The Don's Regret: Losing His Life Saver

For three years, I was the one scrubbing the scent of blood from his hands and holding him while he screamed in pain. I was the one who taught Coleton Barron how to walk again after the car bomb nearly took his legs. But the moment he reclaimed his seat as Don, I became invisible. At his recovery gala, he draped his arm around Charly—the woman who fled when he was crippled—and laughed as he told his inner circle I was "just the hired help." It didn't stop at insults. When Charly faked a fall, he shoved me aside with enough force to crack my skull against the pool edge. When a bomb went off in a gallery, he looked me in the eye, saw me trapped under debris, and turned his back to carry her to safety instead. He even held a gun to my head because she lied about me poisoning his soup. His mother threw a check at me, telling me that tools go back in the box when the job is done. They thought I would beg to stay. They thought I was weak. I took the five million and vanished without a word. Three years later, I returned to New York. Not as his nurse, but as the fiancée of the only man Coleton fears. And when he saw the diamond on my finger, the King of New York finally realized he had thrown away his only lifeline. Chapter 1 Arminda POV Three years of silence. Three years of changing bandages, of scrubbing the metallic scent of blood from his hands, and of whispering prayers when the fever took him. Yet, it took exactly three seconds for Coleton Barron to remind me that I was just the help. I stood on the edge of the limestone patio, a plush white towel draped over my arm like a mark of servitude, watching the man I had put back together laugh with a woman who had never seen him bleed. The music at the Barron estate was loud enough to vibrate in my chest, masking the sound of my own heart splintering. This was the "Made Man" recovery gala, a celebration of Coleton officially taking the seat of Don after the car bomb that nearly took his legs. I was the one who taught him how to walk again. I was the one who held the bucket while he retched from pain meds, his sweat soaking through my shirt. But tonight, I was invisible. Jaydan and Isaias, Coleton's top Capos, flanked me. They were lethal men in expensive suits, holding champagne flutes with hands that had ended lives. "He looks good, Arminda," Jaydan said, his voice a low rumble. "You did a miracle on those legs. The family owes you." Isaias nodded, swirling his drink with a thoughtful frown. "So, when is the Boss going to make it official? You’ve been living in the penthouse for three years. He doesn't let anyone else touch him." I tightened my grip on the towel, my knuckles turning white. "I'm just his nurse, Isaias. The contract ends this month." "Bullshit," Isaias muttered. "He looks at you like you're the oxygen in the room." I forced myself to look across the pool. Coleton stood in a cluster of investors and rival mobsters. He looked powerful, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. The cane in his hand was more of a prop now than a necessity, a symbol of a war he had survived. Standing next to him was Charly Mack. She was the daughter of a cartel associate, a woman who dripped money and danger. She had vanished when Coleton was crippled. Now that he was King, she was back. Coleton said something that made the group laugh. He draped an arm around Charly’s waist. It was a possessive claim. A territorial mark. "Hey, Coleton!" Isaias shouted, fueled by liquid courage. "When are you gonna give the nurse a ring? She saved your life!" The music seemed to dip. The conversation in the VIP circle died instantly. Coleton turned his cold, gray eyes toward us. He didn't look at me with the warmth he used to show in the dark of the penthouse. He looked at me like I was a loose thread on his jacket—something annoying to be plucked and discarded. He laughed. It was a dry, cruel sound. "Arminda?" he said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the water. "She's just a friend. The best hired hands in the business, but let's not confuse gratitude with love, boys." The air left my lungs. *Hired hands.* Charly smirked, leaning into him. "See? I told you she was just staff." She walked toward the edge of the pool, swaying in her heels, holding a glass of red wine. She looked at me with predatory eyes. I knew that look. She was a lioness circling a wounded gazelle. She stumbled—a theatrical, fake trip—sending her wine glass flying toward me. It was instinct. I stepped forward to catch her arm. But Coleton moved faster. His instinct wasn't to catch her. It was to protect her from *me*. "Watch out!" he roared. He lunged, shoving me aside to clear the space for Charly to regain her balance. He didn't check his strength. He was a man built of muscle and violence. His hand hit my shoulder with the force of a battering ram. I flew backward. My heels slipped on the wet tile. The world spun. The blue water of the pool rushed up to meet me, but not before the back of my head cracked against the concrete coping. *Crack.* The sound was louder than the music. It echoed inside my skull like a gunshot. Then, silence. Then, water filling my nose, my mouth, stinging the fresh wound on my skull. I sank, watching the distorted lights of the party shimmering above the surface. Strong hands hauled me out. Jaydan and Isaias. They laid me on the tiles, coughing and shivering. Blood trickled down my neck, staining the white towel I still clutched like a lifeline. "God, Arminda," Jaydan cursed, pressing the towel to my head. I looked up, my vision blurring. Coleton wasn't looking at me. He was holding Charly's face, checking her for scratches. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked her. "Did the wine spill on you?" "I'm fine," Charly cooed, glancing at me with a triumphant sneer. "Just a scare." Coleton finally looked down at me. His eyes were void of emotion, two chips of ice. "Get her a doctor," he ordered Jaydan, then turned his back. "Party's over for the staff." I tried to stand, but the world tilted violently. A shadow fell over me. It wasn't Coleton. It was Esther Barron, the Matriarch. She looked at my bleeding head with disdain, then reached into her clutch. She pulled out an envelope and tossed it onto my wet chest. "Five million," she said, her voice like grinding stones. "The debt is paid. You were a tool, Arminda. Tools go back in the box when the job is done. Disappear, or we will make you disappear." I clutched the envelope. My blood mixed with the pool water on the paper, turning the white pulp pink. I looked at Coleton's back one last time. He never turned around.