He Called Me Ugly. I Became His Biggest Regret. Chapter 09
The gala results came in.
I had performed far beyond anyone’s expectations.
The Commission’s assessment of me was outstanding.
Alliance offers I’d once thought untouchable — now within my grasp. A complete breakthrough.
I felt a surge of gratitude toward my past self — the girl in the common hall who’d swallowed her rage, who’d chosen to walk away and prepare instead of charge, who’d walked into the most important night of her life at peak form. If that night had crumbled — nothing before it would have mattered.
We cried together — me, my mom, my dad. My grandparents wiped their eyes in the corner.
Joy. Pure joy.
A few days later. My mother got a call from Don Emilio DeLuca — Marco’s father.
I asked her to keep my results private. Even through all his warmest inquiries — nothing leaked.
Finally, he reached the real reason he’d called: “I hear from Marco that Lucia’s situation isn’t ideal either.
We’re sending Marco upstate for a period of… rehabilitation.
A fresh start.
Would your daughter perhaps like to join? They’ve grown up together — it would be good for them to have each other.”
My mother declined. Firmly. Politely. Completely. “My Lucia’s situation is nowhere near needing rehabilitation. If your son needs to go — I suggest you make arrangements quickly. Good placements are hard to find.”
Don Emilio hung up, stunned.
I let out a quiet breath.
Marco’s total collapse — it wasn’t because anyone sabotaged him.
It was purely the result of his own choices.
My briefing notes — the ones I’d prepared for him, staying up late, making his copy first — had laid out every key point clearly. He’d never read them. He’d given them straight to Valentina.
Fate has a sense of humor. It can bring you together. And it can pull you apart.
That autumn. I started at Columbia.
Manhattan in autumn is crisp and golden.
I walked through the campus gates with my orange hair and my hard-won clarity.
The city opened up in front of me — like a promise.
I won a scholarship.
Collected awards.
Met someone who made my heart beat differently.
Adrian Castellano. Eldest son of the Castellano Family — one of the Five Families.
Old money. Old power. Sharp. Composed.
He didn’t need to tear anyone down to feel tall.
He kept no backup woman in his orbit. When I spoke, he listened — genuinely listened, not the patient-condescension act.
He first noticed me in an international finance seminar.
I made a point about cross-border Family business structures. He turned in his seat to look at me.
One evening.
A bench overlooking the Hudson.
The river glittering. He said: “You are the most interesting person I’ve ever met. And I don’t mean ‘for a consigliere’s daughter.’ I mean you. The way you think. How your mind works. Everything about you. You, Lucia Bianchi.”
I kissed him first.