Blurb：
Bianca sacrificed everything for Marcello and their family—only to be treated like a servant on her 48th birthday. When Enzo and Nico mock her appearance and Antonio demands she wash his clothes, Marcello dismisses her dream of the cruise he once promised. Compared to perfect Vivienne, Bianca is invisible. But every woman has her breaking point. This emotional story explores marriage, betrayal, and one woman's quest to reclaim the life stolen from her. Will Bianca remain Marcello's silent wife or finally demand what she's owed?Content：
I never asked for diamonds. Never wished for bouquets. I wanted only one thing. One promise. One single, damn promise.A cruise.
Marcello had whispered it once, back when his soul still felt alive. “One day,” he murmured into my hair, “when we’re rich… just the two of us, we’ll sail the world together.”
That was before the empire, before the money, before I became his wife in title but his servant in practice.
Now it was my forty-eighth birthday. No greetings. No balloons. No cake. No flickering candles. Yet, somehow, I had allowed myself the tiniest hope that maybe—just maybe—today could be different.
The twins’ laughter echoed behind me, my grandchildren unbothered by any sense of respect.
“Ma, you look like some skeleton in a dusty gown,” Enzo teased, smirking.
“Yeah, smells like old mop water mixed with cat piss,” Nico added, wrinkling his nose.
And Antonio, leaning against the fridge, hollered over their laughter: “Hey, Ma! Wash my clothes, alright? My wife’s busy. And make sure you bleach the whites this time, unless you want another disaster!”
I swallowed, trying to keep the rising heat from my chest from spilling into my voice. “I’m not your maid.”
“What was that?” he barked.
“I said I’m not—”
He slammed a half-empty soda can onto the floor. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Because you sure as hell aren’t contributing! You don’t earn a dime.”
My blood boiled. “I raised you. Fed you. Stayed awake when you burned with fevers. I’ve worked since before you were even born.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve worked on smelling better,” one of the twins shot back.
“Yeah,” Nico laughed, “it’s horrifying seeing you. People at school said you scare them, like some extra from The Walking Dead.”
Their laughter bounced around the kitchen. Marcello didn’t even look at me. He returned to polishing his pistol on the mantel, examining it as though it mattered more than I ever did.
“We’ve got money, Bianca,” he muttered. “But I’m not wasting it on useless help. You’re here. You’ve got two hands. Why hire a maid when you’re the so-called woman of the house?”
“The woman of the house.” His title for me. Yet I had nothing—no car, no credit card, no independence. Every cent I needed, I had to beg for. And asking for more? He demanded receipts. Line by line. Penny by penny.
I spoke up after dinner. He was still seated in the same chair, pistol in hand, the TV flickering with an old Western no one cared about. My chest tightened with nervous rhythm.
“Do you remember what you promised me… on my eighteenth birthday?” I asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t glance at me. “Which promise?”
“That we’d travel together. You said that after the business stabilized, once our son was grown, we’d go on a cruise. Just us.”
“You’re insane,” Marcello scoffed, dark laughter threading his words. “A cruise? Look at yourself. You’re like a stick of dry bamboo—one gust of wind and you’d snap. You think the captain’s gonna roll out a red carpet for you? Bianca, he’d probably assume you’re bringing some walking bacteria aboard.”
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