The Don’s Secret Wife

I suddenly remembered something from a few years ago. We were at a meeting with some old-school Don.

"A Don's wife should be accommodating. It's normal for a man of his stature to have a mistress," the fat man with the gold chains had said. "Women need to know when to look the other way. Harmony in the family is what's important."

I remember Blair's face turning to stone.

He shot to his feet and slammed his whiskey glass on the floor. It shattered.

"My wife will never suffer that kind of disrespect," he'd said, his voice pure ice. "Anyone who disrespects her has to answer to me."

Back then, his words had brought tears to my eyes. I thought I had found the one man in the world who would love me completely.

Now I knew it wasall a well-rehearsed lie.

I looked at him, exhausted. "Get out."

"Flora?"

"Get the hell out!" I screamed, snatching the velvet box and throwing it at him.

The corner of the box caught him right on the brow bone. A thin line of blood welled up instantly.

He didn't even flinch. He just wiped the blood away with the back of his hand and stared at me.

"Don't be childish, Flora," he said calmly. "This isn't you."

"Not me?" I let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Then tell me who I'm supposed to be. Am I supposed to be obedient and quiet, like your wife?"

"You're too emotional right now." Blair sighed and turned to leave. "We'll talk when you've calmed down."

He left, leaving me alone in the wreckage of my life.

For the first time in six years, I cried like a child, soaking the pillows with my tears.

I told myself I would leave him, that I would make him pay, no matter the cost.

Just then, my phone rang again.

It was the Hillrose family's private doctor.

"Miss Flora," the doctor's voice was grave. "I have some news about your mother."

A cold dread crept over me. "What is it?"

"She has lung cancer. It's terminal." The doctor's words made me freeze. "She's been hiding it from you. She said she wanted to see you married and settled, and she didn't want you to worry before your big day."

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

I had no more tears left to cry.

Finally, with a trembling hand, I picked up my phone and dialed Blair's number.

"I'll do it," I bit out, each word a piece of my soul. "I'll do it. The wedding... is on."

When I got back to the Hillrose estate, my mother was on the balcony, sorting through a box of files. The setting sun cast her profile in a pale, fragile light.

"Flora, you're back." She turned and forced a smile, but I could see how weak she was.

"Mom." I walked over, swallowing the grief that was clawing at my throat.

"These are important family documents." She patted the box beside her. "I wanted to give them to you before the wedding. And this."

She took off the Hillrose family signet ring, the one my father had given her, the symbol of our family's power.

"Your father should have been the one to give you this, but..." Her voice trembled. "I'll give it to you for him. From now on, you are the true heir of the Hillrose Family."

I took the ring, feeling its weight in my palm.

I fought back my tears and hugged her tight. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be happy. And I'll be the heir you need me to be."

The day before the wedding, I told Blair I wanted to meet his wife, Mia.

He frowned, thinking for a moment, but he didn't refuse.

"Trust me," he said. "When you see her, you'll realize she's just a timid little thing who can't hold a candle to you. My heart is yours."

He drove me to a villa in the suburbs.

The place was heavily guarded. The gardens were filled with expensive Sicilian roses.

The fountains, the security systems—everything screamed that this was the home of someone important.

This wasn't some place he'd "stashed her away." Every detail here was chosen with care.

I met Mia in a sun-drenched glass conservatory.

She was wearing a simple white cotton dress, her black hair loose around her shoulders. She looked young, fragile, like a startled fawn.

The moment she saw Blair, her eyes lit up, and she threw herself into his arms.

"Blair! You're finally here!" she cried, clinging to his waist with a sweet, cloying dependency.

Blair caught her automatically.

Then, seeming to remember I was there, he gently pushed her away.

"This is Flora," was all he said.

He didn't explain who I was to her, or who she was to me.

Mia glanced at me quickly. "Miss Flora, hello. I'm Mia," she whispered.

"Why are you out here dressed like that?" Blair's tone was scolding, but his body betrayed him.

He instinctively shed his suit jacket and draped it over her frail shoulders. The gesture was so practiced, so natural, it had clearly been done a thousand times before.

The nausea churned in my stomach again.

"Mrs. Falcone, your tea is ready," a servant said respectfully, bowing to Mia.

Mrs. Falcone.

The title was like two poisoned needles stabbing into my eardrums.

The title that should have been mine. On this meek little woman, it sounded so natural, so right.

I knew then that staying here a second longer was just torturing myself.

I stood up after less than three minutes. "I should go."