Divorced The Doctor, Married The Mafia Don

Ainsley POV

He let go of me as if my skin were branded with burning coal.

I smoothed the silk of my blouse where his fingers had dug in. The fabric was wrinkled. Just like my marriage. Just like the lie we had been living for five years.

I stepped back, putting distance between us. The air in the dining room felt heavy, suffocating.

Casey was still standing there. She looked between us, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. She looked like a deer caught in headlights-if that deer were draped in stolen diamonds and plotting a coup on the hunter's lodge.

"I am not broken," Damian muttered.

He was talking to the floor. He couldn't look me in the eye. He couldn't face the woman who had dragged him to every specialist in Switzerland. The woman who had endured hundreds of needles, invasive exams, and crushing disappointments, all to protect his fragile ego.

"We spent millions, Damian," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "We tried everything. It wasn't me."

Casey let out a small, sharp laugh. She covered her mouth instantly, but the sound had already escaped.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just... I have the opposite problem. I just have to look at a man and I get pregnant. My boys are proof of that. 'Super fertility,' the doctors call it."

The rage that flared in my chest was white-hot. It wasn't jealousy. It was disgust. She was mocking the one thing I couldn't buy. The one thing my father's power couldn't secure.

I looked at Damian. I expected him to be angry. I expected him to defend his wife against this insult.

But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at her.

And the look on his face wasn't anger. It was longing. It was a starving, desperate adoration. He looked at her like she was a miracle. And he looked at me like I was a barren field.

"Ainsley, please," Damian said.

He stepped toward Casey, placing himself between us. Like I was the threat. Like I was the monster.

"Be kind."

"Kindness," I repeated. The word tasted like ash. "You want kindness while you parade your mistress in my home? While you let her wear my jewelry? While you let her mock my pain?"

Damian's jaw tightened. "She is not my mistress," he lied. "She is the nanny. And she is a good mother. Something you wouldn't understand."

It wasn't a physical slap, yet his words struck harder than a fist.

He was using my infertility as a weapon. He was blaming me. After everything I had done to cover for him. After I had lied to my father, telling the Don that I was the one who couldn't conceive, just to save Damian from the shame of being less of a man in the eyes of the Family.

"Get out," I said.

My voice shook. Not with fear, but with the effort of holding back the violence that was coded into my DNA.

"Both of you. Get out of my house."

Damian laughed. It was a cold, bitter sound.

"Your house?" he sneered. "I am the man of this house, Ainsley. I earned this. I am the Chief of Surgery. You are nothing but a spoiled princess living off Daddy's blood money."

He grabbed Casey's hand. He interlaced their fingers. He squeezed tight.

"We aren't going anywhere," he said.

Casey smirked. She looked at me over his shoulder. It was a look of triumph. She thought she had won. She thought that because she could give him children, she owned him.

She didn't realize that Damian didn't own anything. Not this house. Not his job. Not even the clothes on his back.

I owned him. And I was about to foreclose.

I walked to the sideboard. There was a crystal vase there. A wedding gift from the Capo of the New York families. Heavy. Expensive. Replaceable.

I picked it up.

Damian's eyes widened. "Ainsley, don't be crazy," he said. He took a step back, pulling Casey with him.

I didn't say a word. I didn't have to.

I hurled the vase across the room.

It wasn't aimed at them. It was a warning shot. It smashed into the wall inches from Damian's head. Crystal shards exploded outward like shrapnel.

Damian yelped. He threw his arms up to cover his face. But he didn't cover himself. He turned his body. He shielded Casey.

He took the glass for her.

A shard sliced his cheek. Blood welled up, bright red against his pale skin. He didn't check his wound. He grabbed Casey's face, checking her for scratches.

"Are you okay?" he asked frantically. "Did she hurt you?"

He looked at me with pure hatred. "You are insane," he screamed. "You are just like your father. A violent animal."

I stood amidst the wreckage of the vase. I watched the blood trickle down his face.

And I felt my heart turn to stone.