianni’s endless stream of promises and bribes. The strap digs into my shoulder as I hoist it up, my muscles tight with anger.

“The yacht — I’ll sign it over to you today. And the summer house in—”

“Stop.” I whirl to face him, my free hand raised. “I don’t want your things. I don’t want your money. I don’t wantyou.”

His perfect features contort. The mask of charm slips, revealing something ugly underneath. His fingers catch my elbow as I turn toward the door.

“You’re making a mistake.” The silky persuasion in his voice hardens to steel. “Think about what you’re walking away from.”

I wrench my arm free. “I’d rather live in a cardboard box than spend another second pretending you’re a decent human being.”

“Cara, please—” He steps between me and the door, hands spread in supplication. “Let’s discuss this rationally. Like adults.”

“Don’t let him trap you,”Boyana whispers.“He’s trying to wear you down.”

I shoulder past him, my bag swinging against his chest. The door handle feels cool under my palm, grounding me. Behind me, Gianni’s voice rises, taking on an edge I’ve never heard before.

“You think you can just walk away? After everything I’ve invested in you? You’re nothing without me. A charity case playing at being important—”

The lock clicks open under my fingers. I step into the hallway, my heels sinking into plush carpet. Each step feels lighter than the last.

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