Chapter 5
My hand paused as I was unbuttoning my coat.
“What do you mean?”
During the days you were away on business. Mrs. Brown’s voice trailed off, “Miss Lena… has moved in.”
The air went still for two seconds.
I went back to unbuttoning my coat, one button, then the next.
“Which room is she staying in?”
The master bedroom… she’s stayed there four nights in a row. The Don… was there every night.”
I nodded.
“Donna, Mrs. Brown hesitated, “it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. The Don said you’d be upset if you knew, and told
me to…
“It’s fine. I don’t blame you.”
I lifted my head and scanned the living room. I had picked out every piece of furniture here, hung every painting on the walls, even the whiskey glasses on the mantel were pieces I specially custom–ordered from Scotland.
He had been very pleased. He always said, “Bella, this estate only feels like a home when you’re in it.”
Now, this estate was no different from the temporary break room at the family headquarters. Anyone could come and crash here for a few nights.
“Donna, don’t hold it in. Yell, cry, anything is better than this…”
Cry? I caught my reflection in the glass, my eyes utterly hollow. Nothing there. How could a well that’s been dry for years possibly spill water?
‘Mrs. Brown, you can go home for the day.”
With that. I went up to the second floor. I pushed open the master bedroom door, and a strange, cloying sweet scent hit
- me.
The sheets had been changed. My perfumes and skincare products on the vanity had been shoved to the corner, replaced by Lena’s things.
I pushed open the window, letting the night breeze rush in to blow away that unpleasant scent.
I pulled open the innermost drawer of the closet. Seven diaries, arranged by year, were still there.
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The cover of the first one was the cherry blossom pink that teenage girls loved. It was from our first year of marriage i had written down what dishes I made for him every day, what whiskey I prepared for him, noted his exhaustion and joy every time he came home
On the last page. there was a line written in pencil: [Seven–year plan, completion rate: 1/7]
The second diary shifted focus entirely. It was filled entirely with notes of my studies of mafia management, shooting practice and negotiation training.
From the third diary onward, the pages grew increasingly blank–not that I had nothing to record, but that I had no
time left to write.
I had thought that if I recorded seven years of happiness, I could get through the seven–year itch. But I had stopped
writing four years ago.
Those four years were spent on far more practical matters: checking his bank statements for hotel expenses, tracking
which apartment the jewelry his men delivered went to, dealing with all the women who coveted the spot of Donna at
his side…
In those four years of being too accommodating and yet not accommodating enough, I lost count of how many women I
had dealt with.
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I tossed the diaries lightly into the trash can. Seven years had passed. My plan was only one–seventh complete. I was the only one putting in the work to hold this marriage together. He, on the other hand, had long since built himself a
harem and was “saving” every woman who crossed his path.
I got a flight notification on my phone. “Miss Isabella, the flight we urgently arranged for you has been confirmed. It departs at midnight.” I replied with “Thank you.”
When I did a final check of my luggage, I felt a hard object at the bottom of the suitcase. It was the silver ring Vincent had used to propose to me. I tossed it aside casually, picked up my suitcase, and left.
The driver was waiting outside, “Donna, to the airport?”
‘Mm.
As expected, Vincent was kept occupied by that little vixen and didn’t come home.
He woke up at noon the next day, and his phone vibrated. It was an automatic alert from the bank:
[Your account ending in **** transferred $1 to the account of “Isabella Rosetti” at 03:47. Note: Divorce agreement
performance payment]
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He frowned thinking he had read it wrong. He was about to look closer when a breaking news alert popped up
BIG NEWS Vitale Family completes strategic split, officially announces strategic partnership with Chicago’s De Luca Family!
“What’s wrong” Lena leaned over, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Who is it, this early…”
Vincent rubbed his temples. The screen lit up again, a message from his family lawyer:
[Don Vincent, the signed divorce agreement entrusted by Miss Isabella has been submitted to the court. You are required to file a response within seven days]
Chapter 5
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
