CHAPTER 2

As the taxi pulled away from the mansion, I let the tears come that I'd held back for so long. All the stress and heartbreak of the past hours came pouring out of me in gut-wrenching sobs. I was finally free to mourn the loss of the life and identity I'd clung to for three years. 

My mind drifted back to happier times when Nathan and I were carefree college students. I saw him on the rugby pitch, his powerful form weaving effortlessly between opponents. Even then he had a swaggering charisma that drew people to him. Drawn to his confidence and charm, I'd eagerly accepted when he asked me out after a game. 

It was the first real act of rebellion against my father's expectations. Aldo De Rossi wanted me safely tucked away, continuing my studies without distraction. But Nathan made me feel alive and passionate in a way I never had before. For a while I let myself get swept up in the fantasy, pretending we could live a normal life together after graduation.

Of course, it all came crashing down when my father found out. I'd never seen him so furious as when he confronted me, demanding I cease this ridiculous farce at once. How could I ever think to marry below my station and sully the De Rossi name? I was destined for greater things than being the trophy wife of some wealthy socialite. 

But I'd been in too deep, blinded by infatuation to heed his warnings. So my father issued an ultimatum - end things with Nathan immediately, or be cut off from the family fortune without a cent to my name. Faced with losing the life I'd known or the man I loved, I made my choice. Looking back, I saw the disappointment in my father's eyes, wishing I'd listened to his wisdom.

In my final conversation with him before the wedding, he'd taken my hands gently. "Do not say I did not try to protect you, my dear. But if this is the path you insist on walking, you have my blessing. Just promise me that if it all goes wrong, you will come straight back here. You will assume your rightful place at my side as Agatha De Rossi once more."

At the time I'd stubbornly refused to consider the possibility of failure. But as the taxi sped me towards my childhood home once more, I knew my father had been right all along. Nathan had never seen me as an equal - I was merely a pretty status symbol to show off, with no real value or purpose of my own. The realization left me hollow inside.

By the time we pulled through the gates, my tears had run dry, leaving only bitter resignation. I walked slowly up to the intimidating doors, suddenly feeling very small and lost without Nathan's wealthy world surrounding me. But I had promised my father, so I raised my fist and knocked firmly, bracing myself to face whatever awaited on the other side of my old life.

The doors swung open to reveal Bianca, our elderly maid. Her usual stern expression melted into a motherly smile at the sight of me. "Miss Agatha, welcome home. Your father will be overjoyed you have returned at last." Without another word, she enfolded me in a comforting hug, and I broke down sobbing once more, finally finding solace in a familiar embrace. 

After so long rejecting my heritage, it felt both strange and reassuring to be called Miss Agatha once more. Bianca helped me to my room as I wept, soothing me with gentle assurances that I was safe now. When at last my tears had run their course, I splashed cool water on my face and gazed at my reflection in the ornate mirror. This was it - Agatha De Rossi had risen from the ashes, ready to reclaim her birthright.

Just then a knock came at the door, and my father stepped through, looking more unsure than I'd ever seen him. "Agatha..." he began hesitantly, then seemed to think better of whatever apology or reproach he'd prepared. Instead, he opened his arms, and I ran into them like a scared child, clinging to the one constant in my unstable world. 

"You were right, Father. I should have listened," I choked out against his chest. He held me tighter, kissing the top of my head tenderly. "The past is the past, my child. All that matters now is that you are safe and home where you belong. No man will ever undermine your worth again, I promise you that."

At that moment, sheltered in the protective embrace of the one man who truly understood me, I knew this painful chapter of my life had finally drawn to a close. My identity as Agatha De Rossi was reawakening stronger than ever before. And this time, I would not allow anyone to define my value but myself.

In the days after returning home, I focused on healing emotionally. Father ensured I had the best care, allowing me time to process my tumultuous emotions. His support was like a balm to my battered soul. 

My days fell into a gentle routine. Mornings were spent in quiet reflection, journaling my thoughts and memories. Afternoons I'd walk the expansive grounds, taking solace in nature's calm beauty. By twilight, exhaustion allowed dreamless sleep, a reprieve from restless nights plagued by "what ifs".

Though sadness lingered, speaking with Father brought catharsis. His patience and wisdom soothed wounds I thought permanent. Over tea he regaled tales of Mother's radiant spirit, keeping her memory alive. Her strength of character reminded me there were greater things ahead should I choose them. 

Resurfacing from grief also brought clarity. Self-reflection peeled away layers masking my true self, revealing an inner fire I'd long ignored. No longer would I define myself through others' eyes; my worth wasn't dependent on fleeting things like status or appearances. There was liberation in accepting myself fully.

Reconnecting with childhood haunts bolstered renewal. Wandering the rose garden where Mother and I spent afternoons, her carefree laughter echoed in memory. Gazing upon her portrait in the west wing stirred fond recollections of bedtime stories and lullabies, affirming her enduring love even now. 

Most nurturing were the talks with Bianca, our bond transcending time. Preparing meals together in the rustic kitchen sparked recollections of girlhood lessons and mischief. Her unconditional care dissolved any lingering doubts, confirming this was indeed my home.

My thoughts drifted back to when Nathan and I first met, in our first year of university. He had seemed so charming and confident back then. I was drawn to his good looks and athletic physique, finding it thrilling when such a popular boy took an interest in me.

But I knew I couldn't reveal my true identity. So when Nathan asked about my background, I told easy lies that felt harmless at the time. I spoke of growing up on a farm, of humble provincial roots, using my mother's maiden name of Jones. 

Nathan didn't seem to question my story. Perhaps he was simply charmed by my novelty, a mysterious "country girl" unlike the socialites he normally pursued. I let him believe the fantasy, basking in the attention of the campus rugby star. It was intoxicating to pretend to be someone different.

Over dinners at his fraternity house and long walks through the campus, our bond strengthened. Nathan was charming and attentive in those early days. But occasionally, a crack would emerge in his polished veneer. 

One night, he stumbled home drunk, reeking of another woman's cloying perfume. When I confronted him, he laughed it off and kissed me roughly, his lips tasting of scarlet lipstick. I saw the faded marks on his neck but said nothing, ignoring the doubt seeding in my heart. 

There were other incidental clues - whispered fights over the phone that he dismissed. I wanted so badly to believe our love was real. But looking back, I see how he was keeping secrets, even then. My lies were minor compared to the deception he wove so easily. 

All the red flags I'd chosen to ignore, protecting the fantasy from reality's harsh light. If only I hadn't been so desperate to escape my father's suffocating expectations. But what's done is done, and the deceptions of our past have led me, at last, to the truth.