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Wife of a Don, Queen of Myself Novel Cover

Wife of a Don, Queen of Myself

Celebrating a decade of marriage, Cassia prepares to share life-changing pregnancy news with her husband, Don Raimondo Brocchi. However, a brazen interruption by his secretary reveals a crushing secret. Speaking in a language they believe Cassia cannot understand, the pair mocks her age and discusses their affair. Heartbroken but resolute, Cassia accepts a prestigious position abroad. Before vanishing, she vows to sever every tie to the man who betrayed her.
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Chapter 2

At the doorway, Raimondo stood with a deep frown, so drunk he had to brace himself against the frame to stay upright.

I quickly ended the call with Lina, walked over, and helped him onto the bed before undoing his clothes. He grabbed my wrist, his dark eyes locking onto mine, as if trying to pry into my deepest thoughts.

I flashed him a faint smile, slowly slipping my hand free as I denied, "You heard wrong, Raimondo. I was talking to a friend. She told me about a socialite she knows whose husband cheated on her. They're in the middle of a divorce and fighting over the assets. That's all."

He stayed silent, his eyes still scrutinizing every shift in my expression.

Suddenly, my eyes reddened and brimmed with tears. I was overcome with emotions. My voice came out trembling as I asked, "Raimondo, would you ever cheat on me, too? I'm not young anymore. Would you find someone younger, sexier, and more innocent to keep you company instead?"

Raimondo raised a hand and gently wiped the tears sliding down my cheeks. Then he pulled me tightly into his arms.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "How could I ever abandon you, Cassia? You'll always be my Donna, until the day I die. I swear to God, I will never betray you. The Donna of the Brocchi family will always be you and only you!"

I murmured softly against his chest in response.

His calloused hand stroked the top of my head, as if he were soothing a frightened puppy. "Stop overthinking, okay? I'm not like other men. You're the only one I've ever needed. If you ever leave me one day, I'll end my life without a second thought."

Resting my cheek against the warmth of his chest, I nodded.

In the past, I would've immediately burst into tears, covered his mouth, and stomped my feet while scolding him for saying something so extreme. This time, I simply looked at his gentle face in silence.

I was just an amateur who had barely stepped onto the stage. How could I compare to a seasoned actor like him, who had put on a show for ten years?

Calmly, I pulled away from his embrace. It was then that someone knocked on the door.

"Don Brocchi, the garden is ready."

Raimondo stood and scooped me up effortlessly with one arm. "Come see the gift I prepared for you."

…

The moonlight hung dim and hazy above the estate grounds. In the garden was a sea of red, adorned with countless roses.

"Happy tenth anniversary, amore mio."

Looking at the heart-shaped sea of roses spread across the lawn, I pretended to be surprised and played along perfectly. At one point, I even let my eyes glisten with tears.

He kissed my cheek and was about to say something when his phone rang. He declined the call immediately.

A few seconds later, it rang again, then again. After several repeats, his expression slowly darkened.

Seeing that, I so kindly nudged his hand like the thoughtful wife I had always been. "It's okay. Go take care of it. We still have plenty of time ahead of us, don't we?"

Raimondo sighed helplessly. "It's my secretary. Probably some urgent matters at the company. I need to drop by the office."

I nodded with a calm smile. "Go ahead."

When his phone rang again, he turned and left without the slightest hesitation. Not long after, the sound of the car engine echoed outside the estate grounds.

I stood by the window and watched his car disappear into the night.

What kind of urgent business could make a man as obsessed with sleep and routine as Raimondo rush out in the middle of the night?

I pulled a car out of the garage and decided to see for myself.

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