Page 196 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"In terms of family background, I'm the eldest daughter of the Colonna family. Best education since childhood, fluent in three languages, grew up in high society, know how to talk, how to walk, how to do the right thing at the right time." She paused, corner of her mouth lifting. "And you? A poor girl living on charity. Your father in debt, your mother dead. The gap between us is huge."
"So what?" I asked.
"So I don't understand," a trace of confusion entered her voice. "I'm better than you in every way, stronger in every aspect. But he just won't see me. Five years. I stood in front of him, dressed beautifully, smiled at him, was good to him—but he looked at me the same way he'd look at a painting on the wall."
When she said this, her tone wasn't accusatory. More like stating a question she'd thought through countless times but could never answer.
"And you," she looked at me. "You left. You disappeared for five years. What did you do? What did you do for him? What makes you better than me? Why was I the one thrown out?"
After saying this, her chest heaved violently, eyes reddening, but tears didn't fall. She bit her teeth, as if using all her strength to maintain something about to shatter.
I looked at her.
Suddenly, something clicked in my mind.
She said "threw me out."
Not "he doesn't love me," not "he broke my heart," but "threw me out."
What she cared about wasn't losing him. It was the humiliationthat came with losing that position. Being thrown out itself, not who threw her out.
Looking at that face twisted slightly with anger, everything suddenly made sense.
She wasn't heartbroken over a man. She was furious over a deal gone bad.
"So what?" I asked. "You think it's unfair?"
"Fair?" She laughed, that smile carrying a condescending contempt. "Olivia, this world was never fair. I have better breeding than you, I'm prettier than you, more refined than you. I'm better than you in every way! But he chose you. This isn't about fair or unfair, this is—"
"This is about you feeling humiliated," I said.
Her smile froze for a moment.
"You spent five years using every trick. Got pregnant with his child, manufactured guilt, nailed yourself to his side. Thought if you were patient enough, endured enough, that position would eventually be yours. Then he kicked you out like kicking away a dog that wouldn't leave."
"You—"
"You're not angry he chose me," I interrupted, looking into her eyes. "You're angry he made you lose face in front of everyone. The eldest daughter of the Colonna family, outdone by a poor dancer, thrown out in front of the whole manor—that's what you can't swallow."
Her expression changed. That calm shell showed a thin crack.
"Who do you think you are?" Her voice dropped, carrying a dangerous chill. "How dare you lecture me?!"
I stared at her, took a step forward. Our distance closed.
"Bianca, you were raised to be a proper marriage tool. Learned three languages, not because you liked them, but because it meant you could sell for a better price. Grew up in high society, learning to read people, not because you're smart, but because you needed to know when to smile, when to bow. Everything you have—your refinement, your elegance, your composure—they're all things meant to be priced and sold."
Her lips trembled.
"You packaged yourself so perfectly, but you never knew one thing. A woman who can only gain status through a man, no matter how elegant or noble, she's just a vine clinging to someone else. Without that man, you're nothing."
"Shut up!"
"But I'm not," I said, voice not loud, but each word hammering in like a nail. "I have no family to lean on, no background to support me. Everything I've achieved, every penny I earned myself, every choice I made for myself. You can mock me for being poor, mock me for lacking refinement, but you can never deny one thing—"
I looked at her with pity. Her eyes reddened, but tears didn't fall.
"I don't need any man to define who I am. But you do. Without Ezio, without the Visconti family, what does being the Colonna eldest daughter matter? Don't you still have to find the next powerful person, repackage yourself, and sell yourself again?"
