Every Christmas Eve, the heir of the Marco mafia family—Adrian Marco, must follow the family tradition:

Draw a name to decide whether he’s allowed to marry me.

Because I, Irene Cast, am not mafia-born.

Unless he draws the slip with my name on it, he can’t take me as his wife.

For four years, Adrian has drawn four times.

And not once did he draw my name.

I always thought he fought with his family because of me—

that he was willing to risk losing his position as the Don, just to choose me.

Every time he failed, he held me so tightly and whispered,

“It’s okay. There’s always next year.”

And I loved him so much it hurt.

Hurt enough that I was willing to wait, year after year.

This year, I told myself:

If he still doesn’t draw my name…

I’ll secretly switch the result.

I sneaked to the door of Adrian’s study, and heard his younger brother ask:

“Don… every year you do draw Irene's name. Why do you pretend you didn’t? Is it because you still can’t let Sera go?”

But he simply said, in a flat voice,

“Sera needs me for something urgent.

Do what you always do: swap Irene’s name for a blank one.”

He walked out without looking back.

Instead of swapping, he tossed the blank slip into the trash,

left the one with my name on the table, and hurried after Adrian.

I went inside, picked up the blank slip from the trash, and replaced the one with my name.

Watching my own name fall into the garbage.

Adrian…I don’t want to wait and marry you anymore.

I’ll grant you your choice.

Adrian came back from seeing Sera and found me waiting for him in the living room.

He shrugged off his coat, pulled me straight into his arms, his voice low and aching:

“Waiting this early for the results? My principessa.”

The butler brought over the slip he’d drawn.

And just like every year, Adrian held it with that same careful, heart-aching tenderness, ready to open it for me.

I stared at him in a daze.

All these years, I thought the disappointment in his voice, every time he said “I didn’t draw it”, was real.

I never imagined it was all a performance.

He cupped my face in both hands.

“No matter what it says, my love for you doesn’t change. You know that, right?”

I gave him a smile, soundless, strengthless.

The butler opened the slip.

A blank one.

Exactly the one I had put there.

And I stayed perfectly calm.

Adrian’s brows drew together.

He noticed something was wrong—noticed how I wasn’t reacting like every other year,

not crying, not breaking down, not begging him to hold me.

He tried carefully, almost gently:

“Irene? Why are you so quiet this year?”

He brushed his fingers through my hair.

“We’ll get it next year. If I don’t draw your name, I’m not marrying anyone else.”

I tugged at the corner of my lips.

“There’s no need. Not anymore.

You… should just follow the family’s plan and marry Sera.”

Adrian froze.

His expression darkened, bit by bit.

“Irene… you really don’t trust me?”

“My principessa,” he murmured, gentle but firm,

“yes, the elders keep saying marrying a Moretti heiress would secure my position.

They’re terrified Sera might marry the Detroit heir and make my position collapse overnight.”

He let out a quiet, almost helpless laugh.

“That’s exactly why none of them could ever be the Don.”

His thumb brushed my cheek as he spoke, voice low, calm, and absolutely certain:

“Power isn’t built by who I marry.

It’s built by the casinos I own, the ports that run under my name, and the money I move—enough that even the Feds think twice before knocking.”

He sighed, reaching for me.

“I only love you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to marry.

Why do you think I fight them every year?”

I stepped away from his hands without making a sound.

Then I asked quietly, “You never felt guilty toward Sera, did you?”

Adrian stopped.

Then let out a soft, helpless laugh.

“Of course not. Love can’t be forced.”

“I’ll admit it, she has sacrificed a lot for me.

Born a Moretti heiress, yet she stayed by my side as nothing more than my assistant.”

“One time she got drunk, clung to me, crying… saying my wedding day would be the darkest day of her life.”

“But she and I both know the truth. She knows I don’t love her.

She knows I only love you.”

“All I can say is… maybe the reason I haven’t drawn your name all these years is... God’s will.”

My chest went cold.

And suddenly I understood.

This was why he agreed to that stupid “draw-a-name-and-marry-her” rule.

If he drew my name, he’d have to marry me—

and everyone would think he was breaking the families’ agreement.

Trouble. Pressure. Questions he didn’t want.

But if my name never showed up…

he could keep me, but never have to put a ring on my finger,

never risk his position as Don.

My four years of waiting weren’t loyalty.

They were his way of smoothing things over with Sera,

and keeping his title as the Great Lakes Don steady.

He’d already cut me out in his head, already used me where it benefitted him—

and still had the nerve to look at me like he was the one who loved deepest.

When we had just started dating, Sera was forced to put her engagement with him on hold because of me..

At a banquet, people pointed at her, mocking her for being cast aside by Adrian.

I stood at the end of the hall, watching her surrounded, pale, clutching her glass.

And Adrian?

He gave her nothing more than a chilly glance, then closed his hand around mine and pulled me away.

Back then, I thought that was devotion.

Thought he was choosing me with unwavering resolve.

All those soft “My principessa” had felt like love.

But now it’s painfully clear:

If he married Sera, he’d lose me.

If he married me, he might lose his title.

So he chose to marry neither—

and disguised it as “God’s choice” through that draw,

so he wouldn’t have to lose anything at all.

Christmas had always been my personal day of suffering,

but this year…

this year is the worst.

And yet—

as much as it hurts, at least I finally see the truth.

And I’m done staying trapped in this.

I slipped into an empty corner, pulled out my phone, and dialed my mother.

“What was the draw result this year? ” she asked, her voice full of concern.

“Can you two get married? ”

“Mom… I’m coming home.

I’ll go through with the engagement you and Dad arranged.”

My mother’s voice came through the phone, warm and decisive.

“Alright. One week from now, come back to Miami. I’ll arrange everything.”

“Mm. Thanks, Mom… for arranging the wedding.”

I hung up.

And immediately—

A voice behind me:

“Wedding? Irene… I’m sorry, but your ceremony with the Don has to be postponed. Again.”

I turned.

Adrian’s younger brother was somehow already standing behind me.

He sighed loudly.

“Damn. We could’ve started planning it this time. Why did it change again?”

The look on his face said everything—

awkward, uneasy, and a kind of quiet outrage on my behalf, like even he thought Adrian was pushing it.

“I swear I…”

I knew exactly what he wanted to say.

He was this close to saying it: I swear I swapped it. I left your name in there.

I gave him a calm smile just as Adrian walked over and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“What do you mean, ‘wedding’?”

His voice was commanding, utterly sure.

“You better get that wedding ready. Sooner or later, I’ll draw the slip—Irene will be there. She’ll wait for that day!”

He didn’t even flinch.

“No one else gets my hand if I don’t draw her name. I won’t marry anyone else.”

Once, hearing that would have sent my heart racing.

Now, it just felt cruelly ironic.

His brother let out a half-joking sigh.

“Don, no one waits forever. If one day she marries someone else, you won’t even have a place to cry.”

But Adrian didn’t even register the warning. His confidence was absolute.

“That’s impossible. Irene loves me. She’ll wait. No matter how many years it takes, she’ll wait until the day I draw her name and put a ring on her finger.”

Adrian, you’re wrong.

I’m not going to marry a man who calls me his principessa with his mouth, but spends every thought calculating and using me, all while pretending to be deeply in love.

And even if next year my name appears again...you’ll just switch it out like always, won’t you?

You’ll keep me waiting forever.

A sharp sting shot through my palm. Only then did I realize I’d driven my nails so deep into my own skin.

The hallway door slammed open.

Sera stormed in, breathless. The moment her eyes landed on Adrian, they reddened. She pointed at me, her voice cracking.

“Five years, Adrian! Five years without drawing Irene’s name. It’s fate telling you two can’t be together! Why can’t you just let her go?”

Tears trembled at her lashes. Her voice cracked into a plea.

“Your situation with Irene is already a joke across the Great Lakes. If this keeps going, how are the Marco and Moretti families supposed to keep their standing?”

Adrian’s expression froze over instantly.

“Sera, you’re my secretary. Who gave you the authority to interfere in my private life?”

“I love Irene. She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry. Five years mean nothing. Ten years won’t change a damn thing.”

His voice hardened and cold.

“A family is led by strength. And whoever dares to laugh at us—I’ll make sure they choke on it.”

With that, he pulled me closer and walked past her.

He muttered under his breath, irritated,

“She can’t get a single thing right, yet she nags like someone’s mother. Amazing.”

I let my head rest lightly against his chest and asked, softly,

“If she’s that much trouble… why not fire her?”

One moment earlier he’d wanted to strangle her.

Now his tone flipped instantly.

“She’s just blunt. She hasn’t messed up anything major. Don’t worry, if she ever crosses the line, I’ll make sure she’s gone for good. I’ve been sick of her since we were kids.”

In that moment, something inside me clicked.

In his world, I wasn’t a partner.

I was an NPC, programmed, predictable, trapped in a loop they wrote for me.

How pathetic.

Adrian Marco, it’s been five years.

I’m finally done.

This NPC won’t play her part anymore.

Adrian told me he’d asked his brother to prepare a birthday party for me tomorrow.

I refused almost instinctively. “That’s not necessary.”

Every year after the name-draw, he would throw me an extravagant birthday party—

“to make up for” the disappointment.

I used to think it was his way of loving me.

Now I know it was just another part of the performance.

Adrian took my hand, his voice soft in a way that left no room to escape.

“Of course it’s necessary. You’ve endured more than you should. For something this insignificant, I’ll indulge you—because you’re mine.”

For years, I let myself be bound by that so-called tenderness,

playing along with every script he handed me.

And since I’m leaving anyway…

one last act won’t make a difference.

The next day, a driver brought me to the restaurant.

The moment I walked in, I saw Adrian snapping at his brother.

“What the hell is this? The balloons are Irene’s most hated pink, and the dishes—celery? She doesn’t touch that. What were you thinking?”

His brother looked genuinely confused.

“I arranged everything she likes. Who flipped it?”

“I did.”

Sera appeared out of nowhere, her voice calm.

“Sera,” Adrian barked, “do you have any sense of boundaries?”

But Sera raised her voice over his, eyes reddening.

“Because of her, the elders lectured you again this morning! Why should she get to have a birthday here?”

Adrian’s anger extinguished instantly.

“Pour a glass of wine. Apologize to Irene.”

I saw it clearlyh, his fury was gone.

As if he’d forgotten that just yesterday he said he’d fire her the moment she made a real mistake.

What a joke.

He never intended to get rid of her.

“I don’t need an apology,” I said mildly. “I didn’t want a birthday dinner to begin with.”

But Adrian tightened his grip on my hand and shot Sera a warning glare.

Sera, seething, poured a glass of red wine.

In their Mafia circles, the most common apology ritual was simple:

the one who made the mistake pours the drink, the wronged person drinks it—

and the matter is considered settled.

If I refused to drink, it meant refusing peace.

But the moment I got close, I smelled the strong scent of nuts.

Sera held the glass up to me.

I didn’t take it.

I’m allergic to nuts. Adrian knows this better than anyone.

Sera knows too. She’s the one who often prepares gifts for me on his behalf.

Adrian glanced over, completely unconcerned.

“Just drink it. You’re allergic to so many things; I always carry meds. It’ll be fine.”

“Be good. Just a sip. She’s upset, but she agreed to apologize. Don’t get hung up on these small details.”

I smiled, understood.

Took the glass.

And in the next beat, under his expectant gaze, I lifted the glass, and sent the wine flying.

It splashed down Sera’s head, dripping over her stunned face, leaving her soaked and pathetic.

Adrian whipped toward me, his usually gentle expression turning ice-cold.

But I was done.

When you’re already on your way out, the weight of pleasing people disappears.

“I told you I don’t need an apology,” I said quietly.

“And next time you want a staged reconciliation… leave me out of it.”

Sera bolted out first, furious.

Adrian threw me a frustrated look. “That woman! I’m going to deal with her.”

Then he stormed out after her.

I hesitated for a moment, then followed.

My stomach churned at the sight—Adrian chasing Sera up to a room on the restaurant’s upper floor.

Then he slammed the door shut behind them.