My Eight Years as the Don’s Substitute

The spark of lust died in an instant, replaced by a piercing chill.

Lucian didn't even give me a chance to blink.

In that second, his fingers left my waist and clamped onto my chin.

He wasn't using much force, but the threat was enough to make my spine go rigid.

"It seems I've spoiled not only Axel, but you too, Vera."

He leaned in closer, my bloodless face reflected in his pupils, his voice a terrifying low whisper.

I winced in discomfort, but he showed no sign of letting go.

"Since you failed in your duties as a guardian, failed to properly raise my son, then you must stay until you have shaped him into the perfect heir."

Guardian. It was the only title I had in this house that sounded remotely respectable.

I came from a minor crime family from the West, one that had scraped together a connection with the Mercers through some unsavory dealings.

More than a decade ago, my half-sister was invited to a dinner between our families, and Lucian fell for her at first sight.

She married him, and the Rossi family enjoyed a period of prosperity, right up until she died in childbirth.

At that very moment, the Rossi family broke one of the cardinal rules of the underworld, violating smuggling routes and facing complete annihilation.

To pay back an astronomical blood debt, and after some negotiation by my Aunt Carmela, the Rossis' lives were spared.

But the price was me, the illegitimate daughter born from my father's drunken, one-night affair with a maid.

I was offered up like a sacrifice to the newly widowed Lucian.

At the time, he was unwilling to marry again but worried his young son would have no one to care for him.

Then he saw me, a girl who bore a slight resemblance to his late wife, Rose.

An eight-year contract cost me my youth and my freedom.

I was forced to leave behind the open skies of my small western town.

I became his plaything at night and a glorified nanny by day.

In the Mercer estate, I played every role except myself.

"I have not failed my duties. It is you who should honor your promise."

I met his gaze. "The contract is perfectly clear. Eight years in exchange for my freedom and my father's worthless life. The deadline is midnight tonight."

"Freedom?"

Lucian acted as if he'd heard a joke. He released my chin, the pad of his thumb idly stroking the red mark he'd just left on my neck.

"In New York, you have no freedom unless I grant it."

He turned and walked to the liquor cabinet, pouring a glass of whiskey. "If you're making a fuss over your status, there's no need."

He swirled the glass. "Since Rose's position has been empty for so long, you can have it. Give me a second heir, and I'll give you the title of Mrs. Mercer."

"No, thank you." I turned my head, avoiding his touch.

I was done being my sister's substitute, and I wanted no child of mine to be born into this sunless hell.

I walked to the desk and took out a brass key I had prepared, along with a thick stack of documents.

It was the key to the main vault of the Mercer estate and the ledgers of all the internal assets I had managed for him over the past eight years.

"I don't want your title, and I don't want your child."

"The key to the vault and all the laundered accounts. It's all here."

"I've already prepared for the handover. You can find someone more obedient to take over."

Lucian's expression instantly turned grim.

He swept his arm, and the stack of documents, the very lifeblood of the Family, scattered across the floor like scrap paper.

He didn't care about the money.

He strode toward me, snatched my handbag, unzipped it, and dumped its contents onto the desk.

Inside were the passport and ID I had hidden away long ago.

The mechanical whir of the shredder filled the room.

Like a cruel executioner, Lucian fed my passport, piece by piece, into the machine right in front of me.

I watched as my name, my photo, my only ticket to freedom, turned into meaningless confetti.

"You're insane!" I screamed, my voice trembling.

Lucian dusted the paper scraps from his hands, his expression returning to a suffocating calm.

Then, he pressed the intercom on his desk.

"Lock down the estate."

"Miss Vera is emotionally unstable and requires ‘rest.' Without my permission, she is not to leave these grounds."

With that, without even a glance in my direction, he turned and disappeared into the study beyond.

I stood frozen, a chill running through me.

I had to escape, even if it meant jumping out a window.

I rushed to the floor-to-ceiling window, my hand just about to push against the heavy glass.

CRACK!

A sharp explosion shattered the air beside me.

The antique Louis XVI vase next to me shattered, sending shards flying. One piece sliced my calf, drawing a thin line of blood.

I looked up in terror.

On the lawn outside, Axel was holding a high-precision, modified air rifle, the dark muzzle aimed directly at my face.

The eight-year-old boy wore a cruel, excited smile, as if he were playing the most thrilling hunting game.

Through the glass, he mouthed a single sentence at me.

"Papa said deserters get a bullet."

He reloaded the air rifle, its muzzle once again locking onto me.

"I'm warning you. Don't move."

"Next time, I'll have Papa get me a real gun!"

I tilted my head back, refusing to let the tears at the corners of my eyes fall.

I remember when I first arrived, my aunt told me, "You must treat Axel as your own son. After all, you are family, connected by blood."

And yet, after eight years, this father and son duo treated me as if I were nothing; one ignored me completely, while the other hated me to the bone.