Chapter 3

“Surely you won’t refuse your sister’s request, right?” Dahlia leaned against my husband’s shoulder the moment Reynold dropped that bomb on me.

My chest tightened. I knew Dahlia wanted me to snap and make a scene in front of him, but I said nothing Instead.

Request?

No. That wasn’t a request. It was an order. One that didn’t need my agreement.

We never shared a room like real spouses in the mafia world do. He never wanted that. He once told me we could use my room if I ever wanted him as a husband, but never his. He said he didn’t want his space “contaminated” with anything intimate.

But he didn’t know I already knew the truth.

He brought Dahlia to his room every time I returned late from a Commission meeting. Or when I was asleep, too tired to hear their whispers and footsteps.

“It’s only for a week, Valentine. You’ll get your room back when—”

“Fine. She can have it,” I cut him off with a nod. I turned away and continued packing.

“O…kay?” Reynold echoed, thrown off.

I shot him a cold glance. He expected me to fight for it the way I used to. He expected tears, begging, anger. But there was none of that left in me.

Why fight for something that was never mine?

“I’m giving it to her. Like you asked,” I said calmly.

Dahlia squealed in triumph. “See, love? My sister always understands.”

Reynold didn’t look pleased. For a second, I thought my indifference unsettled him. But instead of checking on me, he walked off, pride straightened on his shoulders.

Dahlia, of course, stayed behind. She never left without getting the last word.

“How does it feel being his wife only on paper?” she asked, smirking. “Oh wait—do you two still sleep together? Does he even touch you anymore? I doubt it. He’s with me every night. He can’t get enough of me. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember what you taste like.”

I stayed silent.

She laughed at my quiet. “Pathetic. That’s what you get for stealing my life. It was never yours. Everything belongs to me, Valentine.”

She stomped her heel inches from my foot, irritated that I wasn’t reacting.

“Your husband’s staying in this house tonight,” she added, smug. “But he’ll be in my bed. And the poor Donna? She’ll be alone, invisible, while the Don's wrapped around me.”

Just like that, the nightmare became real.

I passed by my room… and I heard them.

Her moans. His voice. Their pleasure echoing through the walls. The bed frame rattled—mocking me. The room that once felt like the only place I could breathe in this mansion was now a shrine to my humiliation.

He never touched me like that. Never kissed me like that. When he did fulfill his “duties,” he wouldn’t even look at me. I was nothing but a contract. A political arrangement.

“You’re the only woman who can make me feel this way, Dahlia,” I heard him say.

And that was it.

I stopped walking. A sob escaped before I could stifle it. I froze. Only then did I realize I was crying.

I was still hurting. Still hoping. That was the cruelest part.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and walked farther away from the noise until their pleasure was only a dull echo behind closed doors.

I opened a number I saved long ago. One I never deleted.

[Damian, I’m divorcing Reynold. Pick me up after a month.]

That was the message I sent to the only man who never turned me away.

Seconds later, my phone rang.

I answered, already breaking. “Damian…”

“He made you cry again?” he said, voice cold. “That's why you’re finally going through with the divorce this time?”

Shame washed over me. I had tried to leave Reynold in the past.

I had promised Damian before. But I never followed through. I stayed with the man who never chose me. yet, Damian waited, only to get hurt by my cowardice.

“I mean it this time,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for what I did… but please, help me one last time.”

I heard his deep exhale. The kind that carried more than disappointment.

“It should’ve been me, Val,” he said—the name only he and my mother ever used. “It should’ve been me, so you wouldn’t be living like this.”

I broke down. I wasn’t only hurting, I had hurt him too. I chose Reynold. And now I was drowning in the consequences.

“I’ll wait,” he said after a pause. “But in a month, no matter what you decide, you’re leaving with me. You’re divorcing him. And you’re marrying me.” His words were final.

I clutched my chest, staring toward the room soaked in betrayal.

Reynold had his happiness. Why couldn’t I have mine?

“I won’t change my mind, Damian,” I said, firmly now. “Once the divorce agreement is processed, I’m marrying you. I promise.”

If I could love a man like Reynold so deeply… Then maybe loving Damian would be easier.

This time, I will choose the man who would choose me back.