On the night of our third anniversary, Killian missed dinner again. Texted me he was working late at the auto shop.

I looked at the $5.90 clearance cake on the table. I'd fought a crowd at the grocery store to buy it. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat.

We need to save for a real house in Brooklyn, I told myself. I put the cake in the fridge.

I wrapped my cheap coat tight and walked into the cold to deliver late-night takeout for extra cash.

I never expected to run into my "poor" husband at a luxury hotel in Manhattan.

He stepped out of a Rolls-Royce in a sharp custom suit, tossing hundred-dollar bills to the valet.

A hot woman wearing a priceless pigeon-blood ruby followed behind him, hooking his arm.

"Killian, it's snowing so hard. Are you really going back to Brooklyn to play house with your naive little peasant wife?" she whined.

Killian looked at the cheap, tarnished silver ring on his finger. A hint of softness crossed his cold eyes. "For three years, she worked five jobs a day to pay off the fake debts I made up. She wouldn't even see a doctor when she was sick."

"That's enough. She passed my test. Once I deal with the rat in the family, I'll tell her everything. Give her the glory she deserves as my Donna."

The woman bit her lip. "What if she finds out you're a Mafia Don and is just after your money? Why not tell her you have a terminal illness—see if she'll drain her savings to save you. Test her one more time…"

Killian stayed quiet for a long time.

Finally, he nodded. "One last test. After this, I'm giving her the grandest wedding."

The freezing wind howled. I gripped the paper takeout bag. Tears rolled down my face without a sound.

I am done with this arrogant, lying love.

Back in my cheap apartment, I yanked the fridge open.

The $5.90 strawberry cake sat on the top shelf. The cheap frosting was melting.

I stood in line for twenty minutes after my shift to get it. I stared at it for three seconds. Yesterday, I would never dare to waste it.

Today, I threw the whole box into the trash can.

Three years. Three whole years.

I dug through discount bins for bruised veggies. I begged the butcher for cheap offcuts. All so Killian could eat a little better.

He came home every day in second-hand coveralls, reeking of motor oil. He'd sigh and tell me his boss cut his pay again.

I would twist my $50 tarnished wedding ring, kiss his cheek, and say, "You worked so hard today, honey."

Out of pure love for him, I worked three grueling part-time jobs. Even in tonight's blizzard, I rode my bike through the freezing wind to deliver food.

I just wanted to save enough for a tiny Brooklyn condo.

And him?

He even let another woman judge me like trash right outside a luxury hotel.

What’s next?

Wait for his so-called “test” to end, then slap the title of Donna on me like throwing a bone to a stray dog?

Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back.

Why cry for a liar?

I marched into the bedroom and kicked the dusty toolbox under the bed. Wrenches, screwdrivers, oily rags. They were all just props.

I ran my fingers along the bottom of the metal box. I hit a ridge. A hidden compartment.

I held my breath and pried the metal plate open.

I already knew the truth.

But seeing that black card lying quietly inside, my breath still caught in my throat.

An Amex Centurion Black Card. No spending limit. Less than one percent of the world has one.

I pinched the card. My fingertips trembled.

He was a billionaire.

Every penny I scraped together for three years was a joke to him. A hundred of my cheap cakes wouldn't even buy him one sip of liquor in his real world.

I slid the black card back into the dark. Exactly where I found it.

I crawled into bed and cried. I prayed to wake up from this nightmare.

At dawn, the front door clicked.

Killian walked in. I knew that smell too well. Cheap motor oil.

But beneath it, there was something else.

Tom Ford Oud Wood. I smelled it at a mall counter once. One bottle cost more than our monthly grocery budget.

He played his part flawlessly.

"Aria, you're up?" He smiled, walking into the kitchen with a beige paper bag. "Brought you a surprise."

I walked out in my pajamas, pulling my old, pilled robe tight.

He pulled a pastry from the bag and handed it to me.

A white truffle croissant. I saw that gold foil stamp on Instagram once. An exclusive Manhattan bakery. Five hundred bucks a piece.

"Eat up, baby. It's warm." His voice was so soft.

I took it and took a small bite. The rich butter coated my tongue.

"Must be expensive, right?" I asked flatly, staring right into his eyes. "I think I know that logo."

His fingers twitched.

Then he scratched his head and gave me his signature goofy smile. "My boss had leftovers from a fancy client dinner. It was a waste to throw it out. I wanted you to try it."

"Your boss is so generous," I said quietly.

"Yeah, he looks out for me." Killian ruffled my hair, avoiding my gaze. "Aria, just two more years. We'll buy our dream house."

I smiled. I didn't say a word.

Yesterday, I would have cried tears of joy. Today, the cream in my mouth tasted like ash.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

He pulled it out, sighed, and kissed my forehead. "It's the boss. Needs me back at the shop for an emergency. Be a good girl, I'll be home late."

He didn't know I saw the screen. For one split second, the name flashed.

Chloe.

The moment the door shut, I grabbed my phone and searched Instagram.

She was the first result. A top Vogue model. Her pinned post was a picture of two hands intertwined.

The caption stopped my heart.

"My sweet Kil got me another ruby necklace. Fourth one this month! What do I do with a man so obsessed with me?"

My thumb scrolled down her feed, faster and faster.

Hermès Birkin bags. Cartier panther brooches. The caption read: "Kil says this wildcat looks just like me in bed."

A custom Dior gown on a private yacht.

I wouldn't even dare to look at those brands through a store window. She posted them like cheap groceries.

The more I scrolled, the harder my hands shook.

Until I stopped on a specific photo.

The date was December 24th last year. My birthday.

The picture was suffocatingly intimate. Chloe lay lazily on pure white hotel sheets. A fresh, dark hickey marked her neck. A man's strong hand was tracing her collarbone.

My pupils shrank.

There was a distinct mole on the second joint of that index finger.

I knew that mole. It had touched my face. It had wiped away my sweat. It had been deep inside me.

The caption: "He missed me too much. The snow was too heavy to drive… Baby, don't make me wait so long next time."

My mind exploded.

Last December 24th. The worst blizzard of the year. All of Brooklyn was buried in white.

Killian had called me, sounding exhausted. "Aria, the roads are closed. Snow is too deep. I have to sleep on the floor at the auto shop."

I told him it was okay. I told him to stay warm.

I sat alone with a burnt cupcake. I blew out a single candle. My only wish was for him to work less next year.

I waited for him all night, curled up on the freezing sofa, terrified I'd miss his text.

The next morning, he pushed the door open. He was shivering.

He leaned down and kissed me awake. His nose was like ice. "Sorry for making you wait, baby."

My heart broke for him. I grabbed his freezing hands. I tucked them under my shirt, pressing them to my bare skin to warm him.

"Was it so cold at the shop?" I asked, stroking his hair.

He gave a low "yeah" and buried his guilty face in my neck.

Now I finally understood.

The cold on him didn’t come from any auto shop. It came from that untouchable luxury estate.

From the long nights he spent spinning lies with that woman.

And me?

Like a total idiot, I used my own body to warm the very man who ruled the underworld. The man who sat on his throne and judged me.

I bolted to the bathroom and gagged.

My stomach churned violently. I threw up the tiny bite of that white truffle croissant. Five hundred bucks. Down the drain.

I flushed the toilet. My tears fell into the water without a sound.

With shaking hands, I took a screenshot of Chloe's location tag.

Long Island. The Gold Coast.

I didn't have a car. I took the LIRR train as far as it went, then walked two miles in the freezing snow.

The wind cut my face like glass. My toes went totally numb, but the fire in my chest kept me moving.

When I finally saw the estate, my knees nearly buckled.

It wasn't a mansion. It was a fortress.

Gothic spires. Wrought-iron gates. A sprawling private estate guarded by twelve-foot walls and electrified wire.

I swallowed hard and dragged my frozen feet toward the gates.

"Stop right there!"

A harsh shout broke the silence. Two massive men in black suits stormed out of the guard booth.

One of them reached for his waistband. My breath hitched. It was a real gun.

"Where the hell did this crazy bitch come from? Get lost!"

The guard pulled his gun halfway out of the holster. He didn't point it at me, but the threat was clear.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

My husband.

The man who came home covered in motor oil every day. The man who counted pennies with me over a twenty-dollar bill.

He really was the ruthless Mafia Don everyone feared.

I tried to fool myself that what I overheard was just a crazy joke.

But now, the cold barrel of that gun completely shattered my last illusion.

"You deaf? Move, before I treat you as a hostile." The guard shoved my shoulder hard.

I stumbled back and fell into the snow. My fingers were too frozen to push myself up.

Forget it, Aria, a voice whispered in my head. Leave. You've seen enough.

Just as I forced myself to stand, a deafening engine roared up the driveway.

A blood-red Aston Martin stopped inches from my boots.

The heavy door swung open. A long leg in a black stiletto stepped out, followed by an ankle-length white fox fur coat.

Chloe.

The ruby necklace gleamed against her pale skin. She pulled off her sunglasses and looked down at me. A cruel, mocking smile spread across her red lips.

"Well, well," she murmured, tipping my chin up with a sharp nail. "If it isn't Kil's pathetic little stray from Brooklyn."

I jerked my face away from her touch.

Chloe chuckled. She wasn't angry. She leaned back against her sports car, looking me up and down. Her eyes dragged from my cheap beanie to my soaked sneakers.

"No wonder Kil says you're boring. You look like absolute trash."

I clenched my frozen fists.

"Why do you call him yours?" The voice that came out of my throat was hoarse, raw. It didn't sound like me.

Chloe froze for a second. Then, she threw her head back and laughed.

She laughed so hard her fur coat slipped off her shoulder, exposing the dark bruises on her collarbone.

"Why?" She wiped a tear of pure amusement from her eye. "Oh, honey. You tell me. Why do you think he's yours?"

She took a drag from a slim cigarette. "He is Killian Moretti. The Don of the Moretti family. One of the Five Families of New York."

My ears started ringing.

"Three years ago, a rival family sent six hitmen after him. His real fiancée died in a car bomb." Chloe blew a smoke ring right into my face. "He needed a cover."

"A perfect, civilian cover. A clean, stupid orphan with no background, no status, and zero connections. A 'peasant wife' his enemies would never look twice at."

She stepped closer. Her perfume made my stomach turn.

"Guess why he picked you?" she whispered. "Because you have nobody. Because you live in the slums. Because you'd drop to your knees in gratitude just to marry a broke mechanic."

"You are a human shield, Aria. Bought and paid for with a fifty-dollar silver ring."

I stood paralyzed. The snow fell heavier, burying my shoes.

I felt my soul being ripped out of my chest, piece by piece.

Three years.

I starved myself to save money. I rode my bike through blizzards until my fingers bled to pay our rent.

Turns out, I was just funding a billionaire Don's little game of playing house.

"Kil told me you're actually trying to buy a house." Chloe pouted her lips in mock pity. "A tiny apartment in Brooklyn? Oh, my god, that is so pathetic it actually makes me sad for you."

Suddenly, she reached out and snatched my cheap beanie off my head.

"What is this? Ten-dollar garbage?" She tossed it into a muddy snowbank.

She tapped a glittering diamond clip in her perfect hair. "Know how much this Harry Winston clip costs? Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Kil bought it for me last week just because I said I had a bad hair day."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

“Enough.” I snapped my head up and shoved her finger out of my face. “Stop rubbing it in! That’s between him and me. You don’t get to judge!”

“Ah—!” Chloe shrieked.

I barely even pushed her, but she threw herself backward on purpose.

The steps behind her were slick with ice.

Her forehead smashed against the sharp edge of a Roman pillar. Blood instantly gushed out.

My frozen legs gave out. I crashed hard into the snow.

Thorny dead branches ripped into my palms.

My hands were covered in blood. The pain was blinding.

“Chloe!”

The carved iron gates burst open.

Killian sprinted out, a dozen men in black suits right behind him.

His eyes locked onto Chloe in a pool of blood.

Then his head snapped to me, sitting in the snow, trembling all over.

His pupils contracted. Raw panic and sheer agony flashed in his eyes.

Pure instinct made him take a step toward me.

“Kil… help me…” Chloe sobbed weakly. Blood was dripping into her eyes. “Are you going to let me die… just like you let my brother die?”

That sentence stopped Killian dead in his tracks.

His jaw ticked hard. His eyes went bloodshot. Finally, he turned and scooped the bleeding Chloe into his arms.

He looked at me. His voice was incredibly hoarse.

His eyes were filled with a desperate, pleading look I couldn’t understand.

“Aria, listen to me. Go home right now! It’s too cold out here.” He rushed out the words. “I owe Chloe’s brother my life. I can’t let her die! I have to get her to the family hospital now!”

“Wait for me at home. Be good. I’ll explain everything tonight. The whole truth, okay?”

He didn’t even have time for a second glance. He rushed to the Rolls-Royce with Chloe, never looking back.

Engines roared. The convoy sped off, kicking up icy slush that slapped against my face.

The guards cleared out too. I was left completely alone outside the massive estate gates.

I looked down at my bloody, torn palms.

Suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t stop it.

Go back to what home? That crappy apartment where you watched me act like a clown, starving myself to save pennies for you?

Explain? Explain how you watched me live in dirt-poor misery for three years? How you sat on your high horse, testing my cheap, worthless devotion?

Burning up with a fever, I walked through the snow for a long, long time.

Until the headlights of a cross-country bus cut through the dark.

I emptied all the cash in my wallet, plus the debit card holding all my part-time pay. $3,274 in total.

The money I meant to use for Killian’s knee pads. For our bills. For our “future.”

I bought a ticket to the West Coast and stepped onto that Greyhound bus heading to the other side of the country.

Save your explanations, Killian.

I will never, ever forgive a calculated lie.

Goodbye forever.